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Man I don’t wanna comment this publicly cuz I’m not usually in that community but please please please please PLEASE do the wired in thing from Alastor’s perspective. I am SO interested. I need that in my life PLEASEE

Wired In (Hazbin Hotel)

Alastor's POV

(Click here for Vox's POV)

Lee!Alastor, Ler!Vox

~12.2k

Summary: (S2 E4) Alastor finds himself subject to Vox's will. But despite Vox's unfortunately effective strategy to break him down, he is not helpless or at his mercy. Even stripped of his power and dignity, he's more than capable of holding his ground.

Tw: Super, super intense tickling. Noncon. Bondage. Gag usage. Canon typical swearing (So, a lot.) Suggestive material. Implied threats of sexual assault. Explicit violent fantasies (not acted upon). Mentions of blood and gore (hypothetical). Forced undressing (upper body only). Mentions of major (canon) injuries (Alastor's wound). Infliction of minor injuries. Crying. Unrequited feelings. Mood swings. Absolute freak behavior. Problematic characters thinking problematic things that go unchallenged by the narrative.

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Right, so this took about a million years to write. This has been in my ask box since January 2nd, and I've been working on it for even longer. Sorry about that. It would have taken even longer without the support and encouragement and lovely editing of my sparkly new ultra-talented beta reader, @featherstreams. Love her a lot. This was so fun to do and I'm so excited for people to finally read it! This fic is intended to be perfect partner to Vox's perspective, so you should be able to read it before, after, or side by side with this one. I wanted to make it fully complete as a stand alone but not entirely repetitive when you read them together, so I hope that was achieved. I will be yapping extensively in the end notes, but unfortunately even that is cut down because as much as I want to comment on every single line of this fic and explain my choices, there's just far too much to say.

Read below the cut!

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“Ohoh my god!” Vox exclaimed, pacing around Alastor. “You’re mine. I still can’t believe it, Al. Just. Wow.”

He was far too excited, in Alastor’s honest opinion. It was nice to revel in a great victory, but this wasn’t even close to that. It was a marvel how Vox could be this satisfied when Alastor gave him the win willingly.

All this gloating, and he wasn’t even taking full advantage of the situation, anyway. It was hardly creative to tie him up and gag him. There just wasn’t an ounce of showmanship. Alastor was prepared for much more than public humiliation and a round of meaningless monologuing. It was honestly disappointing; he’d looked forward to some fun, classic torture.

Vox laughed, though Alastor didn’t know what was funny.

“Ohhh, Alastor, Alastor, Alastor, Alastor.” And there it was. Vox’s complete inability to keep his emotions off his sleeve. They literally leaked into his words and bent his audio in the most unseemly way.

Vox’s abhorrently large hands wrapped around Alastor’s shoulders and suddenly he was entirely too close to Vox’s bright screen. It was a familiar motion, and one he had to count on soon, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

“What should I do with you?” Vox asked, and he genuinely sounded like a child drooling over a new toy. Immature, lonely, and pathetic.

“I could have you any way I wanted.”

What?

There was something truly wicked in Vox’s eyes. The wires around his arms suddenly felt much more restrictive. He felt his heart beat quicken and he knew his shadow was sporting an unacceptable frown without even having to look. He sent it a quick command to keep itself in check and put everything he had into not letting his nervousness show on his own face.

That certainly would be torture. Cheap and unsportsmanlike, but real, true torture. Alastor should have known Vox would be that type.

His breath caught in his throat when Vox’s finger slipped underneath the gag and pressed into his cheek.

“What was that?” Vox purred, dripping with venom. Alastor obviously wasn’t trying to say anything—he knew it would be pointless at best and an embarrassing garble at worst. But Vox seemed to revel at the silence that hung between them.

Alastor steeled himself for whatever would come next. He knew, in his situation, he couldn’t fight it. All he could do was make sure Vox never saw how much it would get to him.

Then, nearly all at once, the fire in Vox’s eyes fizzled out into sparks. He still looked predatory, but it was much less depraved.

“No,” he whispered. “You’re not even worth that.”

Alastor would never admit to the relief that washed over him. It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal for someone like himself.

Vox’s finger moved to run over Alastor’s jaw. At least this time it was over the thick fabric of the gag. Still, it felt like needles. It was sticky and uncomfortable. Alastor longed to rip every single one of Vox’s ugly, oversized claws off one by one.

He hated the way Vox’s digital eyes focused in on him, like he was prey. It was unfortunate that Vox’s head was so deformed Alastor didn’t even get the luxury of fantasizing about tearing out his eyeballs too.

The offending finger finally left Alastor’s face to tap on the edge of Vox’s screen. “Alright, Al,” he said. “I’ll get you to break, don’t worry.”

Alastor sincerely doubted that. To ‘break’ someone requires getting your hands dirty. It required getting elbow deep in someone’s organs, and hollowing them out from the inside. Was someone ever truly ‘broken’ until their heart was discarded on the floor, still beating and weeping blood into the hardwood?

If Vox wanted to disembowel, disfigure, or otherwise maim Alastor, surely he would have done it already. Even Alastor would have ran out of patience by now, and he was a very, very patient man.

The laugh track that played practically summoned itself at the absolute joke of Vox’s intimidation. Alastor crossed his legs and waited for Vox to continue his pitiful display.

Sadly, Vox must have found some sense and he’d stopped talking. Instead his eyes wandered over Alastor’s body. They were distant, somehow, and it made him look possessed as he slowly shuffled closer and dropped to his knees.

It took a genuine effort on Alastor’s part to not pull away as Vox grabbed his shoulders again. It was a firmer touch than before. He pressed deep into Alastor’s trapezius muscles.

“Alastor,” Vox called as he began massaging in earnest.

Alastor forced himself to look Vox in the eyes despite the urge to roll his own at the tone of Vox’s voice. He was no idiot; he knew Vox would be looking for any flicker of weakness—anything he could latch on to and exploit. Alastor wouldn’t make it so easy for him.

He wanted to set his own shoulders on fire and watch the flesh burn off the bone. Maybe season and braise them in whatever it was that Vox passed off for blood like a beautiful venison chuck steak.

Alastor made sure not a single trace of his fantasy leaked onto his face. He kept his expression unchanging.

The horrible squeezing and prodding—seriously, what was Vox hoping to achieve with this, anyway?—began migrating lower, down Alastor’s arms. It was a mild irritation, and nothing more, until the touch lightened and reached his elbows.

They twitched away before Alastor even registered the ripple of ticklish sensation that aggressively hooked into the joint. It was an utter betrayal on his body’s end; if he had even a single second to process the feeling before his traitor elbows took it upon themselves to flinch, he surely could have schooled that reaction.

And the look on Vox’s nauseatingly flat face told him he really, really should have.

Oh dear lord.

Vox stared him down, grinning like he’d just struck gold, as he brushed over the tips of Alastor’s elbows.

The touch was so soft Alastor could barely feel Vox’s finger itself but his elbows lit up with an agonizing buzz that had them jerking against the wires again.

Alastor was fuming. Not even at Vox, but at the completely useless vessel he had to reside in. It was getting harder and harder to control his face, but he absolutely did not want Vox to see any cracks in his mask.

“What, Alastor? Is this bothering you?”

Yes. It was. Far too much. And the fact that it was bothering him at all is what bothered him most.

Vox kept tickling him. Alastor would have much preferred Vox ripped his arms off and called it a day. As it was, though, each shift of Vox’s fingers sent him squirming in the most humiliating way, and Vox was clearly keeping thorough track of all of it. He was honestly trying his best to keep still, and one would think that being physically bound to the chair would make it easy for him. If only.

He felt laughter bubbling up in his chest, and tried to will it away, but still it slipped out. At least, he felt it. The smallest huff of a giggle. But he heard nothing.

