Summary: Vox was interrogating Alastor, determined to make his time here worth his while. However, though he never got an answer—he got a secret, and it sure as hell made his time worth even more than he accounted for.
Word count: 1778
Ships: Radiosilence/static if u want
Warnings: none really, maybe cursing? If tickling isn’t your thing, scroll away
A/N: OH MY GOD. EPISODE 4 WAS ACTUALLY SO LEE ALASTOR CODED MY GOD
This was torture.
He had been a captive of Vox for hours now, not even a full day, yet it feels as though he’s been trapped for years. What a stupid decision..and he couldn’t even voice his opinion, all because of this stupid fucking mask. He was forced to watch as Vox made his speeches and celebrated his ‘win’.
Later that day, Alastor was placed in the corner of Vox’s office as he was doing a bit of work to get on top of his business. Suddenly, Vox stretches and stands up, slowly walking over to him. God, now what? Was he gonna rip open his stitches again? Brag about capturing him? What..he flinches at the sudden touch, but then just feels a wave of confusion as Vox takes off his mask.
“Tell me, Alastor. Why is this Charlie Morningstar girl so important to you that you’d give up your freedom for her?” Vox smirks down at him, gently lifting his chin up to face his screen.
“…I said I’d be your captor. I never said I’d tell you anything.” Alastor snaps his mouth closed, refusing to elaborate or say any more. Vox didn’t deserve to know anything.
Vox chuckles, “as stubborn as ever, huh.” He lets go of his chin, his claws slightly running against Alastor’s neck for a quick moment. However, he doesn’t miss the minuscule flinch Alastor does in reaction to said touch. Interesting.
He pushes the collar of Alastor’s shirt slightly open so he can see the scar on his chest. Alastor’s breath hitches as he feels Vox’s claw start to glide along the sensitive skin around the stitches. Fuck, that’s so bad.. He really didn’t realize how unbelievably more sensitive that area was compared to everywhere else on his torso, and god did it tickle.
Vox’s grin grew wider at the sight of Alastor’s tension rising and his smile twitching from the light touch. Very interesting in deed.
“Hm. Alastor, you’re quite twitchy. Could it be..you’re ticklish, here?”
He practically winces at the call-out. Damn, he didn’t expect him to immediately know exactly why he was so tense, honestly impressive. But still. He’s fucked now..
“Of course not, that’s absolutely childish. I am no such thing.”
Vox snickers at his adamant defense. Oh well, that just means more reason to tease him with this newfound weakness~
“Come on, there’s no reason to lie. I find it quite adorable, you, a mighty overlord who brings terror to all, turned into a giggly puddle just from some little tickles? Cute.”
Alastor can’t help the rising heat toward his cheeks, what a mess. Get a grip, Alastor..you can’t let him know how vulnerable tickling makes you feel..especially since you know how much more..sensitive..you are here than when you were alive..
“I am anything but cute, statichead. Don’t make me laugh.”
Vox smirks. What a perfect transition.
“Oh, I’ll make you laugh alright. Just do me a favor and..be still. Not like you have a choice~”
He then quickly wraps his wires around his ankles and wrists and pins him in the air, his shirt still partially opened. Vox then walks up behind him and gently runs a nail down his back excruciatingly slowly, causing a violent shudder from Alastor at the tickly trail it left behind
“Ugh, forgot you had no tail. Bet it’d be ticklish if you did, though. Which reminds me..how ticklish would your ears be, Alastor?”
His eyes widen instinctively at the mention of his ears. Oh no. Everything that had been added onto his body after death had a tendency to be more..sensitive, than the rest of him. That being said, he’d never let anybody get close enough to try and tickle his ears, not even Rosie had ever tried. But that’s more so because she never thought to, he almost shivered at the recollection of how many times she had wrecked him..but—the idea of his ears being tickled? This is gonna be one long day..
Vox reaches up and starts gently scratching at the base of Alastor’s ear, eliciting a squeal not even the radio demon himself anticipated.
“Ohohoh, someone’s got a sweet spot~ this is fun!” He starts getting into the tickling more, instead of just using it to humiliate Alastor, he begins to enjoy the feeling of tickling somebody—oh yeah. He’d been so caught up with his plans of taking over heaven and all that he forgot how much of a ler he was, he hadn’t even noticed the desperate ler mood he’d dug himself into after so long without a lee..heh. What better a person to relieve it onto than Alastor?~
Alastor practically screams once Vox really starts tickling his ears, strategically using his electricity to heighten the sensitivity of the nerves in his ears even more as he uses both hands to flutter his sharp claws along Alastor’s ears simultaneously.
“EEHEHAHAHA!! F- GAHA! STAHAHAP- NOHO!”
His cheeks burn a deep red at how humiliating this felt, how could a sophisticated overlord like himself get so overwhelmed from a few touches to his ears? It’s embarrassing. But oh. My. God. He couldn’t handle this, especially not with his stupid electricity tickling him too, this was so unbelievably ticklish..
“Wow, Bambi. Never thought I’d see the day you’re shrieking and laughing under my claws~” Vox teases, his enjoyment increasing with each giddy squeak Alastor unwillingly releases.
“GAHAHAHA!! GET OHOHOFF!” He can’t help the way his ears twitch under his touch, reflexively trying to get away from the unbearable tickliness. If he thought he was being tortured before, he KNEW he was now..
“no thanks, Al. This is fun, I wonder how long I can keep this up before you get all desperate and soft on me~” he teases as one hand wanders down to his ribs, gently tweaking each one and skittering between bones.
Much to his surprise, he can hear Alastor’s radio filter dissipate slightly—wait..does his real laugh come out when he gets too ticklish? Ohoh, this is good. He quickly digs his claws into the deer demon’s stomach, kneading into all the pressure points on his stomach.
“Jeez, you’re ticklish, Bambi. Did you know your radio filter starts disappearing when you’re tickled?”
Alastor can’t help the flush on his cheeks at the reminder of that embarrassing reaction his body has to tickles.
“EEHEHAHAHA— DOHOHON’T REHEMIND ME.”
Vox grins, his eyes trailing over his body, searching for any spots that call to him and seem like the perfect place to really drive him crazy and get rid of the filter completely.
Ooh, that works.
Suddenly, Alastor’s thoughts screech to an abrupt halt at the unbearable shockwave of tickles that runs through his nerves. Vox had taken both of his hands and drilled into the dips in Alastor’s hips, directly into the well-known pressure point that drives a certain deer absolutely insane.
