I'm Going To Leave The Vees.

I'm going to leave the Vees.

There it was. Something had been building all evening, some tension that settled in between the dishes, hanging in the air like smoke that couldn't be dispelled. Vox had been on edge ever since the invitation--not because an invitation in and of itself was strange, but because something was off. Something had been off, really; until now, he would've been willing to concede that it was all in his head, that there was nothing wrong with Valentino...

But not now.

Vox frowned at the announcement. He waited for a moment, perfectly still, expecting there to be something else, something more. Maybe Val would demand that he wanted to be the most public facet of the Vees, and then he would stay. Maybe he wanted his own building. Maybe he wanted Vox and Velvette to design another studio for him for whatever kink was trending these days. Maybe he wanted...

But he didn't.

The beautiful moth didn't add anything else. He wasn't throwing a tantrum. He didn't even seem angry. Valentino was being calm, deliberate. He had planned this.

Vox set his flatware down as well, regarding him for a long, long moment, before he took a drink. Whatever was about to happen, it would go down better with wine.

He set the glass down, huffed, then got up and walked over to him, his steps quiet.

Vox turned Val's chair out away from the table with him in it, then dropped to a knee. Frowning, he took his hands and held them between his own--not hard, just trying to be reassuring, to establish a connection.

"Is somebody fucking with you?" he asked, his voice just as calm and tense as the strange energy of the night, frowning. "Val, while I know you can handle yourself, if someone is fucking with you, threatening you, making you do this--don't let them win. We're not the V from Victims, remember? We're the Vees in Survivors. It's what we do. Survive and thrive. Together." Vox shook his head. "So whatever's going on, baby, talk to me. Let me help. I've got your back, you know that."

Because this had to be what was going on. Someone had gotten to Val, messed with his head, threatened him with something... Valentino could be the most impulsive and emotional sometimes--or so Vox believed, firmly in denial about his own ridiculous emotional outbursts when it came to certain broadcasters--and someone had doubtless taken advantage of that. There was no reason to be angry. No reason to be hurt. Because this wasn't a problem. It wasn't real.

Val wasn't really going to leave.

@doublejango redemption starter

He had invited Vox to dinner in his penthouse because he wanted to tell him about his decision in person. As they sat at the table in front of the glazed wall, Val carefully set his fork down, his plate of pasta half-finished as he looked at the TV demon's face.

ཐིཋྀ "I need to tell you something.", Val started, sounding much more serious than during their light-hearted chatter before.

"I'm going to leave the Vees."

What really appeals Stolitz to me as an aspec person is that the sex is not like the end goal, it’s not what we’re looking forward to or anticipating. We’ve long gone over that bridge and now we’re waiting for the emotional climax of their relationship where they learn to communicate healthily and it becomes less about the sex

for @collectionoflostsouls, continued from here wow hi nice to meet you person i have totally never written with before and whom i don't completely adore, hiii!

-

"I had a bad dream about you," Blitz admitted, rolling over on the couch so he could hold the phone a little more comfortably. He might not be completely awake, but he was smiling, happy; hearing Stolas's voice right now was even better than texting with him. Blitz stretched, letting out a contented little sigh, and rubbed his face on the cushion before going on.

"I mean like, a nightmare, I guess. Not that... you probably never get nightmares, so maybe you don't know what the fuck they are or something, but I... sometimes they just seem so fucking real, you know? And this one did. There was some asshole prince up in the human world who like, you ran into for some reason, and he reached out and touched you and you burst into flame, and I couldn't put the fire out. I kept trying to dump more water on you, then smother it with me jacket, and," Blitz's throat tightened, eyes watering, "I could smell your feathers burning. And you just kept saying it's alright, darling, I'll be alright, darling, because you were trying really fucking hard not to scream and... it just... it fucking... I don't...

"Thank you. For calling. I know it's dumb to get upset about a dream, just... sometimes... fuck, I don't know. How um, how are you?"

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Blitz heard the notification go off on his phone and just about had a damn heart attack. Stolas. That was Stolas's notification-tone, and Stolas--fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Were they actually going to talk now? Now that Blitz finally fucking got it? The sound of the text alone was enough to make his adrenaline spike up and his heart kick into high gear, the panic response painfully strong, but Blitz tried to keep a relatively cool exterior.

He pulled over and parked, glanced in the backseat--captive was still firmly tied and gagged, great, good--then finally took his phone out and read the text and...

Fuck.

He should be elated that Stolas was messaging him at all, but somehow, this just felt... What was this? Were they just going to pretend like everything was fine? Like they were just a couple of exes who could move on like nothing had ever happened? What--what was this, what did this mean...?

He stared at the screen for a solid ten minutes, tears burning his eyes but refusing to fall, letting traffic whoosh by loudly a few feet away.

It was fair, Blitz realized. This was the shit he had always done to Stolas, just pressing on like nothing had happened, like everything was fine. He owed it to Stolas to play the game now. No matter how badly he wanted him back, no matter how much he wanted to explain that that drunken song and the conversation that followed after had gotten through to him, Blitz had to start meeting Stolas where he wanted to be met.

So, although his chest felt tight and his hands almost numb, he wrote back:

>>You got it. Tell me when and where to meet you. I'll be there. >>No charge this time. I owe you.

Maybe that second text was too much, too emotional, but Christ on a fucking stick, Blitz couldn't take money from him right now. He couldn't--fuck. Fuck.

He held the phone against his forehead, eyes closed, and just tried his damnedest not to cry as he waited for a reply, well-aware it might be hours before Stolas even felt the need to check his phone, but all the same, unable to move on just yet.

@doublejango liked for an apology tour starter IT WAS WRONG TO USE BENJI THE WAY HE HAD. Stolas knew that and yet he'd allowed himself to be swallowed whole by the fantasy of being wanted, of being desired : being somebody's somebody. He was dodging calls now, text messages and knocks at the front door. The Prince knew he should let the imp down gently and yet he couldn't seem to let go of the crutch that he'd become. He was too afraid of what might happen if he brushed him off completely. For so long Stolas lay crumpled in his bed like so much trash, sobbing and sulking into the moonlight. But then didn't this make him just as bad as Blitz? Wasn't stringing this imp along just as hurtful as whatever had been done to him in the past by the very person he'd been at that party to celebrate a hatred of?

Owl groans and throws his arm over his eyes in an attempt to block out the light from above. Cell phone buzzes and he's more than a little disappointed to see it's Benji calling once again. Another cacophony of discomfort followed by the smash of a talon against the ignore call button. Stolas grumbles and finds himself navigating to Blitz' contact information. He hesitates a while and finally hits the empty chat box he'd purposefully avoiding for so long.

This is awkward but I don't have any other choice. I need protection next week and you and your crew are the best mercenaries i know. If it's too uncomfortable I understand. I'm free today to discuss details, otherwise take care.

SEND.

"Blitz, there is a crowd full of people here who cared so much, they throw an entire fucking party about hating you every year. Do you know how much you have to care to do something as stupid as that?"