The gag, he realized, must have silenced it. How curious! Alastor had yet to talk into it, so he hadn’t realized before, but it seemed to be completely impervious to noise. He hummed softly, experimentally, and he knew it would have been shaky and strained, but there was no audible evidence of it at all.

Alastor did try to be optimistic, so he let himself be pleased knowing at least whatever sounds he might make would go unheard. It was one less thing to worry about when it took so much attention to get just his body to behave.

One particularly targeted poke deep into the bone sent lightning up Alastor’s arms and his mind vaporized for less than a second. In that minuscule lapse of his mental faculties his leg had kicked out and he realized he’d let off an all too telling shriek of radio feedback.

Right. Those sounds played loud and clear. How could he forget.

Rein it in, Alastor. Do not give him the god damn satisfaction.

But it was too late. Vox’s eyes somehow got brighter. His grin glowed enough to strain Alastor’s eyes and he let out an ugly bark of laughter. “You’re- you’re- Oh shit, this is amazing! It’s tickling you!?”

Was-

Goodness gracious in heaven.

Was Vox seriously only just now putting that together? Had Alastor’s honest-to-god horrible attempt to stifle his reactions thus far not made it blatantly obvious?

Every day Alastor was more and more bewildered at the new heights of Vox’s stupidity. He had to take a steadying breath to keep his composure in the face of Vox’s total obliviousness.

But if Vox truly hadn’t known he was tickling Alastor, what did he think he was doing? It did tickle, aggravatingly so. If that was Vox not even trying… Well, there was nothing Alastor could do about it now besides make Vox feel dumb and small. He was quite good at achieving that, and it was so much fun!

So he raised an eyebrow with every ounce of patronization he could muster, which was no small amount, and summoned a corny ‘DING, DING, DING!’ from his supernatural soundboard.

Congratulations, Vox! You win! Claim your prize! It does, indeed, tickle. What a tough one; how ever did you figure it out?

“Hey! Enough of that attitude! You’re so unbelievable fucked right now.”

It appeared he’d succeeded at making Vox feel inferior. Hurray for minor victories! He was, however, not surprised in the slightest about what came next.

Vox’s hands latched onto Alastor’s ribs and shank him sideways, it tickled so much more than his elbows had.

Alastor’s body seized at the sudden onslaught of sensation. It felt like it was ripping through his entire body—from his ribs to his chest and then down every nerve until it reached his fingers and toes. Had it really been so long since he’d been tickled that he’d forgotten just how miserable it was? He’d have counted the years but simple math seemed to be out of his grasp at the moment.

It continued for longer than it took Alastor to mentally curse all of Vox’s family and ‘friends’ in every language he knew. Vox’s claws had a way of scratching so deeply into his ribs Alastor was shocked he hadn’t torn his coat. He didn’t even want to think about what his laughter must have sounded like underneath the gag.

Alastor wanted to sink into the shadows and never look at Vox again, unless he was actively being dismembered.

“Ohoh, Alastor! This is perfect! I hope you’re fucking seething, bitch.”

Seething was one word for it, sure.

Vox just would not stop. There was no way Alastor could angle his body that would get his hands off of him. He knew it was pointless to struggle but he needed just a single moment to pull himself together. Vox’s hands never stopped clawing into Alastor’s ribs as they drifted upward towards his armpits.

The day that Alastor took a bite out of Vox’s liver, chewed it up, and spit it out onto his smug flat face would be a fantastic day indeed.

Not a single part of Alastor was under his own control when his head pulled itself up with a yelp that was thankfully silenced. The tingling lingered under his skin even as Vox’s hands lowered back down.

Too far down. Nearly to his hips.

The world screamed at Alastor to just do anything. Anything at all that would get him away from Vox. His legs flailed around frantically until finally they found enough purchase in the smooth floor to push him away.

He didn’t get very far before Vox tightened his grip to still him. “Woah. Where do you think you’re going?” Alastor was dragged back into place by the same hands that kept clawing without a second of reprieve. Vox’s giant hands pulling him by his ribs so easily made him feel horribly small.

More wires shot up and wrapped around Alastor and suddenly he couldn’t squirm at all. He was practically cemented in place, from his ankles to his shoulders. The complete restriction of his movement made it tickle worse, somehow, and he couldn’t so much as shift away from any of it.

Vox’s voice was low and evil as he spoke. “Good fucking luck rolling away now.”

A heavy weight of actual panic settled in Alastor’s stomach. Before he could fully cope with it Vox’s fingers shoved their way behind him and found his shoulder blades.

Alastor was not weak by any means, but the strength of the wires keeping him so helplessly immobile while his body attempted to thrash around made him feel like he might as well be made of cloth. He couldn’t kick his legs out. He could barely pinch his shoulders together. He couldn’t arch away. There was one thing he could do, and it was torn out of him before he could even think about it. Screeching feedback rang out loud enough to sting Alastor’s own ears.

Vox’s face contorted at the sound and only relaxed again when it stopped.

“Eugh. You’re lucky this look is so fitting for you, Al, because the sound is terrible.”

What good news! Alastor reached deep into the radio waves accessible to him and grabbed at every single scratch of friction he found to aim them directly at Vox. Stinging ears weren’t so bad, really, when it meant he got to antagonize him.

Alastor was rewarded when Vox abandoned his ribs to cover where his ears would have been if he wasn’t malformed. Obviously, it achieved nothing because there were no actual ears there.

Ha. Idiot.

“Fuck!”

Moron.

If he wasn’t so focused on maintaining his weaponized feedback, and if he wasn’t laughing so hard at Vox floundering about in agony like a suffocating fish, it would have been easier to catch his breath. But he wasn’t going to give up the bit for something as trivial as air! Watching Vox writhe at the noise was just too comical.

“Alright, Alastor. You shut the fuck up.”

Alastor’s attention was pulled away from the feedback as Vox dug his fingers into both his hair and ear in a singular, painful, grip. It trickled out of Alastor’s hold and slipped back into the radiowaves. Damn.

At least the pain of Vox’s sharp claws sinking into his head made for a nice change of pace, but Vox leaned in far too close for any real enjoyment to be had from it.

“I own you, bitch!”

The joke wrote itself–too easy to even dignify with a full thought. Unfortunately the punchline was at Alastor’s expense. When the laugh track from his soundboard begged to play aloud anyway, Alastor humbly permitted it to.

A dark rumble left Vox’s throat as, happily for Alastor, he must have misinterpreted it as a slight against himself. Unhappily, in the same second his hand made contact with Alastor’s belly and each finger drove deep into the skin.

Alastor’s core tightened beneath Vox’s fingers, but he could neither curl up or lean away. Vox didn’t even offer him the dignity of angling his face away from his prying eyes anymore, and when he tried he was only met with a painful resistance at his scalp and the base of his ear.

Alasator so rarely got butterflies of all things, but the absolute powerlessness of his position twisted his gut over and over and over again. The–Alastor didn’t even know what to call it–anxiety? Nervousness? Boiling rage? The feeling tickled his stomach from the inside out and that was almost worse than what Vox’s hand was doing.

Vox explored every inch of Alastor’s belly with his disgusting, over-active claws. The thought of Vox building any sort of familiarity with his body sickened Alastor, but more than that, it made him feel entirely too trapped. In this chair, in the wires, in his skin. He needed out, out, out.

“Don’t forget who's in charge here,” Vox said, and he was close enough Alastor could feel the moisture from his breath.

If Alastor could speak he’d be able to sink a proverbial knife into Vox’s insecurities. He didn’t know how exactly–he couldn’t think right now–but he was a wordsmith and he knew his way around the underside of Vox’s skin. Even if it weren’t for the gag, though, Alastor was surely laughing too hard to tame his tongue.

The only thing he had any ounce of control over was his eyes, and he’d take every millimeter of allowance Vox overlooked and use it to the fullest of his ability. He wanted to look away, or to shut his eyes entirely to spare himself from the sight of Vox’s greasy grin. He didn’t allow himself the comfort; instead, he forced his eyes open and strained to set them on Vox’s screen.