There’s a brief screech of radio static, then—Alastor’s laugh cuts through it, his real one, with no filter—..woah. Vox couldn’t help the slight blush rising to his cheeks at the nice sound..fuck. Snap out of it, Vox. You dropped that long ago.
Alastor thrashes violently and bucks his hips desperately, mirth swelling up in his eyes from the intense tickling. God, how embarrassing is this? Him, a great and might overlord, feared by all, reduced to a soon-to-be-begging-if-this-doesn’t-stop-soon little deer demon. But..he’d be lying if he said he didn’t..kind of enjoy this. The feeling, he means. Of being tickled. He’d always enjoyed it, the tingles and all that, just..not how vulnerable he felt.
“You good, Al? You’re uh..limp”
Alastor hadn’t even noticed he’d gone limp during his spaced out state- he was just overwhelmed by the amount of tickles he was feeling, he couldn’t think straight. He weakly nods his head as he laughs, signaling that he was fine. Although..he wasn’t sure he could take much more.
He felt a mixture of relief and..desperation..? No, can’t be. When he feels Vox cease his tickle attack. Was he done already? Doesn’t seem like he was, he looked as if he was really enjoying being Alastor’s ler before..
Alastor’s whole torso tenses and squirms at the intense feeling of Vox’s claws digging into his stomach and zapping him with constant low-voltage electric shocks that made him feel a hundred times more ticklish to his already unbearable touch.
“Pfft- I noticed how badly my electricity got to ya earlier, figured I’d try it but tenfold on a good spot~”
Vox honestly found the sight of Alastor losing his shit over his unbelievably ticklish body to be..adorable. Maybe he should do this more often, not because he wanted to hear his laugh more!- but..to show dominance. Yeah. Al was getting too cocky for his liking, anyways. He had to knock him down a few pegs, and he could tell how flustering this was to the radio demon.
Just as Alastor was reaching his breaking point, something he had no idea happens when he’s overwhelmed by tickles happens. He starts to hiccup—damn. That’s even more embarrassing, and now it’s even harder to catch his breath..he wasn’t sure how much longer he could handle this..wonder if Vox would oblige to a safe word.
Vox’s jaw practically drops, and a game show cheer sequence with bells associated with getting a question right commence from his speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have hit the jackpot! The big bad radio demon HICCUPS when he gets a lil’ too ticklish, whaddya got to say about this, Al?”
Alastor hides his face in his bicep, praying that he wasn’t actually broadcasting—even though he’d show up glitchy anyways, it’s equally as embarrassing.
Sensing Alastor’s concern, Vox can’t help but want to make sure he knows he’s joking.
“Hey, chill, Bambi. I’m not as cruel as you were to your victims, broadcasting their screams. Plus, I don’t want any other sinner besides me knowing this little secret of yours, it’s better blackmail~”
He literally feels Alastor relax at the confirmation that he isn’t being recorded. Although not completely, since he was still being tortured. Speaking of, about now is probably a good time to test out that safe word theory. He was starting to get lightheaded..
Vox’s grin widens past his normal victory grin, a look in his eyes that sends a shudder down the deer demon’s spine. However, Vox actually stopped his tickling once he heard Alastor’s beg for mercy.
“Hoholy shit, I finally got you to call mercy! I’m so good, I need to tell Val and Vel about this. Hope you enjoyed our fun, Bambi, I know I did~”
Vox chuckles sinisterly and zaps himself away, his wires pinning Al back to the chair, now all alone with the still-present phantom tickles tingling all over his torso and ears.
“Mhmhm..fuck. I hahaven’t laughed that hard in years..that’s gonna be fun to rehemember for the rest of my undead years..”
Summary: Vox notices Alastor has an... interesting reaction to one, specific little word. He decides to exploit it.
Note: This is a SFW edit of another fic I wrote, edited down but mostly the same otherwise
Fic Master List
5,697 words
The air at the V Tower is comfortably chilled, employees hard at work throughout the massive building to keep VoxTek running smoothly. The Vees themselves are tucked away in their respective offices, busier than they've been in months, getting the word out about the war against Heaven and garnering support. After a successful rally, Vox is attempting to focus on the numbers of his success, though there’s no work getting done in that office.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A few weeks ago, Vox captured his long term rival, Alastor, the very thing he’s been dreaming about for years. Although he’s spent half the time simply riding the high of winning, his nuisance of a captive has taken up a new hobby: Finding new ways to piss Vox off.
Alastor is finding it increasingly entertaining to incite temper tantrums from the other overlord, and it’s delightfully easy to do so. It’s certainly more amusing than idly sitting in a chair. Today, the simple act of tapping his shoe against the floor is already succeeding in getting a reaction.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Vox sits behind his desk, one of his eyes twitching with disdain for his prisoner on the other side of the room. He refuses to look up or acknowledge the noise, instead firmly staring at the computer screen in front of him as if it were the one personally responsible for this.
Alastor's grin sharpens into something deadly at the sight of Vox teetering on the verge of another one of his outbursts. “You know, Vox,” he starts, tone far too cheerful and casual for the bindings around his waist, “Glaring at your little picture box there won’t make your increasingly long list of failures disappear.” He punctuates the statement with another loud tap of his foot against the tile, anticipating the reaction he knows is coming.
Vox’s lips briefly curl into a snarl before he forces himself to take a deep breath, though he forfeits the illusion of appearing like any work is actually getting done. Pushing himself back from the computer, he fixes Alastor with an icy glare. “Do you ever shut up? Or is the only thing you’re good at being a nuisance?” His voice is dry and unamused, arms crossing over his chest and tapping his claws against his biceps.
Alastor barks out a laugh, entirely unbothered by the jab. “My, my, so testy! At least I do more than fiddle around on screens all day.” He plants his shoes flat on the ground and drags the chair closer to Vox’s desk with a smirk. “Not to mention, you’ve been quite the terrible host! You have yet to offer me a single refreshment. Dreadful manners, really.” He glances down at his own red claws where they lay on the armrests, giving off the air of a man who’s exactly where he wants to be.
Vox’s claws dig into his arms as the jab lands with frustrating precision, eyes narrowing in annoyance. He pushes himself up from the chair, taking a few slow steps towards his prisoner, attempting to use the act of standing to assert his place. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d get your wittle feelings hurt over not getting a drink.” He mocks with a scoff, the prickle of anger tingling beneath his skin. “Maybe I’ll shove some drain cleaner down your throat. Then I could finally get some peace and quiet.”
