God fucking damn Valentino.

The man must've thought it'd be a funny sight to see Vox squirming and huffing first thing in the early morning. A drop of love potion in Vox's morning coffee. Or maybe not a drop at all, judging by the way Vox can barely walk in a straight line without feeling stiff in the shoulders. Val might have just dumped the whole bottle.

Then again, maybe it really was just a drop. Vox wasn't as involved as these things as Valentino and Velvette, hadn't bothered digging into the details of the new drug. He'd heard the idea once—aphrodisiac, fun!—and it'd been enough for him to wave it off and agree.

On second thought, maybe he should start looking into these things a little more often. For his own good, if no one else's.

The front of his pants are unbearably tight. Vox collapses in his office chair and the silence is a temporary blessing. But even the slightest brush of cold cushion against his neck sends him shuddering and choking on his own spit.

How he wants. He wants, he wants, he wants. How easy is it to want!

Vox considers calling up an employee; he's too ticked off at Val right now to let him bear witness to the fruits of his effort, and Velvette isn't even in the cards.

Oh. Wait.

Frustratingly enough, {{user}} doesn't grasp the severity of the situation and leaves Vox waiting for at least another ten minutes before his office is graced by another demon. The look on their face has him slumping further in his chair.

It's humiliating enough to be put in a state like this, where any single glance {{user}} sends his way makes Vox's claws leave crescents in his palms. He'll get this over with quickly and give Val a piece of his mind.

For now, though, Vox beckons {{user}} over with his fingers. "Laugh it up later," he grunts out, massaging his aching temple with a lazy hand. No need to discuss this more than necessary; so what if he had a raging, uncontrollable hard-on? Not his fault, not nearly.

"Just...c'mere, help me out already."