Vox did notice the effort, but it only seemed to encourage him to keep going, completely unbothered.

The scraping and probing and wiggling was all getting to be too much. Alastor’s chest ached from laughter that couldn’t be released. It was all building and building and Alastor wasn’t even sure if he could feel his belly anymore, or if the tickling was bypassing it entirely to go straight to his brain. After a long, dynamic battle of will, Alastor’s eyes snapped shut and he lost his last scrap of power.

No sooner than his eyes closed did Vox shove his face back roughly, apparently losing interest. As he abandoned his tight grip on Alastor’s hair he must have ripped out a few strands judging by the lingering sting. It was nice to know that Alastor’s last desperate grab for dominance was nothing more than a minor amusement to Vox. Something to be literally thrown away the second it stopped playing the game.

Taking an axe to Vox’s face had never been more appealing.

His savoring of the image was cut short all too soon when Vox added his now free hand to the mess on his stomach.

The realization hit Alastor like a bucket of cold water and sent a shiver crawling down his spine. This whole time, Vox was only using one hand on his belly. This whole time, he’d been paying more attention to Alastor’s face than to his tickling.

Alastor could hang his head and hide his face now, but that was nothing. Not when Vox’s thumbs could come together to press into the middle of his waist while his grotesquely long fingers creeped all the way around his hips to meet at his spine.

Vox’s hands weren’t as tight as the wires were around him, but they were warm and they were moving and tickling so many spots at once Alastor didn’t even know which way he wanted to squirm. Not that it would help, because with his entire waistline surrounded and pressure coming from every single direction there wasn’t the dimmest hope he’d escape the feeling for a second.

“You’re so pathetic,” Vox said, and for the first time ever his voice successfully held weight in Alastor’s mind. Alastor didn’t have a choice; it commanded the space. It echoed through his thoughts until it was the only thing left. “I can’t believe this is so easy.”

Alastor was pathetic like this. Vox wasn’t wrong. He’d never felt so out of control.

He was beyond the point of processing individual touches. It all melted into one continuous wall of stimulation that had him curling his hooves inside of his boots and screaming into the gag.

Like waves crashing into a rocky shore, rushes of sensation lapped at a new spot every couple of seconds. Every time he even started to get used to it from one side, Vox’s fingers would twitch in just the right way on the other and keep him breathless.

Was his head getting lighter? Was time slowing down? His senses were blurring. Sadistically, the only thing that stayed sharp was the ticklish agony on his torso.

Suddenly he fell further forward than the wires had allowed for in a while and in his heightened state the movement sent his heart up his throat. He realized, though with much more effort than he’d like to admit, Vox’s hands had abruptly stilled and his restraints had loosened. Before he could process the implications of that, Vox shoved his hand in between the wires and Alastor’s chest, and his claw hooked around the top of his collar.

Something must be seriously wrong with Alastor’s nerves, because just the tip of Vox’s claw brushing against his neck kept him giggling like a giddy child.

Alastor was helpless to protest as Vox sliced through his clothes, from his neck to his hips, all while leaving a line of tingles festering under his skin. The layers of fabric fell to the side, uncovering his torso underneath.

Just as usual, Vox’s perversions knew no bounds. Something twisted in Alastor’s chest. He couldn’t tell if it was the exposure of his skin itself, or the way Vox’s eyes roamed his body with unrestrained lust.

An elk call was ripped from his soundboard without warning when Alastor was overtaken by a rush of vulnerability. There was something about being stripped so effortlessly, like a doll, and being put on display for an audience of one that sent a simmering heat down Alastor’s neck.

Vox was gracious enough to give Alastor time to wallow in his mortification. He kept his hands off for a couple of minutes, but Alastor still felt touched by the force of his wandering gaze alone.

Then, once Vox got bored or impatient or some combination of the two, the wires tightened again and buried into Alastor’s fur. They felt rougher against his skin than they had against his coat. He felt every drag of resistance burning lines into his chest and stomach, and holding him so, so still.

The red-hot rage that was bubbling in his throat stung him from the inside, and it had no way to escape except for the twitching of his eye and a deep, throaty growl that was lost to the gag.

“Don’t worry, Al,” Vox said. He may as well have been underwater with how distant it sounded behind the heartbeat in Alastor’s ears. “There’s no one here to see you but me.”

Contempt.

Repulsion.

Begrudgingly, dawning respect. If for nothing more than managing to actually shake Alastor, the unshakable.

When Vox’s hand began to raise toward his naked stomach, it was all Alastor could focus on.

The knuckles of his blue claws glinted in the light as they twirled the fur around their points. It sent a shiver up his back and he watched in resigned mortification as his skin very visibly twitched in reaction.

Vox raked a winding path through Alastor’s fur starting at the edge of his wound and working his way around his torso. He lingered slightly on Alastor’s sides, and Alastor suspected it was just to watch him squirm.

Eventually all of Vox’s fingers dropped out but one. That single finger lazily drew circles around Alastor’s navel. Slowly. Each rotation narrowed the circle incrementally, with the threat and promise of eventually dipping inside.

It felt so incredibly childish. So domestic, in a way. It made Alastor feel green around the edges.

And yet, he was just as nervous about the ending, so who was really being childish? He couldn’t help himself as his struggling increased the smaller the circle got, until Vox’s needle-thin claw was balancing on the edge of the canyon.

He steeled himself for the onslaught of sensation that was sure to come. Just as he sucked in a breath and tensed in anticipation, the circle abandoned its target and began to grow.

Alastor’s soundboard spit out a shocked record scratch before he could even recognize that he’d been caught off guard.

Vox was a putrescent tease. And Alastor couldn’t deny that it worked. He had to give credit where credit was due; it was just good game. He flicked his chin towards Vox in acknowledgement.

His unwavering modesty earned him a delightful show–Vox visibly bristled and Alastor saw the briefest misalignment of some of his pixels. Vox was right: this is easy.

“What? Is this entertaining you? Is this just so funny?”

Yes and yes, and the way Vox’s voice cracked in insecurity most definitely helped.

What could he say? It’s not his fault Vox got him so giggly with this gentle tickling which, by the way, Vox still hadn’t let up on. Why shouldn’t he throw it back in his face?

“Well it doesn’t make a difference to me! It doesn’t change the fact that I can do whatever the fuck I want and all you can do is sit there and fucking take it!”

That wasn’t inaccurate, no.

The circle of Vox’s claw had been growing and it had reached the edge of Alastor’s ribs. Vox delicately scratched at the ridge before he slowly slinked down, and down, and traced the contour of his hips.

On cue, and to his dismay, Alastor’s body jumped in place and strained against the wires to push Vox away.

Vox’s finger paused.

“Good spot?”

Ah.

Both of Alastor’s hipbones were apprehended by Vox’s hands. Even without moving, the contact had Alastor squealing and bucking into his restraints.

“They’re like handlebars.” He had the audacity to sound distracted! Of course they were like ‘handle bars’ in Vox’s sickening, gigantic hands! “It’s like they were made for me to grab.”

Like they were made for him to grab.

For Vox to grab.

Another elk call slipped through. It was humiliating enough before Vox literally laughed in his face. “Always on brand with you. Fucking hell.”

Ha ha ha. Because he was a deer. Hilarious.

Before he could roll his eyes electricity tore through him. At least, real electricity would have been preferable.

It tickled so bad. He could do nothing but scream and flail, except he couldn’t scream or flail. He couldn’t do anything. But his body sure did put the effort in. He surprised himself when he actually managed to rock the chair back and forth, barely, but it didn’t achieve a single thing in terms of getting Vox’s dirty hands off of him.