Alastor watches him approach, ears giving a small twitch of discomfort at the sudden proximity, but determined to appear unaffected otherwise. “It’s a start, I suppose. Though a nice, black coffee would be far more appreciated. Surely even someone as incompetent as you can manage that?” Not that Alastor would actually take the drink if offered, not from Vox, but he’ll latch onto any reason to needle the other overlord further.
“I’m not getting you a fucking coffee,” Vox sneers, using the current height difference to stand over Alastor to try to assert some sense of control over the situation. “You’re going to sit there, be quiet, and let me do my work. I don’t have time for… Whatever the hell this is.” One of his hands gestures vaguely between them, attempting to brush off Alastor's endless insults.
Though Vox would never admit it, there is a small part of him that thrives in these little bickering matches. It’s certainly more entertaining than staring at a spreadsheet he doesn’t care about. Not to mention the little voice in the back of his head that feeds off of any attention Alastor throws his way.
Alastor’s eyes narrow in amusement, retorting, “And if I don’t? Surely you don’t expect me to sit here in silence for hours on end.” He’s certain that Vox won’t actually do anything other than yell and posture. Besides, he’s already restrained to a chair, and he assumes that’s as bad as this can possibly get. Nothing that the Radio Demon can’t handle. “Regardless, we both know that you find this far more entertaining than whatever drivel you were doing before. You can’t get enough of this.”
Vox barely restrains the urge to throttle the other overlord right then and there, forcing himself to let out a deep sigh of frustration instead. He knows, deep down, that Alastor is right, this is far more entertaining than any other task he could force himself into doing. But admitting that is absolutely not on the table. “Oh, sure. I’m just tickled. I love putting up with your bullshit all day.”
For anyone who doesn’t pay close attention to Alastor’s mannerisms, his micro-expressions, it would’ve been impossible to catch.
But at that phrase, that one tiny little word casually thrown into Vox’s sentence, tickled, one of his ears gives a miniscule little flick, muscles briefly tensing up before relaxing once more.
It’s a stupid thing, really, something Alastor would rather die again than discuss. There’s always been something about the subject of tickling that appealed to him on a deeper level, something that actually feels exciting compared to his typical forms of entertainment.
The control that comes with it, the ability to force an involuntary bodily reaction. Smiling is practically his brand, and there’s a certain appeal to the idea of forcing that expression onto someone else even when they want nothing else other than for it to stop.
Even the word alone is enough to set off a silent chain reaction within him, something typically easily avoided considering the juvenile nature of the subject and the company he keeps, but now the title of his private interest had just come out of his enemy’s mouth.
Long practiced in the art of hiding his emotions, Alastor brushes off the word with little more than that telling flick of his ear. Instead, he continues the banter. “You really must learn to control your temper, Vox. Your little tantrums are quite unbecoming.”
Vox, who had his eyes trained on nothing other than his prisoner, catches that little flick of an ear and the microsecond of tension. His eyes narrow in confusion. What had he said? Had he finally struck a nerve of some sort? Something that he could work with, to put the Radio Demon in his place? After weeks of being taunted and prodded at, the idea of flipping the script sounds highly appealing.
Not wanting to embarrass himself by calling it out and being wrong, he decides to subtly test it. If Alastor's expression doesn’t change, it was a fluke, a reaction to a piece of dust or the flow of the air conditioner. But if he does react…
Vox maintains his proximity to the other overlord, standing over him and considering how to skillfully weave the subject into a sentence. “Yeah, well, at least I’m not the one tied up.” His claws tap against his arms in thought, scanning for any sort of micro-reaction as he continues casually, “What do you suggest, then, Al? If you’re 'so bored and wasting away in your little chair.'" The mocking tone comes easily with a tilt of his head, a grin starting to slide onto his face. “What would tickle your fancy?”
At the second use of the word, and with Vox watching him like a hawk, Alastor’s reaction is obvious. His ears pin back an inch, still difficult to notice by anyone who isn’t intensely staring at him.
But Vox is staring. And he sees it. Right when he finishes the word "tickle," it’s an immediate, subconscious reaction from the overlord in front of him. Finally, something he can work with.
Vox’s smirk sharpens, leaning into the other man’s space and placing his hand on the back of the chair, finally finding the control he’s desperately been searching for. “Huh. That’s weird.” The sheer amusement is bleeding out of his tone. “Two times now, you reacted when I said that word. Tickle.”
Alastor’s ears might as well be broadcasting his thoughts, fully flattening against his skull. Embarrassingly, disgustingly, he can feel the heat of a blush starting to crawl up his neck, completely involuntary and filling his body with a tension he can’t hide. This is entirely unacceptable.
With a forcedly casual tilt of his head, Alastor’s eyes lock with Vox’s, narrowed in frustration at his own body. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about. Perhaps you’re simply imagining things.” He attempts to lean the chair away, to get his personal space back, to get his traitorous reactions under control. Maybe another insult will fix it. “Or perhaps I’m simply reacting to your breath. And here I thought you were - what was it? The hottest man in Hell? Hah!” It’s a weak attempt at a jab, but anything is worth trying to get Vox’s attention away from the red crawling onto Alastor’s cheeks.
Vox doesn’t bite, not when he has his enemy right where he wants him. “Oh, no, you’re not getting out of this that easily.” He follows the attempt at leaning back, bringing his face into Alastor's personal space. “You definitely reacted to that word. And is that a blush I see?" One of his fingers lifts to point at the red rapidly spreading over the other man’s cheeks with a laugh.
Vox finds this absolutely hilarious. The Radio Demon, feared overlord in Hell, is blushing over a word. It's time to double down.
“What’s wrong? Do you not like that word? It’s just a word.” Vox’s tone lilts into something cooing and mocking as if talking to a particularly stupid pet. “Tickle. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Ticklish. Tickling. Is it really that bad?”
Shamefully, Alastor can feel his body reacting with every repetition without his permission. His face is heating up fast, red flooding onto his cheeks and dusting his light brown skin. He hates it with every fiber of his being.
Vox, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. “Look at you! You’re actually blushing! This is perfect!” Cruel laughter comes from him, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “The Radio Demon, getting flustered by a word. That’s hilarious.” He has to keep pushing. This is the best day he’s had since getting this smug bastard tied to a chair.
Vox’s hand drifts down to hover in front of Alastor’s ribs threateningly. “What’s wrong, Al? Are you ticklish? Is that the problem?” His claws wiggle in the air with motion of tickling, not touching yet, just teasing the idea when his hand is lingering inches away from the other man’s skin.
