the low hum of static filled the room, the soft glow of vox’s screen-face dimmed down to a comfortable warmth as the two of you lay tangled together on the couch. his arm was draped possessively around your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly tapping against your arm in a lazy, rhythmic pattern.

“this is… efficient,” vox muttered, voice smooth but relaxed. “maximum comfort, minimal effort.”

you huffed quietly, shifting closer, your cheek pressed against his chest. you could feel the faint vibration beneath him—static and power, always there, even when he was trying to relax.

your hand, however, had other ideas.

slowly, almost experimentally, your fingers drifted down his side, brushing over the smooth fabric of his shirt before slipping beneath it. you traced along his waist—until you felt them.

the shark gills.

the moment your fingers grazed them, vox froze.

the static crackled.

his screen flickered blue for a split second.

“h—hey—” his voice hitched, pitching up in a way he clearly didn’t intend. “what do you think you’re doing?”