It never ended. Just when he thought Vox was about to ease up, he found a new way to attack and Alastor’s futile struggle renewed–and then he did it again and again and again. Alastor couldn’t breathe. If he could hear himself he knew it would be nothing but outrageous, unreasonably loud cackling and desperate gasps for air.

Vox was sick for enjoying this. There was a reason he wound up in hell.

Though, the clawing and scratching and digging into his pelvis was enough of a reminder that Alastor, too, was in hell. Here he was, in the land of red skies just the same as his tormenter. If Alastor were on the other side of this situation he would be just as entertained. They were cut from the same cloth and as much as Alastor despised the comparison he had some appreciation for the thematic irony of their parallels.

“I own you. I own every part of y-y-you.”

That sudden glitching didn’t sound like great news. Not when it was paired with forceful squeezes that had Alastor’s vision blurring.

“I own your voice a-and your b-b-body, and-”

Squeeze. “And-”

And the only thing Alastor could make out were the colors flashing across Vox’s screen. Naturally Vox can’t even handle the simple task of torturing a captive without crashing like a pathetic, miserable, wretched-

Squeeze. “And-”

And what was that about appreciation? Parallels? It was all lost on Alastor now.

Squeeze. “And-”

And he was going to incinerate Vox and dump his ashes in a jar and throw the jar into fire and lick up the molten glass and-

Squeeze. “And-”

And Vox was the most worthless soul in all of pentagram city.

Squeeze. “And-”

And Alastor was absolutely powerless, at his mercy, and forced to endure everything, and Vox wasn’t even conscious to see what he was doing.

Squeeze. “And-”

And there was nothing he could do to rouse him.

Squeeze. “And-”

And tears fell, and his vision was no less blurry for it.

Squeeze. “And-”

And he had no more fight left.

Squeeze. “And-”

And he hung his head.

Squeeze. “And-”

And he submitted.

Squeeze. “And-”

Squeeze. Scribble. Poke. “No way.”

And the beast stirs.

Scratch. Scribble. Poke. “Noho fucking way!”

And Alastor couldn’t remember why he ever wanted Vox to wake up.

Even after all of that, Vox didn’t stop. While one hand rose to grab his chin, pushing the wet fabric of the gag further into his cheeks and literally rubbing Alastor’s tears into his face, the other kept tickling one hip. Distantly, he heard a fuzzy elk call, but he hardly even registered it as his own.

It was some cruel joke that the loss of the hand, instead of offering relief, just made the tickling asymmetrical and somehow–by the ill-will of God Himself and His personal hatred of Alastor–that was worse.

Vox’s screen came closer to his eyes. His hold on his face was sickeningly gentle, but still firm enough to keep him from turning away from the light. It hurt to look at through his tears, but Alastor welcomed the pain as a distraction to the tickling. He tried to, anyway. His eyes wouldn’t cooperate.

“Oh, Al. Look at you. You’re a complete fucking mess.”

The tone of Vox’s voice sent a shiver halfway down his spine, and the words themselves finished the job. He was a mess. He was a spill on a hospital floor, and little else.

His head bobbed like a ship in a storm. Was that him? Or was that Vox? He couldn’t tell. The motion made him sick. The assault of his over-stimulated hip made him sicker. Vox’s thumb rubbing across his face made him literally gag. It hurt; his diaphragm was likely failing by this point. It hurt and it was wonderful.

He didn’t realize Vox was wiping his tears until his mutant tongue fell out of his screen and licked it off of his claw.

It was a pity Vox didn’t seem to want to taste his blood. His open wound was staring Vox in the face if it was really too much trouble to cut him open himself.

When there was another series of aggressive squeezes, Alastor feared for a second Vox had broken again, more, and he did everything he could to pull away. But when he met Vox’s eyes they were alert and watching. He couldn’t stand to look at him for more than a second. He had to close his eyes.

Was Vox watching him like a zoo animal worse than him not being awake at all? Alastor didn’t know. He couldn’t hold onto a single thought long enough to ponder.

It must have been hours of this. It must have been less than twenty seconds. Maybe it was five minutes? It felt like days.

Was he still crying?

Would his hip eventually reject from his body and slip out in a wave of eroded skin and bone and muscle and blood?

Vox stopped. Maybe. He still felt phantom sensations. Vox was still touching him. He honestly couldn’t tell if his hand was moving or not. Opening his eyes to look felt like too monumental a task, and his hip was so over-worked and hyper-sensitive it all felt indistinguishable. Still, whatever was happening was a break enough that he was able to collapse in his seat. He hadn’t realized how sore his muscles had gotten from his thrashing until they all gave out at once.

He only got the answer that yes, Vox’s hands had stilled, when it began to move again. It was a light touch, and it wasn’t as bad, but it still made him squirm. Exhausted as he was, the involuntary movement ached, but that was comforting.

Finally it left his hip to instead ghost over his belly. The spasm of his core muscles hurt. It hit his ribs. His fruitless twisting was painful.

He was still recovering from the nightmare at his hips, but maybe it was worth it if it gave him this full-body burn that helped him ground himself.

The touch walked itself over to his chest. His wound was tender–enough so that he could feel the pain swell as Vox’s claw dragged nearer.

Alastor couldn’t tell if his gag was just that damp from his earlier round of tears or if he actually drooled like a starving animal as that sharp point approached the injury. Would Vox truly be so kind as to indulge him? He would be a dream.

Vox was watching his chest, not his face, so he allowed himself to squeeze his eyes and bite his tongue in anticipation as his claw delicately brushed over the edge of one of his stitches, and almost bit it off when Vox cruelly lifted his finger to pass over the wound.

Putrescent. Abominable. Tease.

The touch went to his collarbones instead. They didn’t seem to be particularly sensitive, fortunately, but his shoulders still jumped around regardless. Then it drifted up, and spiraled around Alastor’s unprotected neck. He was reminded how unforgiving Vox’s grip on his chin was when he was met with a sharp squeeze on his jaw as he tried to curl away.

Vox’s hold didn’t ease up until his other hand left his throat to join the first on his face. He cradled Alastor’s head on both sides like it was some priceless, fragile egg and skated his thumbs around the wet stains under his eyes.

Vox stared. Alastor didn’t know how, but he was sure this was another one of Vox’s perversions. There was no hiding his face or shying away, so instead he glared.

“I have to give it to you, Alastor. Your constitution is fucking unnatural.”

Oh Vox, how you humble yourself. What else did you expect from the Radio Demon?

Since Alastor had so much humility, and he was such a good sport, he supposed he could throw Vox a bone. He pulled out a generic crowd applause from his soundboard as a shiny little participation trophy.

Vox’s brows pinched together. “What? Is that supposed to mean something?”

Why, yes: At least you tried your best.

“Whatever. I’m gonna stamp out that attitude sooner or later. You can’t take this forever.”

He could take this forever, technically. He wasn’t particularly inclined to, though.

Vox’s fingers drifted to his scalp. The feeling of his fingers running through his hair wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t the worst thing that could be happening. It just was. It made Alastor’s head feel heavy, even through the lingering support of the hand at the back of his neck. The touch went higher, near the base of his ears. It sent a light tingle up to the tip that made it flick away.

Alastor felt a sudden pause.

“Oh?”

Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it. May Vox’s double-death be soon and slow and traumatizing to all who witness it.

As Vox reached for his ear a jolt of panic went up Alastor’s back, freezing him in place like the prey he was. His ear twitched violently from Vox’s fingers and Vox laughed. He grabbed his ear again, rougher. Alastor barely lasted a second before he pulled his whole head away from Vox’s hands. Somehow, Vox let him.

Alastor could see his shadow on the floor: ears pinned, hunched meekly, and mouth pulled into a wobbly, strained smile. It was mortifying. He glared at it as if the power of eye contact could set it straight.

“How cute,” Vox said as his slow footprints circled Alastor. He was hyperalert; every single noise and shift of the air sent a chill through him, but he didn’t look away from his trembling shadow.