The sound of Alastor’s static rising to a deafening pitch fills the room as his eyes track the hand encroaching on his personal space. The glare he gives Vox is full of icy malice, his smile curved with a lethality that promises blood the moment he’s free. “Vox.” He starts, the previous amusement long gone from his tone. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
Vox has no reason to listen to the warning, of course. He’s finally found something that bothers Alastor. And he intends to milk it for all it’s worth.
Vox hovers for only a few seconds before moving in for the kill. The tips of his claws touch down on Alastor's ribs with a feather light graze, tracing the sharp points up and down the bones along his sides.
Alastor has never truly been tickled. He's never let anyone get close enough to even think about trying. And with those four claws trailing up, up, up his ribs, he’s quickly finding out that he’s far more sensitive than he thought.
But Alastor will absolutely not let Vox see how much it affects him. He may be stuck here under this deal, unable to access his powers and forced to be a prisoner, but he won’t let Vox be the winner in this game.
A sharp, inhaled breath comes from his throat, every muscle in his body freezing as if holding still would make it stop. His skin tingles where Vox’s claws are exploring every bone of his ribs with small taps and scritches - one, two, three, four, - and every alarm bell in his head is screaming to flinch away.
Vox catches how quickly the muscles beneath his fingers tense, smirk widening cruelly. He trades those feather light grazes for quickly skittering his claws up and down Alastor's ribs. “Aww, what’s wrong, Alastor? Did I find a ticklish spot? How adorable.”
Alastor can feel the blush on his face heating up further, dark red spreading all across his cheeks and down his neck entirely without his permission. It’s only a matter of time before he loses the fight against laughing. “V-Vox, if you don’t - heh - get your hands off of me this instant-!” A small chuckle breaks through when he tries to speak.
That laugh tells Vox everything he needs to know. “You’ll what, Alastor? You’re tied to a chair. What are you gonna do about it?”
A stuttered hiss of static comes from Alastor's throat as he fights to keep his composure, muscles spasming under the relentless *skitter-skitter-skitter* attacking his ribs. He absolutely refuses to look at Vox, refuses to acknowledge what's happening, trying to focus on anything else other than how badly it tickles-
The sensation abruptly stops when Vox's hands fall away, providing Alastor with a respite from that torturous sensation. For a brief moment, he thinks Vox might have gotten bored, might have realized how childish this is, and that it might be over. But that hope is quickly shattered.
The cables binding Alastor’s waist shift under Vox’s command, slithering across his skin and repositioning his body. His arms are tugged away from the relative safety of the armrests, jerked to be held in place above his head and fully exposing the hollows of his armpits.
Vox's grin is sharp enough to cut glass. “See? You can’t do anything to stop me. I’m the one in charge.” His claws are twitching in excitement with all of the newly exposed real estate to be tickled.
Alastor’s eyes widen in alarm as he’s forced into a new, more vulnerable position. The bindings are just tight enough that he can’t yank his arms back down, can’t shift his legs. He doesn't bother with a witty retort this time, not when he’s fully aware of the position he’s in.
Vox's hands dive for his sides, hitting their mark on the very top rib, just beneath Alastor’s underarms. Vox’s claws scritch-scritch-scritch just below his armpits, digging in just enough to poke the skin beneath his suit.
Alastor refuses to make a noise, despite how much it tickles. Maybe if he holds it back, if he doesn’t react, Vox will get tired of trying and give up. Though, the fight against holding back the chuckle bubbling in his throat is getting more and more difficult. He grinds his teeth together until they ache, every muscle twitching from how ridiculously ticklish that little spot is.
A triumphant laugh comes from Vox’s throat, seeing any reaction as an absolute win. “Uh oh. This spot is even worse than the ribs!” He taunts, sharp fingers starting to slowly climb up towards the center of his underarms, teasing the idea of going for the most sensitive spot in the middle.
The fabric of Alastor’s suit barely dulls the sensation, the maddening, repetitive circles sending electric tingles through his skin. His head jerks back against the chair with a heavy inhale, desperate to feel anything other than those fingers inching towards the center of his armpits.
Vox exploits the opening, moving into the center of his armpits with all eight claws digging in with scuttling, prodding, jabbing movements. “Does that tickle?” He uses that high pitched, mocking tone. “You can’t escape. You just have to sit there and take it.”
The struggle against laughter becomes so much more difficult in an instant. He’s so fucking ticklish there! When did he get so ticklish there?! It’s terrible! He needs it to stop, now now now-
Alastor actively squirms in the chair, but it’s useless. Leaning to the left just pushes his left side right into Vox’s hand for another jab. Leaning to the right is the same torture. He slams his back against the chair, and Vox just follows. There’s no escaping this.
His eyes are wide, staring up at the ceiling as if searching for intervention that isn’t coming. No true laughter has escaped him yet, but it’s a losing battle. “This- This is… Utterly… Ridiculous!” He barely manages without laughing, sweat beading on his skin as he tries to wiggle in every possible direction to escape.
The dam breaks as soon as Vox’s hands find a new spot to torment.
Vox’s claws are suddenly on his ears, trailing the sharp points through the fur lining the back.
Alastor’s ears desperately try to pin flat against his head, but Vox just curls his hands to follow. From the base to the tip of his ear, Vox’s fingers skitter-skitter-skitter.
“Oh- OH! OhohoHO!” Laughter escapes without his permission, attempting to shake his head back and forth to dislodge Vox’s hands.
It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t work. With every twist of his head, Vox is right there to catch him again.
“That is-! Wha- hahaHAH!” Alastor can’t even manage any form of protest when the laughter keeps cutting off every sentence he tries to make.
Vox is absolutely thrilled when the laughter fills the room. “Holy shit, you’re actually ticklish. That’s hilarious.” He switches tactics, now using one hand to tug a single ear up and hold it in place. The tiny muscles fight to try to pin back to his skull, but it’s no use against a hand.
With one ear successfully held straight up and vulnerable, Vox uses his free hand to start tracing tiny lines on the inner curve of the deer’s ear. Just the tips of his sharp fingers dragging up and down, up and down.
There’s a particularly sensitive spot just near the base, and Vox zeroes in on it, wiggling his pointer finger and making the overlord in front of him arch halfway off the chair. Vox continues his taunting, “What are you laughing so much for, Al? Does it tickle that bad?”
Through jagged wheezing, Alastor manages to jerk his head at just the right angle to slam the tips of his antlers right into Vox’s wrist. They may be small compared to that of an actual buck, but they are sharp enough to finally get Vox to pull away with a startled gasp.
