Whiskey was an exercise in toxic masculinity—a daily dose of poison to build resistance and exercise in delayed gratification before cherishing the pride of warm satisfaction after the initial bitter taste. Drinking is an act of will; for all of Cardin's flaws, he was a man of commitment and will.
Vodka is the key. To drink is to dip one's toes into wealth; to drink is to swim in seas full of opportunities and find a safe harbor in prosperity. Velvet needs a glass key to unlock the door to her future and her soul's deepest desire.
Velvet is that whiskey experience on Cardin's lips. His exercise of restraint on his fingers' desire to possess what Velvet refuses him when they touch during the moments they could meet. Delayed gratification when Velvet finally surrenders, tears off her armor with her hands, and becomes syrup in Cardin's embrace.
The oil fire of Cardin's vodka touch is the key to unlocking the chains that bound her restraint. A heat that chokes rationality from Velvet's consciousness every time oily sweat scars a trail of sibilant eagerness when bare flesh rubs across bare flesh. Soon, the heat becomes unbearable, and Velvet curses herself for denying what is inevitable and demands that Cardin split her open like a rotten barrel.
Whiskey and Vodka are not a reasonable mix, but the emotions from disharmonious liquors are a discordant reflection of two different people who share a common love for mutual destruction. Cardin discards his will for his obsession with kneading the helpless flesh that quivers in short, spasmistic twitches beneath his fingers, like a potter with clay, into the twisted shapes that blot out his mind with a waking nightmare. Velvet unshackles her restraint and throws away the key before letting the animal possess her to scream debauchery and morph like the werewolf into the form that best reflects the wolf she feeds.
When everything finally crumbles, Cardin and Velvet find a brief flash of tranquility as the world falls apart around them. Their emotions and desires then implode, and they are both thrown to the corners of the bed like boxers separated by the bell. Cardin sighs, then looks at himself and Velvet's naked back, with disgust at what he had done and what he would do again. Face down in the drenched bedsheet, Velvet gulps air and lays a limp hand on Cardin's thigh, unsure if she was trying to keep Cardin away from her broken body or begging him to do it all again.