Vox stopped behind him. There was a beat before Vox grabbed his antler and pulled his head back. It didn’t hurt. But it was secure enough that he couldn’t move his head away from Vox’s prying gaze. He felt more vulnerable still, and he hoped his untamable feedback didn’t give it away.

Alastor noticed Vox’s eyes focus on something just beyond his face. His neck, apparently. Usually it was covered. Vox reached his arm over Alastor and stabbed his horrific, ugly talon into the lump in his throat.

It stung, but not nearly enough. Alastor knew Vox’s claw was plenty sharp enough to do some real damage, and here he was being disgustingly gentle.

“Alastor. My prisoner. The lowest of the low.” His voice was so clearly that of a man who wanted him to hurt. If only he would just give in.

It was so obvious what was holding him back. Alastor knew, and had known for quite some time, that Vox was riddled with affection. He had a tendency to be obsessive, but why he, the Radio Demon, was the subject of it he didn’t understand. It was disrespectful to both of them, and while occasionally entertaining and generally useful, more often than not made Alastor nauseous to think about.

Vox’s eyes flicked down. Alastor had to guess they fell to his chest, where his wound stood proudly–swollen and red. It was almost embarrassing how easy Vox was to read.

Alastor stood his ground. He bore his eyes challengingly into Vox’s screen and swallowed thickly, intentionally pressing his throat more firmly into Vox’s cowardly finger.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Get over yourself and do it.

Vox’s fans whirred louder and he dug his claw deeper. Minimal success in egging him on, but not enough to satisfy Alastor. As Vox’s finger began to move it lightly caught and scratched at his jugular. Not even shudder-worthy. Pathetic.

It drifted around the expanse of his taught throat for a little while longer until two wires materialized and wrapped around both of Alastor’s antlers. It was enough to catch Alastor off guard, he had to concede that, and more annoyingly it freed Vox’s hand while still keeping his head immobile.

Before Alastor could even begin to contemplate his predicament, his ear once again found itself caught in Vox’s grasp. Damn it. How had he already forgotten the entire reason Vox changed positions?

Even Vox just holding the cursed thing made his heartbeat quicken. Ants were crawling all over his head, starting from the base of his ear and marching outward.

He narrowed his eyes at Vox’s entirely too smug grin, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain control much longer. As if what he had now could even deign to be called control.

The second Vox’s other hand made contact, just barely ghosting along the edge of his ear, Alastor felt the jolt of sensation shoot down his spine and settle in his toes. It tickled, surely, but it was such a different feeling than before. No less intense, but he didn’t feel an urge to scream–hardly even to laugh. Instead his body forced a gasp, as much as it was able to with the gag, and the amount of air pulled through his nose all at once almost stung.

There wasn’t an inch of give in the wires holding his head. No matter how hard he tugged, Vox’s fingers lingered and it was driving Alastor insane. More than any of the tickling before, the feeling at his ears made him feel overwhelmed with heat. It burned the skin of his face and coiled in his stomach, and he just could not pull away. Every stroke had his eye twitching, and Alastor hoped Vox couldn’t tell it was because it was so damn sensitive that the muscles in his face were spasming and nearly giving out.

When he and Vox met eyes, it was clear there was something buzzing behind his screen. A hunger, maybe. But Alastor was familiar with the hunger born from power, and this wasn’t quite the same.

The gentle, but excruciating administrations on his ear finally gave way to a jolt of pain as Vox suddenly pulled it sharply. It was a welcome change, of course, but caught off guard, Alastor still winced.

Paying no mind, Vox released his ear with one hand and slid his finger along Alastor’s face. Without an inch of give to recoil, Alastor had no choice but to feel it as it ghosted along his cheek, almost caressing his skin. When at last Vox hooked his claw under the gag and pulled it down, Alastor did little to fight his instinct to snap his now free teeth at the offending appendage.

It wasn’t unexpected, but it was still disappointing when he missed Vox’s finger. Oh well. In any case, it was entertaining enough to watch Vox flinch. Alastor didn’t hide his laugh at the sight.

“Forgive me,” he said. He tried to ignore the scratchiness of his voice. He’d been through enough humiliation already. “You can hardly blame a fish for swimming.” And it was true! What else did Vox expect freeing his tongue–and his jaw–when he finally had the upperhand in their little game? With his most valuable asset back in the race, it wouldn’t be long until Vox was knocked clean off his miserable high horse.

The gnawing, scratching pit in his chest wasn’t in any way an indication of his helplessness.

Vox’s face remained unimpressed. “Or a bitch from biting,” he drawled.

The riff was crude and uninspired, but the response was snappy enough to earn a genuine bark of laughter from Alastor.

Alastor was promptly punished for his slip up–though wasn’t Vox always aiming for Alastor’s approval anyway? Maybe he’d be less vexing if he actually took the scraps Alastor offered him–when there was another rough tough on his ear. Alastor barely managed to silence himself and grit his teeth at the jolt of pain and creeping prickling washing down the back of his neck.

In another circumstance, though Alastor refrained from physical contact, he could admit that the complete overflow of sensual input could be almost thrilling. Here, stuck in this damn chair, with an obsessed nutcase circling around him like a shark, though, it was vile.

And it was even worse when Vox’s touch lightened. Alastor felt, though he couldn’t see, the tip of Vox’s claw sliding up and down the edge of his ear. He involuntarily sucked in a shaky breath, and in that moment he decided there was absolutely nothing more humiliating. He managed to clench his jaw and cut it off at the end, but it was too late.

Vox heard it. And Alastor knew better than to hope he wouldn’t want to hear it again.

“What’s the matter, Al? Nothing to say?” The tone of his voice was wretched and shameless. If Alastor was a weaker man he would have screamed.

He knew he had to bite back. He knew he had to use his voice–his best weapon–to twist this situation in his favor. But he couldn’t. His ear was under siege and despite Alastor’s tenacity, it was getting to him. Horribly so.

Still, he had to try. It’s not like he could do anything else. And he needed to prove Vox wrong! ‘Nothing to say’? Him? The Radio Demon?

He briefly considered his words, and he briefly considered how to get ahold of his voice long enough to get them out. “What, do you want critiques?” It wasn’t his finest work. And the way his voice shook would have taken any pride out of it, even if it was.

“Please, be my guest,” Vox replied, unperturbed.

It was bait if Alastor ever heard it, but he could never resist a good bite. So he opened his mouth to rattle off a list, and suddenly Vox’s hands were on his sides. His retort died in a second to a startled cry and he snapped his jaw shut to try to muffle the tail end of it. He’d nearly forgotten just how sensitive he’d proven to be just during their brief exchange, but he was swiftly being reminded as bolts of ticklishness tore through his torso. He had gone right back to pulling on the wires and pushing his elbows in for cover as if he’d never stopped in the first place.

And Vox knew damn good and well what he was doing when he emphasized Alastor’s predicament with a faux innocent, “Sorry, what?”

Alastor didn’t intend to give in and break into laughter so soon, but it was impossible to hold back even a second more. Free of the gag his merriment roared out, and it was so clearly already broken from the amount of laughter he’d already been forced to give silently. He couldn’t answer Vox–he wouldn’t even put himself through the humiliation of trying–and that annoyed him to no end.

It wasn’t the worst thing happening right now. He’d rather not be subject to attacks on his free will, but being made to laugh in Vox’s face wasn’t horrible. It was almost satisfying, in a way. Cackling freely and channeling all of his burning rage through the sound.

But Vox, of course, had other plans. There was a second where everything stopped but before Alastor could revel in the break Vox attacked his ears again. He dug into the base and Alastor couldn’t help but attempt to pull away.

He heard his laughter die down into shameful giggles and even though he’d held it in before when his ears were being targeted, the misdirection seemed to have opened the floodgates.

These softer snickers were much more of a wound to his pride than the full-blown cackling he’d succumbed to before.