Vox sneers and rubs his wrist where the antlers had poked him, an interruption to his fun that he does not appreciate. His voice darkens from that playful, childish tone he used moments ago, dripping with threat, “Watch it. I can make this so much worse for you.”
On command, the cables binding Alastor shift again, one slithering up his side to coil around his neck. It doesn’t squeeze or impede his breathing, but the threat is there with the pulse of electricity pressing into his skin.
Alastor stills at the sudden threat around his neck, taking deep breaths after his composure has been shattered by laughter. He clears his throat, searching for any of his typical smug attitude to regain some sort of control. “Oh, Vox, always so reliant on your toys. You’ll have to try harder than that to rattle me.”
Vox feels a flare of irritation at the jab, but he forces it back down. This is his moment. He’s in control.
With a sudden, quick movement, Vox’s hands fly back up to hover inches away from Alastor’s armpits once more without quite touching him, earning a surprised gasp and recoil from the bound overlord.
“Hah! Look at that jump! And you say you’re not rattled?” A cruel grin easily slides back onto Vox’s face. Alastor can try to play it cool all he wants, but it’s obvious that Vox’s juvenile tactics are getting to him.
He doesn’t go for the armpits, instead starting to land little poke-poke-pokes down the ribs. Alastor flinches with each one, dancing in his seat with every jab between the bones. “Are you- quite- finished?” He grits out between clenched teeth, eyes narrowing in annoyance.
“Nope.” Vox answers simply, smirk widening with each jolt from his rival. His hands explore all the way down both sides before he lands on his new target, the skin just above the waistband of his pants, diving in with up-and-down flutters of his fingers.
It’s not as bad as the ears were. But now that Alastor has started laughing, he can’t stop. All of it tickles so badly! Why is he so damn ticklish?!
“Who’s a ticklish little deer? Is it you? Is it?” Vox’s cooing punctuates each irritating flick as he starts lifting up the bottom of his rival’s suit to expose bare skin. The sensation against bare skin is much worse, the sharp points never enough to hurt, but just enough to earn another recoil.
Alastor hates this. Hates everything about this. Laughter keeps coming from his mouth without his permission, undignified, childish giggles that should never come from an overlord of his reputation.
As his suit gets peeled up higher, Vox eyes the perfect spot to target next. With a sharp grin, he starts tapping a single finger in a circle around his belly button. “What about here? Are you a wittle ticklish right here?” Not even giving him a chance to answer, he slips the tip of his claw into the divot, giving the smallest, devastating scritches on the inner walls.
The sensation is so foreign, so uncomfortably different, that Alastor doesn’t even notice Vox starting to kneel down. Vox already has his next move planned, but all of Alastor's thoughts are forced down to the nerves firing off inside of such a sensitive area.
Alastor’s eyes squeeze shut as he folds forward in a weak attempt to protect his navel, but Vox’s hand just follows him. “Vohohox! G-get your disgusting claws out of- hahHAHAH!”
The protest doesn’t even get out of his mouth before there’s a completely new feeling assaulting his skin, the slight prickle of electricity from Vox’s claws. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a slight tingle against skin that has never been touched by someone else.
This is shameful. The laughter and squirms don’t stop, every attempt to twist this way and that way is completely useless against the restraints that seem to just tighten with every jerk of his body.
Vox doesn’t hover for long, however, hands starting to slide down to Alastor’s knees, one of his own weak spots, if he’s being honest. He needs to know if Alastor shares this weakness.
The movement of his fingers is torturously slow compared to the frantic flutters of his fingertips from before, raking lines down his thighs and inching towards his knees. “I wonder if you’re ticklish… here?”
Vox’s fingers finally meet their mark, poking and prodding at the underside of the other man’s knees, giving the occasional squeeze or frantic flick of the fingers. He’s trying every variation he knows, some deeply buried part of him wanting something he can share with his rival.
Alastor arches in his chair, trying to shift his legs left and right, but there’s nowhere to go. “I- hah- have had- heheh - quite enough of this!” He’s breathing heavily now, the endless laughter wearing down his stamina. But at least the knees are tolerable. It could definitely be worse.
The breathless chuckles are far from the meltdown Vox was hoping for, frustrated by the way Alastor actually manages to get a sentence out. He needs to see him broken. He needs to see him laughing so hard he can barely breathe.
Vox’s hands start moving down further, trailing down the calves and towards his ankles. “Tough shit. I’m not done yet.” His arm snakes around Alastor’s ankles, yanking them off the ground and using his free hand to pull off the shoes hiding his feet.
Alastor’s ears pin flat against his skull as he watches the shoes clatter to the ground, socks following and leaving his black and red hooves in the open air. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?” He pants, the two red cloven toes on each foot curling inwards. He knows exactly what’s coming.
Vox doesn’t bother with answering that question.
His fingers dive for his right foot, all four cyan points skittering up and down the arch with catastrophic precision. Alastor immediately, embarrassingly, completely loses it.
“FWAHAHAHAH! NOHOHOHO! THAT IS- HAHAHAH!” His feet desperately try to paddle, turn, yank backwards, but Vox’s grip on his ankles is unbreakable.
Vox is endlessly amused by his rival’s loud, booming laughter. “Uh oh! Is this a really bad spot?” He comments cruelly, fingers raking down towards the heel, only to start crawling back up the sole once more. It’s an unbearable prickle that only seems to get worse with every passing second. “Tell me how badly it tickles.”
Alastor is practically thrashing in his chair, laughing helplessly as he desperately tries to escape the sensation to no avail. “DEAR LORD, I CAHAHANT-! I CAN’T TAKE IHIHIHIT!”
Vox has never heard the Radio Demon sound this broken. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect. He has to keep going. He’s found the ultimate death spot, and he’s not giving it up now.
His fingers start crawling up, up, up to that sensitive patch of skin just beneath the toes. “Does someone have ticklish little toes?” He switches back to that sickenly sweet coo, dancing the tips of his claws just beneath the toes that are desperately trying to curl up and dislodge him. Pathetic, really.
With his free hand still wrapped around both of Alastor’s ankles, he adjusts his hold to curl his wrist and shove a thumb underneath his toes to yank them up. “Ah, ah, ah. You have to take it. Hold still.”
One claw slides right in between his two toes, the tip scritching up and down quickly against that sensitive small patch of skin.
It’s easily the worst thing Alastor has ever experienced. He yells with laughter, fighting against Vox’s hand to try to escape. It’s no use. He’s stuck. And that claw keeps wiggling into that little patch of skin. How can an area so small be so fucking ticklish?!
