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“Angel, Baby,” Valentino's sickly sweet voice calls from across the studio.
Angel had just finished a shoot, fairly vanilla by Val’s standpoint, but still a lot of work on Angel’s part. Pretending to enjoy something and forcing himself to an orgasm is harder than he makes it seem. Especially when none of the kinks Val wanted in the film remotely turn Angel on.
Either way, his robe newly wrapped around his still trembling body, Angel stands up tall, pretending he’s not as worn out as he is. He needs to look perfect, even when there’s no camera on him. All for Valentino. All to make each day go by a little faster, a little easier.
So, Angel tilts his head in question, but doesn’t say anything, waiting for Val to continue. His throat is sore, anyway, and, if asked, that’s the reason for his lack of speech.
“Go get on outfit number 43 while we change the set. I have a plan for you.” The smile that accompanied the moth demon’s statement is cold, hard, and promising pain. Angel has to force himself not to flinch in response. Instead, he simply nods and walks to his dressing room, robe flowing slightly in his escape. His walk is dignified, head held high and avoiding eye contact, but Angel’s mind is racing and his fingers are trembling. Still, he hides them in the sleeves of silk draping him, and no one is wiser, especially Valentino.
Angel wishes he could walk out, leave Valentino and his wicked studio behind, but he was a dumbass and sold his soul to the porn demon. Which means that he searches through dozens of clothes to find outfit 43, a gorgeous yet short shimmering dress. Made of pure diamonds, framing every good part of Angel. His chest fluff becomes boosted to the perfect breasts anyone would love, man or woman; his legs would look longer, thicker at the thighs due to the tight dress; his shoulders would look wider due to the petal-like sleeves, which in turn, would make his waist look even smaller. He’d look perfectly feminine. A dress made specifically for Angel. One of Valentino’s love-bombing gifts. Angel had loved it. Some part of him still loves it. It’s dazzling, beautiful, and everything Angel would have wished he could be confident in back when he was new in Hell. Now, he’s disgusted by his love of the dress and its perfect craftsmanship. It would be easier to hate if Valentino had obviously not put thought into it. But, alas, Angel can’t be that lucky.
He still has a job to do, so, without thinking too hard about it, he slips on the dress, delicately, and makes sure everything is in place. Not a single diamond has fallen. It’s just that perfectly made. Angel’s secondary hands slowly graze over the dazzling outfit, almost remembering the first time he wore it, but then, Angel forces himself to stop. Whatever Valentino has planned, it’s meant to get inside Angel’s head. Those are the worst type of shoots.
And so, not glancing at himself in the mirror, Angel leaves the safety of his dressing room. And back to the studio. Which is made to look exactly as Valentino’s penthouse looks. Or, Angel supposes, looks. He hasn’t been up there since he has moved into the hotel. On the occasions that Angel caves and allows Val to fuck him, it’s in an empty studio, Angel’s dressing room, or somewhere backstage. And there were never other eyes watching. Angel is too aware of how bad it is for him to be constantly going back to Valentino, enjoying the way he makes him feel, but sometimes, he simply cannot help it.
This time, though, it seems that Valentino has other ideas. He’s sitting on the giant bed, center-stage, slightly crinkling the perfectly made bed. He’s nude, only his wings covering him. Hell, he doesn’t even have boots on. Just completely nude. Not even his glasses. In his hand is a cigarette; he’s puffing on it, allowing sickly sweet smoke to surround the set. The lights are dim, spotlighted on the bed. Ready for its actors to step into the light. And the smoke surrounding the light will only show off Angel’s body as well as his partner. Valentino has meticulously planned this shoot. It’s made to fuck with Angel. It’s made to remind Angel of their past. It’s made to prove that, despite where Angel lives and who he is around, he will always be a slave to Valentino. No matter what happens in his afterlife, Angel will always come crawling back to Val. For his drugs, for his sex… for his love. And Angel hates it. He hates how easily he can fall into bed with Val. He hates how easily the cameras can melt away as Valentino treats him like a lover, not an employee.
And then, in a turn, Angel doesn’t have to try. He doesn’t have to fake it. It’s all real. Too real. And he cums. And Valentino cums, marking Angel as his. Proving to the spider that he will never be free. That no matter what happens and where he goes, a part of him will always be tainted, will always belong to Valentino. And yet, at the end, Angel allows a love-sick smile to take over his face, growing even larger at the sweet kisses Valentino places all over his face and his neck and his shoulders. It’s sweet. If not for the cameras, if not for their past, the two could look like two newly-married demons on their honeymoon. In love, in lust, wound together like they were made for eachother.
It’s even better when, cameras still rolling, Valentino cleans Angel up and tucks him into bed, curling around him, allowing his large wings to bring Angel warmth. And when Angel watches this back, he’ll be disgusted by how he snuggles closer to the warmth Valentino provides, but for now, he pushes his face into the moth’s neck and breathes him in, enjoying every moment of it. Just like he did in the past. A part of him can even believe everything about the past few years has been a nightmare, that now, everything is as it has been. Everything is perfect and will stay that way.
Unfortunately, everyone has to wake up eventually. And for Angel, it’s with the numbness that follows a high, the numbness that follows something so good that was never meant to last, the numbness that Angel has been used to feeling.