It was entirely pathetic. On his end, unfortunately, but on Vox’s as well. “You have me as your- ngh- your wihilling prisoner. And yet, you cahaha- cahan’t bring yourself to- ahaha- inflict anything r-real upon me.”

The choppiness of his words meant nothing with the way Vox still bristled. “This is real, alright,” Vox said, not hiding in the slightest the massive hole in his ego Alastor had easily just chewed out.

Vox pressed his fingers into one specific spot–one Alastor was sure hadn’t even existed before because he'd never felt such a sensation quite so powerfully. It wasn’t torturous, not even close. It was something entirely different and Alastor didn’t even know how to categorize it. Still, somehow, the touch sent his stomach into a somersault and made his mind blank. He wasn’t prepared for the gasp that fell out, only slightly dampened by his sheer force of will.

Alastor hated to see Vox so smug. The way his lip quirked as he continued with, “At least, these reactions would make someone think so,” was enough to get him seething.

He tried to respond. He got as far as one word–one pathetic “I,” before Vox did it again, and suddenly any form of language became unreachable. Being interrupted with nothing but Vox’s hands was a new kind of low. Alastor felt heat building in his face, and he was chagrined to realize it was from the embarrassment he was feeling as much as the tingly explosion occurring on his scalp and creeping down his neck. He hoped Vox didn’t feel it.

“Hm?” Would Vox bleed if his stupid screen face was shattered, or would there just be fragmented glass Alastor could use to rub into Vox’s skin and mangle it?

He was too stubborn to not make another attempt. “I can- can- Ah-!” Can what? As fate would have it there’s not a single thing he can do right now except continue to make those abominable noises.

Somehow each time Vox hit that horribly, disgustingly sensitive spot, the sensation hit harder. The brick wall his thoughts were slamming into got more sturdy. As his consciousness erupted into electrifying clouds he managed to pry open his eyes–he wasn’t sure how long they’d been shut–and peak at Vox.

For one second, Vox wore a sadistically pleased grin. The next, upon taking in Alastor’s face, his expression went morbidly slack. His screen glowed so bright Alastor was sure it was going to explode. And then he was still.

Alastor wasn’t sure he could even picture what Vox had seen in him to cause such a reaction. Perhaps, if he were a weaker man, it would be shameful for him. But he wasn’t, and he could concede that all the shame fell to Vox, simply because of how entertaining it was to watch Vox freeze.

His hands were still on Alastor’s ears, and that was irritating, but at least they weren’t moving. They didn’t move for a while.

Quite a while.

Dear, oh dear, was Vox actually broken? Alastor didn’t expect any less from that buffering picture show freak, but it was an undocumented low to fall into a coma in the middle of torturing a hostage. What a flop!

His attention was drawn to his shadow, whose antlers had morphed into antennae. It mimed out a glorious show of convulsive twitching before freezing with its arms in a broken robot position. Alastor couldn’t even reprehend the thing–it was acting much too silly for Alastor’s taste in this situation, but that was quite the accurate performance. When he laughed, this time at his own self fragment’s antics, it wasn’t as painful.

Still, as nice as the break was, it was really getting tedious at this point. Alastor summoned a beefy crash cymbal to hopefully stir Vox and remind him that he was rather in the middle of something.

And oh. The way that Vox came to was indescribably precious. How quaint! How adorable! How utterly, utterly piteous. This man truly could not be less intimidating if he tried. If Vox’s soul was not already damned, Alastor would personally ask God to bless his heart. The way his eyes shuttered, taking in the room with confusion as if it was his first time in his own tower was just a sign of a hopeless case.

Alastor snuck another glance at his shadow. It looked awestruck. Alastor was inclined to agree. Despite Alastor’s distaste for Vox, the display was extraordinary. Alastor had a hard time believing it wasn’t on purpose.

As he finally regained his bearings, Vox yanked his hands away from Alastor with the smallest of whines. Perfect.

“Welcome back,” Alastor chirped pleasantly. There was no attempt at hiding his amusement. “Have a nice time away?” If anyone asked him, he’d say it was a genuine question! Maybe he was jealous of Vox’s ability to lose all control! Obviously, he’d be lying. Not a single soul was jealous of Vox ever.

Vox wasn’t quite stupid enough to miss the sarcasm–not that Alastor had been trying. “Oh, you absolute piece of shit!”

Then Alastor’s ribs were bombarded with fireworks. He didn’t stand a chance. The second Vox’s hands latched on, his body stiffened and spasmed, and he was screaming out laughter. Alastor never minded being loud, but even he was caught off guard with his own volume.

There Vox stayed. His fingers pressed into the hollows of his ribs while simultaneously managing to curl around and dig into the muscles on his back. The whiplash of being tickled again so badly with no real buildup this time was frustratingly effective.

Despite the fact that Alastor knew he wasn’t able to fight his way out of the wires, his body still gave it its best effort. And the more it tried, the more helpless Alastor felt. He was so immobilized, down to his head, and Vox’s hands had completely free reign to do what they pleased. And they tickled him. And tickled him. And tickled him more.

Alastor was no stranger to laughing in Vox’s face, even before today, but he could only laugh so much. Eventually his voice began to give out. He was becoming light headed from his inability to breathe. His eyes welled up with tears. He wasn’t expecting Vox to stop, but surprisingly enough, he did.

It wasn’t a merciful break. Before he could even finish his last scratchy cackle Vox returned to his ears again. How Vox had not already grown bored of the spot was beyond him. Alastor wasn’t… bored of it, perse, but he was absolutely over it.

He was able to start catching his breath, but doing so made it that much more difficult to hide the noises Vox was getting out of him. Vox was too entertained by the sounds, and entirely undeserving. But Alastor could not silence himself with all the effort in the world.

Alastor felt a tear slide down his face. A second later he felt the tip of Vox’s claw trace its path. He bit the air aggressively, knowing he’d not catch Vox’s finger but sending a warning anyway.

As predicted, Vox flinched. It bordered on comical, and even though his hand immediately went back to his ear, Alastor felt smug and accomplished.

“I know, I know. A fish and his swimming, yada yada, blah-blah-blah.” The poor thing sounded so upset. Alastor was just playing the game!

What was it Vox had said earlier? “A behehe- mmh- bit- aha!” God damn it. There was nothing more frustrating in all of Hell than being unable to say one simple sentence! Alastor took a steadying breath to keep himself from yelling out in aggravation. He tried again. “A bihitch-!” Congratulations were in order, he’d made it further than he had the first time. “From- ah- from-mm, eheh, bihitihing.” He got it out. It was a pathetic and useless accomplishment.

He caught the way Vox’s expression softened into affection. What a weak man. No amount of animosity could pry Vox off from around his finger. That, at least, was satisfying to know. It only lasted a second before Vox plastered a scowl on his screen. It didn’t fool Alastor in the slightest.

“Whatever,” Vox said, his annoyance palpable. “A bitch from biting, yes, I’m so hilarious. Now laugh.”

With that, his hands darted around and landed on his bare stomach.

Completely unable to double over, Alastor’s feet fluttered against the floor and somehow it slid the chair with enough force to push his chair into Vox. It was a mistake, and now he was even more trapped.

Vox’s hands wiggled over his stomach with a medical-like precision. Alastor was sure he’d go mad. At least, if he did, he wouldn’t have to face the predicament he was now in. He could feel how his fur shifted at Vox’s administrations, and even that sent a second wave of sensation–delicate, but still overwhelming–through his body.

And it went on and on and on. His throat was becoming sore from the forceful laughter. His face, which was more than used to holding a constant grin, was starting to hurt. It was a tenderness Alastor had become numb to, and he wasn’t pleased about the feeling returning after all these years.

He didn’t even realize he’d begun to cry once more until his own tears fell into his mouth. It was a fuzzy realization that his entire face was damp. This time, Vox didn’t seem to care.