The Radio Demon isn’t one to beg, but this is getting dire. This is pure torture.
“AH! NO- NO-NO-NO! ANYTHING BUT THAHAHAHT! PL- PLEAHEHEHEASE!” Every muscle in his body fights to escape, sweat dripping down his skin from the sheer exertion of laughing and squirming so hard.
Vox, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. An amused laugh comes out of his mouth at the deer demon’s desperate thrashing and pleading. “Oh, wow, look at you! Such ticklish little toes! Who knew this was the Radio Demon’s weakness?”
He doesn’t stop, of course, he has no interest in giving Alastor a break right now.
Vox alternates from those tiny flutters in between his toes, zig-zags up and down the arch, tracing the sides of each foot, small drums against the heel. The whole time, Vox uses that mocking, high pitched cooing tone, “Coochie coo! Such a ticklish wittle deer! I’m not gonna stop!”
Tears are starting to stream down Alastor’s cheeks from how hard and long he’s been laughing, gasping and wheezing for air between broken laughter. “V-VOX- I-! Pl-PLEASE! IHIHI- I CANNOT BREATHE!” This is the worst moment of his life, begging his worst enemy for mercy.
Vox smirks cruelly at the plea, finally pulling his hands away from Alastor’s hooves. “Aww, you can’t breathe? That’s too bad.” Vox pushes himself back up to stand, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at his prisoner with glee.
“You never told me you were so ticklish, Al. Now I finally have a way to shut you up.” His eyes trail over the bound demon, searching for another spot he hasn’t tested yet.
Alastor’s breaths are deep and strained as he catches his breath, phantom tingles still sparking over his skin. “When I am… Free…. I will end you… For this.” He pants, pure hatred boiling in his chest.
Vox barks out a laugh, clearly entirely unbothered by the threats of violence. “Oh, sure you will. But that requires you being free in the first place. And last I checked…” He leans into Alastor's personal space, lifting his hands and jabbing his fingertips against his ribs. “You’re. Tied. Up.” Each word is punctuated with another poke, still earning a satisfying jolt from the exhausted overlord.
Eager to continue, Vox curls an arm around the other man’s back and starts to trace his fingers up and down his spine in feather light drags that don’t quite tickle, but send shivers through his body nonetheless.
Alastor looks like a mess. His hair is damp from sweat, sticking up in different directions from his thrashing, his chest heaving and lungs burning with panting breaths. He looks nothing like the imposing Radio Demon all of Hell knows him as. Right now, he’s nothing more than a man being tickled within an inch of his life.
For the first time since being captured, Alastor finds himself wishing he could simply disappear into the shadows. But he doesn’t have that choice. The requirement is that he has to stay prisoner here until Vox slips up, forcing him to accept whatever torture Vox deems fit.
He forces himself to take a deep breath, attempting to tune out the fingers that are exploring his spine, trying to focus on literally anything else.
He goes deathly still as he feels where Vox’s hand has just landed.
Vox feels… Something underneath Alastor’s suit. His eyes narrow in confusion, feeling some sort of… Bulge coming from the Radio Demon’s lower back. He has to investigate.
“Vox-” Alastor starts to protest, eyes widening in alarm, but Vox is already moving.
Vox slips his hand beneath the other man’s suit, patting around until he finds something. A limb covered in fur. A small, furry deer tail, hiding at the base of his spine and trying to curl away as Vox’s searching hand.
“No way.” Vox grins widely, moving around to the side and lifting the suit higher to catch a glimpse of the furred appendage. “You have a tail?” His fingers curl around the patch of fur, grasping it in his palm despite the spasmic twitches of the muscles beneath.
This is incredible news. This is a secret. Vox knows something about the Radio Demon that nobody else does. And he’ll be damned if anyone else ever takes that away from him. No, this is his secret now.
A low growl of static hums from Alastor’s chest, drowning out the sound of his panting breaths. The tail wiggles and flicks in Vox’s hold, a part of his body that has never been touched by anyone but himself. “Get your hands off of me,” he growls, even as the brush of the pointed fingers sends a strange, unwanted tingle up his spine.
Vox, instead, curls his fingers around to find the underside of the tail. He starts fluttering his fingers against the base where it connects to his spine, testing if he’s just as sensitive here. “Tickle, tickle, tickle. Is your wittle tail ticklish too?”
It is. It is absolutely ticklish.
His tail jerks back and forth in a motion that looks far too close to a wag, attempting to escape from Vox’s tickling fingers. “I- heheh - Stohohahap touching it!” Alastor tries to find a commanding tone, but it’s completely drowned out by the sound of breathless wheezes and the adorable wags of his tail.
“You’re ticklish? Right here? That’s fucking pathetic.” Vox laughs loudly, deeply amused by how reactive Alastor is nearly everywhere. Whether it’s those small chuckles or loud, sobbing laughter, all of it is a reaction. To him. To his fingers.
“And look at your little tail wagging! You love this!” Vox brings in his free hand now, trailing all of his fingers up and down the length of the small tail, assaulting it from top to bottom with devastatingly light brushes. The fur is soft beneath his fingers, slightly damp from the sweat of exertion.
“I do NOT!” Alastor protests between forced laughter and bucks of his body, trying to twist his hips this way and that to get Vox’s hands off of his tail. But he’s right. His tail is wagging. This is humiliating.
Satisfied with his initial investigation, Vox finally, thankfully, pulls his hands away from Alastor entirely. He crosses his arms as he looks down at his prisoner with a smug grin. “I guess I can give you a chance to catch your breath. Can’t have you passing out on me.”
Alastor slumps into the leather back of the chair, thankful to finally have Vox’s fingers off of his person. “You are, by far, the most insufferable person I have ever met.”
Vox isn’t bothered whatsoever by the insult, far too pleased with everything he’s discovered today. “Now you know how I feel. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your little tail. That can be our little secret.”
Most of Vox’s network shut down at 2 AM, but the broadcast floor of Studio 666 always held a faint hum—like the building itself was still awake, still watching, still waiting for someone to entertain it.
And tonight, someone was.
Y/N slumped into Vox’s massive director’s chair, spinning lazily in a circle while the giant monitors blinked in standby mode. Their shift had technically ended thirty minutes ago, but paperwork, half-finished edits, and the silence of an empty studio kept them lingering.
They kicked their legs, letting the oversized chair roll back on its axis.
“God, he really sits in this thing like a king,” Y/N muttered to themselves. “Feels like a throne.”
The screens on the far wall flickered.
