#{ Val: '... G' (had to immortalize the draft) }

[hazbinned]

It was working. Val squeezed his eyes shut harder still, pushing on with the messy snogging whilst Angel's hands wandered round back and untucked his shirt from his belt. He felt pink fingers slide beneath wings and fabric, and he leaned forward, his multiple hands allowing him to continue holding Angel while also making a move on the star's chest fur.

And then, out of nowhere and slippery as a mink, Angel Dust was free and flipping him over. Valentino, whose pink eyes had blown open wide, resisted the move for a grand total of three seconds, and then relented. He flopped down, lurid thoughts about what Angel must be thinking igniting his imagination.

The spider could have been a deader man for this, and yet their own incident with the gun— the one that Angel was trying so hard not to relive— was what spared him from Val's wrath.

"Sure. Impress me," Val spat as the last button popped open.

As he waited for Angel to get things sorted, he turned his head away and rested his hand against his mouth, idly tracing his finger across his own lip. His eyebrows were furrowed, posture reeking of boredom and impatience. His skin itched as he tried to quell the anger from before.

The anger he'd caused himself, in a strange, somehow roundabout way.

The air was cold against his now-exposed chest and stomach, and every breath of Angel's cut in like hot steam. Hurry up, Val thought, but craned his neck back around when he felt Angel begin to unzip his pants.

Though the infamous scarlet drool had already begun to dribble out of Val's mouth, the pimp suddenly shot out with one of his lower hands and grabbed the spider by the wrist.

"I don't..." he blurted. A lingering silence ensued, and he swallowed hard. "Hold on. I actually don't know what I want."

It was painful to admit. He wasn't even looking at him; his eyes were fixed, blurry and out of focus, on where Angel's legs met his hips. He could feel desire starting to pulse through his body (really, it wasn't that hard at all for Val to get aroused), but it was all physical. Mentally, he felt like he was at some far-off place, where he could influence things but couldn't change them.

Angel was either crazy or some kind of idiot if he thought that Val's vie for control was just a ticket to correct and redirect him. More importantly, though, Angel was being fake. Valentino could tell the arachnid's genuine interest from the saucy persona used to appease, and his behavior right now fell firmly into the latter category. Even without the slight spit-induced intoxication, Angel wasn't the same man he'd been tussling with on the floor a few minutes ago.

This wasn't supposed to bother Val.

The moth slipped his fingers from Angel's wrist to lock their hands together, giving the slightest of squirms from where he was pinned. His body was begging for something to happen.

Emotionally, he was as dry as sand.

"I don't think I want to fuck right now," Valentino said.

It felt weird to be saying it; even weirder to be saying it to Angel while rose-colored trails of lust streaked down his chin. He should've just gone with it. Surely, he'd have come around eventually.

But the nail was already in the coffin.

"Do you?"

Angel was tipsy off pheromone, the Overlord noted with a frown. Of course he would want it, to some extent— but maybe Angel was like Val, and his body and brain wanted different things.

The moth glanced at him again, looking more put-off and frustrated and confused than angry. His thumb rubbed a circle into the coarse fur of Angel's hand, his breathing heavy and his heart thrumming.

"Maybe you could just lay on top of me, and we'll watch the movie. I'm sorry."

The apology came without specifications.

The look in Val's eyes was unmistakable. Angel had broken the illusion, the beautiful illusion that now, somehow, Val would be the man he had always dreamed that he would be.

Now, Valentino looked like a feral animal poised to attack, to bite and scratch and snarl. Angel knew this Val. The hand that was curled around the moth's fingers clenched, as if that could somehow give him control over the impending attack. An attack that would not hurt half as much as the pain of losing the Val of moments before. He squeezed his eyes shut.

With this Val, there was nothing he could do.

That was when the moth lurched towards his prey, capturing him in a rabid, frenzied kiss.

It took the spider a short and stunned moment to react. In that split second, the kiss hit him like a fist, and Angel froze just the same as if it had been. His eyes snapped open, hyperaware of everything he could see as Val shifted to lean over him and he shrank down into the couch.

Any other time, the suddenness of the pimp's advances would be far less startling. It was Val, after all - the guy lived and breathed sex, despite being no longer living nor breathing. It was not unlike Valentino to spontaneously pull Angel onto his lap or push him up against a wall, and whether this was a fun, flirtatious encounter between two kinky individuals or something coercive and sadistic could change at the drop of a hat.

There had to be a line in the sand drawn somewhere, signifying the end of something playfully frightening and the beginning of actual torture, but Angel had never once seen it when it came to Valentino. No, the moth blew in like a gust of wind, like the very beat of the butterfly's wings that lead to total, inevitable destruction. Where perhaps once had been a line in the sand was a raging storm, spitting dust in Angel's eyes and pulling him this way and that until he had forgotten that the line was even supposed to exist.

When all you have ever known are high tides and choppy waters, you grow indifferent to the myths of a calm, blue sea.

To begin with, Angel did what he always did: he submitted. There was no thought behind this, no decision he had made that would mark this action as some kind of choice. He was caught in the storm, and there was nothing he could do to escape it. Four hands crawled over Val, the lower two of which snuck below his shirt and climbed up the bare skin of his back - however, he wasn't thinking about Valentino whatsoever. No, he was focused on himself: his body language, his touch, his kiss. He needed to be soft, pliable, receptive. If he was enticing enough, would Val forget about whatever it was that Angel had done to piss him off? If he was perfect, would he be forgiven?

You see, Angel had learned that sex was a tool that, when used correctly, could yield almost any result his heart desired. Lust was eye-rollingly easy to spark in most sinners, and he had the body and know-how to use this to his advantage.

But, therin lay his problem: it was clear that whatever had spurred Val to kiss him was not lust - at least not the pure, concentrated kind.

This was animosity.

And that left Angel in a very, very precarious situation.

His heart seized in his chest. He couldn't just pretend to be an active participant in Val's fantasy, not like this. He couldn't charm his way out of being on the receiving end of Valentino's sadism, and he couldn't just let himself be used. Not now. He couldn't breathe. Not here, on this couch with the pimp looming over him like an impending threat. Not after...

GetOFFme, Val, PLEASE...

Just as instinctively as he had resigned himself to submission, the porn star was jump-started to seek a different method for survival. Quick as lightning and breaking their kiss without warning, he slipped out from under Val and attempted to switch their positions, with the moth on his back and Angel straddling his hips.

He plastered on his most exaggerated, seductive smile and fluttery bedroom eyes, his hands now toying with the buttons of Val's shirt as he sat upright. Immediately, he was relieved by how much more control this position offered - although the sweet, candy-like taste in his mouth and that familiar light-headed giddiness somewhat negated this small grasp for power.

"How about I drive, Papi?" he cooed, sultry and slick as he slowly popped open each button, his hand stopping over the waistband of Val's pants. "I'll give ya the ride of ya life."