Pinches. Squeezes. Pokes. Every little motion sent bolts of ticklish lightning through Alastor’s nerves. He couldn't cope with it.

His diaphragm contracted painfully, forcing out a hiccup. Then another. And another. Not even that jerky movement of his stomach was enough to shake off Vox’s fingers. His own laughter was suffocating, and this hiccuping only brought out a hotter fire to nip at his lungs.

It never stopped. His stomach was overcome with ticklish agony that dragged on for what felt like a lifetime. Vox didn’t slow, didn't ease up, never offered the slightest bit of relief. Like the machine he was, he kept going and going in perfect rhythm.

He laughed so hard he thought he might throw up. He laughed so hard spots slowly formed in his vision. There was a sudden tug from the air itself and Alastor lost connection to his radiowaves. He simply grew too weak to hold them.

He was getting tired. Really, truly exhausted. Even without the wires holding him steady, Alastor wasn’t sure he even had the fight to thrash anymore. He had to hand it to Vox; it was an honest achievement to properly tucker him out. He didn’t remember the last time moving became this difficult, and he’d just gone face to face with the First Man. Even then, the pain of being nearly cut in half didn’t consume him a fraction as much as Vox’s sadistic, never ending tickling.

Eventually, his voice gave out entirely. He was too beside himself to ponder the implications of Vox being able to reduce the Radio Demon to complete silence, even without the help of that frivolous gag. Besides his gasps for air, all he could hear was the electricity flowing aggressively through his attacker.

Alastor was sure he must be getting more sensitive as the assault on his nerves went on. Somehow, the feeling was reaching all the way from the base of his antlers down to the tips of hooves. Not a single muscle in his body was responsive to his internal pleas to resist.

Even with his eyes clenched shut from overwhelming mirth, his vision was getting darker and darker still. If Alastor’s head wasn’t anchored down by the wires, he would have sworn it was rising off his body. He felt like a buoy caught in a midnight storm. He wasn’t sure where the night sky ended and the inky darkness of the ocean began. It was trying to pull him under. It was succeeding.

Alastor felt so shameful as he finally gave in. He wasn’t even sure if it was a conscious decision or if his body was acting on its own accord. All he knew was that if Vox didn’t stop soon, he may actually be tickled to double-death. He couldn’t imagine a more humiliating end.

He would have begged and pleaded and cried for mercy if he was physically able. If the very air itself wasn't being stolen from his lungs. All he could do was call out Vox’s name. And when he didn’t hear himself, he did it again. And again.

Distantly, he heard his sound effects skipping through frantically– playing anything to get Vox’s attention. Please. He couldn’t take any more.

He called. Again. Until finally, through his wheezing, he heard one pathetic, desperate, suffocating, “V- -x!”

And just like that, it all stopped.

A nauseating wave of clarity hit Alastor as soon as Vox’s hands left his body.

He was frozen. More still than the wires themselves held him. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself fall so low.

“Oh, me? Who were you calling for? Me? Just little old me? Begging for me to save your pathetic ass?”

Though he was pretending not to listen as he collected himself, he knew Vox had earned the right to rub it in his face. He wanted nothing less than to allow Vox the satisfaction, but he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it.

So he fixed his eyes on the ceiling and made a show of struggling to breathe for a little longer as he let Vox have his fun. It wasn’t entirely fake; it was difficult to take in air. He still hadn’t managed to stop hiccupping.

“‘Vox, pretty, pretty please stop tickling me, I can’t take it! Vooox! Oh, it just tickles soooo much, Vox!’”

Annoyingly, despite Vox being the one doing a horrible impression, it did somehow hit Alastor’s ego. He didn’t sound like that, but he may as well have.

When Vox was done gloating, Alastor was acutely aware of how his eyes turned to him. Drinking up his vulnerability. It made him uncomfortable to sit in it, but doing so would give him more time before Vox touched him again. At least he assumed so, considering he seemed to be content for now just to watch.

Alastor wouldn’t be content if their positions were reversed. He would never have offered mercy. He would have laughed in his victim’s face and kept going as he watched the light drain from their eyes.

And Vox was so, so close, too. It wouldn’t have been much longer until Alastor went unconscious.

The longer Alastor thought about it, the more he realized it wasn’t him that was pathetic. All along, it was Vox. Yes, he’d folded and asked for mercy, but all he really did was say Vox’s name, which could have meant anything. And just like that, Vox had given in with no shame, as if that in itself was a victory. Just worthless.

At peace with how things had transpired, Alastor finally let his eyes fall back onto Vox.

“Welcome back,” Vox chirped pleasantly. “Have a nice time away?”

Wow, leave it to the video star to steal his bit.

Now that he was back in the game, Alastor recovered his lost static and made his move. “Whahat a wa-hicc-waste.”

Whoops! He definitely should have calculated those hiccups to begin with. But no matter! He was nothing if not flexible. Immediately he switched to his most sickening condescending tone. It wasn’t a far cry from his normal voice when speaking with Vox. “Oh, dearie me!” The sheer unseriousness of his delivery was entertaining enough on its own. “Pardon my-hicc-my, well, that. How- ahaha! How unbecoming!”

The disconcerted look on Vox’s face made Alastor downright giddy. It never got old. He wiggled his feet at the ankle as much as he was able to to let out the energy Vox’s misery gave him.

“It’s a waste, by the way, because you wehere so-hicc-! Mhm.” It was funny to hiccup in Vox’s face, but it was still incredibly annoying to be interrupted. He shook it off. “So close to making it real. So close to actually- ehehe- achieving something. Why, I believe I was seeing stars towards the end there! Hahaha! And yet.” And yet here he was, perfectly fine. Nearly as if Vox hadn’t laid his hands upon him at all. So what was the point?

Vox did not like that. “I-! I’m not-! I ca- I- What? What are you even talking about? That was real! It was fucking real, what do you mean!?”

It was delicious.

Alastor’s tongue ran across his teeth inside his mouth as he took it in. Sometimes, when Alastor got over himself, he could begin to see why this man was so popular. If he hadn’t had a front row seat to him fumbling around like a god damn blockhead for the last 70 years he might have given in and watched it on the picture show like the rest of Hell.

Probably not, though. Alastor swarmed him with teasing crowd laughter. A cheap jest for him, but always effective with Vox.

“I’ve laughed harder than that over a cup of t-hicc-tea and good gossip with Zestial, I’m afraid.”

It wasn’t technically true. He’d shared a few good chuckles with the man on occasion but he’d certainly never laughed as hard as that.

“Zestial!?” Oh, he was a sight like this. Practically breaking from jealousy alone. “You’re lying, obviously.” Yes! Congratulations, detective. “I don’t even care.” You definitely do.

Vox wiggled his fingers on Alastor’s exposed neck. Alastor refused to give any reaction. He tried not to, anyway, but even after everything it still took so much not to giggle.

“Ha, I’m hurt. You really make me out to be a liar?” He could hear the poorly hidden mirth in his own voice. At this point it was barely even a blow to his pride anymore. They were way past that, collectively, and with his goal being simply to get on Vox’s nerves to enjoy the display, he couldn’t spare much focus on being abashed.

“Just shut up already,” Vox said. The genuine amount of bite had Alastor wishing he could lean in closer and really drink up the venom. “You called my name, like the little bitch you are, and begged and begged for mercy, so don’t pretend to be disappointed that you didn’t suffocate!”

Hmm. Alastor may have done that, sure, but Vox was the one who listened. If Alastor made a habit of listening to the pleas of his victims he wouldn’t have been much of a killer, now would he?

“It was a dissappointment.” He overplayed his longing. Slightly. “Better- ahaha- better luck next teh- time, I -hicc- suppose!”

Alastor didn’t miss the way Vox set his eyes upon him with a sudden perplexity. Interesting. He could nearly hear the cogs creaking in that empty head of his. He’d be curious about what was suddenly on Vox’s mind if he wasn’t already positive it would be on par with a two-year-old.