Static crawled across the monitors like frost, climbing in jagged lines. A faint electric buzz prickled the air—subtle enough that Y/N chalked it up to faulty wiring. Again.
Then—
Vzzzp.
A tall, glitching hologram manifested behind the chair, arms folded, screen-face glowing in soft static-blue.
“Funny,” Vox drawled smoothly, leaning one elbow on the chair’s back. “I don’t recall giving you permission to get comfortable.”
Y/N yelped, nearly launching out of the chair.
Vox’s grin sharpened. “Aww. Jumpier than usual tonight, sweetheart?”
Y/N twisted around. “Don’t sneak up on people like that!”
“Please,” Vox scoffed, stepping closer, his image sharpening into full clarity. “If you’re going to sit in my chair, at least act the part. A real host doesn’t spook that easily.”
They stuck their tongue out at him—an action which earned them a sharp, amused hum.
“Oh? Bold tonight,” Vox purred. “Careful. I might take that personally.”
“Maybe you should. You scared me half to death.”
“Oh, trust me,” he said, voice lowering wickedly, “if I wanted to scare you half to death, you wouldn’t be sitting here complaining about it.”
Before Y/N could respond, a glimmer of mischief crossed Vox’s screen. He leaned in, fingers appearing from the hologram projection—solidifying just enough to interact.
“You know,” Vox continued casually, “there’s a rule about sitting in a boss’s chair without permission.”
Y/N snorted. “What rule?”
“This one.”
Two electric, static-soft fingers jabbed lightly into Y/N’s sides.
Y/N squeaked—a sharp, involuntary sound that made Vox’s grin explode across his screen.
“Oh,” he said delightedly. “Well that’s interesting.”
“Vox—!” Y/N twisted away, hands flying to cover their sides. “Don’t—!”
His eyes brightened, pixelated pupils widening like a camera zooming in.
“Don’t what? This?”
He poked again—firmer this time, quick and precise. The tiniest spark of static followed the touch, just enough to tickle without burning.
Y/N dissolved into startled laughter. “Vox! Cut it out!”
“Absolutely not,” Vox snorted, looping a partially-solid arm around the back of the chair to keep it from rolling away. “You sit in my chair, you deal with the consequences.”
“It was ONE TIME!”
“And it’s adorable,” he teased, leaning fully over them now. “Which is very inconvenient for you.”
He used both hands this time—quick little skittering motions along their ribs, infused with barely-there static. Not painful. Just enough to make Y/N twist and laugh helplessly, gripping the armrests to stay upright.
“V-Vox! Knock—pffft—knock it off!”
“Nope,” he replied, clearly thrilled. “This is far more entertaining than whatever you were doing before.”
His head tilted, analyzing their reaction like a director reviewing a shot.
“Look at that. Such animated expressions,” he mused. “Honestly, you’re wasted behind the camera.”
Y/N managed to swat at him, though their hand passed harmlessly through part of his projection.
He laughed full-bodied static at that.
“Oh sweetheart, if you’re going to fight back, you’ll need better aim.”
Another scribbling motion at their hips. Another squeak from Y/N. Another delighted glitch ripple across Vox’s face.
Finally, he stepped back—purely because he wanted to, not because Y/N had escaped.
The hologram leaned casually against the console, arms crossed, amusement radiating off him like neon heat.
“Next time,” he purred, “try asking before you sit in the king’s seat.”
Y/N glared at him, breathless and pink-cheeked. “You’re insufferable.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Vox smirked, tapping his screen cheek with a finger. “But you’re the one who keeps staying after hours.”
Y/N rolled their eyes, standing. “I’m going home.”
“Mhm. Sure.” Vox’s voice dropped lower. “And tomorrow? Same time?”
They hesitated.
He caught it instantly.
The grin that spread across his static screen was slow. Satisfied. Predatory in the most playful way.
“Great,” Vox said. “I’ll bring better jokes.”
“And I’m stealing your chair again.”
“Oh good,” he chuckled, flickering out of view except for the lingering echo of static.
“Give me something fun to punish you for.”
Happy Thanksgiving today yall get a three story special hope you enjoy
My @squealing-santa gift for moonlight!anon! I hope you like it!! <3
1135 words, Lee Alastor, Ler Vox
It’s been a rough day. All according to plan, of course, but still. Humiliating himself and getting ‘beaten’ by Vox... it’s all been rather stressful. Tied in his chair, he’s calm enough, but the cogs in his head are ever-whirring away with his plan, and there might be a way to get just a little peace from that, take his mind off it. Or have it taken off it for him.
“Funny,” Alastor muses from his chair, “how some demons think they’ve won just because they’ve got you cornered.” Even with his arms bound, he speaks with the air of someone stretching them behind his head, leaning back, oozing confidence.
The screen across from him flickers with anger. “I don’t think I’ve won – I know I have.”
“Mmm,” says Alastor, gaze sliding to one side, brows raised.
Somehow, using no words appears to annoy Vox more than if he’d come up with an insult. Electricity crackles with his irritation, and he stands from his chair, glowering across the room at his captive. “Maybe you need a demonstration. Maybe I should--”
Alastor’s grin widens as Vox’s voice cuts out mid-threat. The pause is just long enough for him to pivot in his chair and give himself a push with his feet, sliding the chair backwards, just out of reach of the hand that swipes at him.
Vox’s face erupts with pixellated fury, and his form contorts for a split-second before he materialises inches behind Alastor, fingers crackling with errant voltage as he makes a grab for Alastor’s shoulder. The radio demon twists away with a delighted shriek, but he’s not fast enough – Vox's thumb just grazes the delicate junction between neck and collarbone, and the resulting squirm nearly has his chair tipping over.
“Aha!” Vox cries out in triumph. “Ohhh, someone’s ticklish.”
Alastor’s breathing hitches, half-laugh, half-gasp, as Vox’s fingers dart down and skate over his ribs, sending sparks of sensation glittering through him. He arches away, but Vox’s other hand clamps down on his waist, pinning him between them.
“Nowww then,” Vox croons, leaning in. “What was that about some demons, again?”
Alastor opens his mouth to retort, but another shock from Vox’s fingertips has him choking out a laugh instead. His laughter dissolves into wheezing giggles as those fingers spider-walk up his sides, each touch sending jolts of electricity dancing across his skin. “S-stop – ah! - You’re cheating with th-those damn shocks!” he gasps, toes curling in his shoes as Vox finds that spot just under his ribs that makes him jerk.