Vox’s eyes stayed locked onto him as his hand drifted upward. He pressed the tip of his index finger softly to Alastor’s nose–affectionately–which was probably the most disgusting and revolting thing he’d done all night. Alastor was quick to let him know how he felt about it with a swift snap of his teeth, but by then he’d already pulled away.

Then both of his hands settled onto Alastor’s ears. Again.

Enough! By all that is holy! Hadn’t he had enough of that one damn spot?

“Something wrong?”

A hammer. Smashing Vox’s face. And his fingers and toes. And his organs. Striking once. Twice. A hundred times. Vox pulp.

Alastor attempted to shake his head, but no motion actually occurred. “No, no, nothing at all.” Die. “Carry oN-!”

If he’d ever thought he was above being humiliated by the noises he made he was wrong, apparently. The high-pitched shriek he just let out was the second worst thing ever to fall upon his ears. Vox’s overgrown, nasty claws were the first. The way they pinched into the crease between his scalp and the base of the cartilage was sending him over the edge.

The edge of what? It was beyond him.

“Is this what you were avoiding? Why?”

Alastor didn’t even know what Vox was muttering about. He’d have avoided it if he could, but it’s not like he had any agency either way. He didn’t dignify Vox with an answer. And how could he? Every twitch of Vox’s fingers had him gritting his teeth.

It was a constant buzz of agitation, sitting at the forefront of his mind and making it impossible to think about anything else. Until suddenly it was a violent pang that tore through him and had him seizing from head to toe with the full force of the sensation. Completely against his will, he let out an obscene cry that seemed better suited for an erotic film.

Whatever Vox did, he did it two more times and each moan was more vulgar than the last. Alastor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was an intense feeling that sent an overwhelming heat pooling in his gut and his face, but it wasn’t that kind of heat. Even to his own ears, though, the sound was indistinguishable. To someone as perverted as Vox… Alastor’s stomach churned at what might be going through his head.

The blue light of Vox’s screen creeped closer like an obnoxious sweat bee. Alastor longed to swat it away.

“What, is it getting t-t-to you, Al?”

Oh, that stuttering was delightful! Every time Alastor began to think he was reaching a low, Vox gave him a new angle to drag him even lower. Of course Vox couldn’t handle it. That sexual deviant. “To mehehe?” Alastor wasn’t sure how much of the giggling was from Vox’s attention to his ears and how much was from the hilarity of Vox’s incompetency. “You seheem a-ahaha- little worse- mnmh- worse for wear y-yourself.”

He was answered with a wave of electricity emanating off of Vox. He was getting angry. Alastor could feel the pulses of lightning seeping into his fur from the tips of Vox’s claws. It was exciting!

“If you’re- ahaha! Ngh-! G-going to… to- mhmn.” If you’re going to electrocute me, make sure it hurts. It would be a nice distraction. If only he could get the request out through the nonsense pouring from his tongue.

“Aw, keep trying. You’ll get it out eventually.”

Mm.

Alright, that was enough of that. This ends now. It was time to break the picture box.

It would be easy, but incredibly demeaning to put himself through. Still, sometimes these things just had to be done. He had absolutely no doubts about the effectiveness of this strategy, considering Vox’s poorly hidden carnal yearning for him, and devastating fragility.

Alastor forced a lustful twinkle into his eyes and locked them onto Vox’s. He swallowed down his shame and let the sensations on his ears lead him into an undeniably pornographic gasp.

“Vox.”

It was humbling to hear coming from his own mouth, but entirely worth it with the way Vox instantly faltered. Alastor could feel the eruption of heat from his screen even from this distance.

“Wha- uh, huh?”

Right.

“Vox. Mm, oh, Vox.” Was he over doing it? Vox already looked ill. He might as well put him out of his misery now. “Ahah- V-Vox…”

Vox’s hands slipped off of his head and he heard a thump behind him. Cleanly knocked out.

Incredible. Not even Alastor could have imagined it would happen so quickly! He felt laughter bubbling up again and this time he was all too happy to let it out. It’s like Vox was made purely for Alastor’s own entertainment.

He shuffled his feet against the floor and slowly managed to rotate his chair so he was facing Vox. With his head held as it was, it was difficult to look, but he wouldn’t miss this view for the world.

Vox was on his knees, slumped over. His screen was glowing an even more obnoxious blue than usual and rapid text was flying across it. Alastor had seen this error effect before. He’d caused it himself plenty of times! And it never got old.

Alastor’s shadow approached Vox’s body and pointed at it. It looked back and forth between Vox and Alastor with a scowl before reaching its arms out to mimic strangling him. After a moment it pivoted, forming the silhouette of a knife in its hand and pretending to stab him. Alastor understood; it wasn’t pleasant to be an object of desire, even when it worked to his advantage. Nevertheless, it made it all the more satisfying to watch Vox’s little fixation become his undoing.

There was a good few minutes of silence–save for his static and continued hiccuping–before Vox stirred. The second he did, Alastor’s shadow dissipated. Alastor distantly wished he could do the same, but he was much more comfortable now than he had been when this had started.

“Welcome back,” he chirped pleasantly, though there was a fair amount of disdain tucked into his voice. Good. “You’re as predictable as always. And disgusting."

“You- you- I- uh.”

Eloquently put, as always.

“Fuck off,” he managed. Alastor would love to. “I’m done with this.” He should have been done with this ages ago.

Suddenly most of the wires holding him still retreated. He immediately felt lighter with the loss of tension. Being able to stretch out his muscles after being forced to sit still for so long was like a reward for a job well done. The job, of course, being putting Vox in his place. His upper body was still wrapped tightly and secured to the back of the chair, but even that was infinitely more comfortable than before.

Once he was sure his blood was flowing to his limbs properly he crossed his legs and returned his attention to Vox. “Well, every good host knows when to call it a night! Haha!”

In reply, Vox forcibly grabbed his face and yanked the gag back up over his mouth. Touché.

“It’s time you shut the fuck up.”

He got that from the gag, thanks.

Vox let out a heavy breath and trudged off. It was clear as day he wasn’t happy with how the events had transpired, which was a delight to Alastor. The thought of Vox retreating to sulk in a corner somewhere after trying so hard to break the Radio Demon and failing genuinely made him feel warm inside.

Once Vox left the room the lights switched off. The darkness was comfortable and inviting. Alastor leaned back in his chair, more relaxed since he’d been since his capture. He was more than glad to be left alone.

---

"Welcome back," but it's not that funny this time.

So. Hi. I hope this fic lived up to expectations.

Anyway I had an absolute blast working out the differences between Vox's and Alastor's narration styles, their voices, the way they interpret the exact same events, etc. For one thing, Alastor just does not shut up even in his internal monologuing, so this fic is <2k longer than Vox's, which was already far too long.

He is so very fun to write, though, and he genuinely makes me laugh. He also genuinely disgusts me. He's an awful, awful, man who thinks awful, awful thoughts.

If you thought Vox was an unreliable narrator, Alastor is even worse. Half of his thoughts are him gaslighting himself for comfort. It's adorable and pathetic.

And of course he's entirely aware of the way Vox thinks about him, and he's simultaneously incredibly amused and incredibly disturbed.

More specific notes, something I've been sitting on, is that Alastor hates dogs so much he won't even use them in figurative speech. He uses the much less common 'can't blame a fish for swimming' instead of 'can't blame a dog for barking.' I thought that was funny. And in general, his figurative and expressive language was a joy to develop--he's such a silly guy who says and thinks such silly things, tainted by his southern roots, homocidal urges, vintage loser boy aesthetic, and so on.

I could talk about the experience of writing these two fics for hours if given the chance but I think I'll leave it here for now. Thank you all so much for your interest in this fic, I hope I delivered! Much much more to come as I'm incredibly lee!Alastor pilled.

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