“Cheating?” Vox grins, leaning in. “No, no, I think you’ll find this is called winning! What were you expecting? All your taunting... you didn’t think I’d put you in your place?”
Alastor’s voice comes out in a wrecked, hiccupping giggle as Vox’s thumbs dug into the hollows of his hips, sending him thrashing against his bonds. “I- ah!! - I thought you’d be slower, you g-glorified toaster!” he manages to gasp before he cuts himself off again with a shriek as Vox’s fingers skitter up his ribs again. He manages to get a foot on the floor with enough leverage to give his chair a firm push away from Vox again, who darts after him like lightning.
One hand clamps down on the back of his chair. Vox spins his chair around as he yanks it back towards him and leans down, laugh buzzing against the back of Alastor’s neck, the electrical current humming louder. Alastor twists, trying to put some distance between his ears and the ticklish buzz of static before it occurs to Vox to target them.
His breathing hitches again as Vox reaches down to squeeze at his thigh, the voltage dialled down to a teasing thrum that makes his muscles twitch involuntarily. “You’re- ahaha!! - you’re enjoying this too much,” he accuses, voice cracking as Vox’s thumb digs into his thigh just enough to make him jerk. “Admit it, you’ve- n-no! - you’ve been dying to get your claws on me like this!”
Vox’s screen flickers with a smug glow, his fingers never stopping their relentless assault as Alastor squirms in his chair. “Oh, absolutely,” he admits, voice thick with smug delight. “A chance to put you in your place? I thought I’d done that already, but apparently not! So kind of you to let me know you wanted another lesson!”
Alastor’s breath comes in ragged, uneven bursts, his entire body trembling with the aftershocks of laughter and lingering electricity. His upper arms are still bound to the elbow, leaving only his forearms free, hands just able to reach Vox’s but not able to stop them. His fingers scrabble uselessly against Vox’s forearm, claws leaving faint scratches in the fabric of his sleeve.
“Look at you,” Vox croons. “Weren’t you listening earlier? You can try to squirm and struggle and it wouldn’t do a thing!”
Alastor growls through his grin, twisting again and trying to use his foot to push his chair away again, but this time, Vox is quicker, and stops him before he even gets out of reach.
“Well, if you still haven’t managed to learn... perhaps we’ll take it a step further!” Abruptly, Vox sets one foot on the base of the chair and tips the whole thing over. Alastor, still tied to it, ends up on his back, still in the seated position, his legs in the air. To make matters worse, Vox sits down right beside him on the floor, that infuriatingly smug grin pointed down at Alastor, and he begins to walk his fingertips up from Alastor’s stomach, over his ribs, poking and nudging and tickling all the way while Alastor scrunches his nose and tries not to giggle, up his neck, and finally up into his hair to find his ears.
Alastor twitches in alarm and jerks his head away, a giggle already halfway out of his mouth, but there’s really nowhere to go. “No!” Vox’s hand follows, and his fingertips start to tickle. Alastor begins to squirm anew, shaking his head, turning it from side to side, laughter bordering on hysterical now as he squirms in his strange position and starts to kick his legs a little too. “S-stop! Vox!” he protests, and to his absolute horror, a bleat escapes.
Vox’s fingers still, just for a second, while he registers what he just heard. “Was that...?”
“No.”
“It was.”
“No.”
“It was! Ha! Oh, fuck! The radio demon bleats!”
Alastor doesn’t get a chance to deny it before his ears are being tickled again and he’s dissolving into giggles, a boneless heap being played like an instrument. He’s not even sure how long passes before Vox asks, “have you learned your lesson yet?”
He gasps, pants, wheezes, trying to catch his breath, and he doesn’t reply.
Soo if you and val have been in tickle fights before...who usually wins? And before you say you, mr ego..valentino has multiple arms, could hold you down, how could you POSSIBLY win that? Unless he babies you and takes it easy on you.....
"OBVIOUSLY ME BECAUSE..! Beeecausee... Fuck. Nevermind. But I still win."
If Lucifer and Vox fight, the only reason Vox wouldn't get disintegrated immediately is because Vox starts T-wording Lucifer senseless. This is canon now because I said so.
Vox beats Lucifer because Lucifer is a sensitive baby.
Summary: After Alastor has spent weeks finding ways to get under Vox's skin, Vox remembers that Velvette had dropped off a prototype potion - one that acts similarly to laughing gas.
Notes: Quick little warm up before I get back into some longer fics >:3 I love this trope
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Fic Master List
2,576 words
To the shock of absolutely nobody, Alastor is on Vox’s last nerve once again. Not like that’s news to anyone.
Even with the fact that Vox has captured his greatest rival and is holding him hostage in V Tower, Alastor has spent half of the time finding ways to get under Vox’s skin and do everything in his power to piss him off.
As much as Vox hates to admit it, it’s working.
At first, it was the ultimate power trip. But now that he’s trying to move forward with his plans to attack Heaven, Alastor is becoming more of a nuisance than a boost to his ego.
Vox has been in his office the entire day, Alastor sitting with him. Can’t let the bastard go running off with anyone else, if left unchecked, he’d probably find a way to burn the tower down while still tied up.
Vox has desperately been trying to focus on his work, a huge rally is coming up in a few days where he needs to get all of Hell on his side. But nothing can ever get done around here with Alastor on his last fucking nerve.
To make things worse, the smug prick looks like he’s not even bothered by the cables tied around his waist. He might as well be on vacation with that stupid smile on his face.
Alastor sits comfortably, legs crossed and looking completely at ease. “You really haven’t changed, have you? Your hospitality certainly hasn’t improved over the last century. You’ve hardly said a word to your guest for hours!”
Though Alastor would normally find himself content to sit in the silence, watching Vox staring at that silly little screen of his for hours on end is starting to become boring. It’s far more entertaining to watch the man throw a temper tantrum.
Plus, he has to find some way to entertain himself while biding his time. He’ll be stuck at this silly little tower for the next few weeks, at the very least. Why not spend his time pestering his worst enemy?
Vox’s head snaps up to glare at his prisoner across the room, completely abandoning the idea of getting any work done. “Shut it. I’m the one in charge around here, so I’d watch your mouth if I were you. I’m busy and don’t need to hear your whining.”
Alastor lets out a chuckle, clearly entirely unphased by the attempt at a threat. “Oh, it seems I’ve struck a nerve!” He taps his foot against the floor with a loud clack for good measure. “We both know you wouldn’t lay your hands on me. Your little obsession wouldn’t allow it!”
Vox’s hands curl into fists, electricity arcing over his knuckles. He should really just kill him. That would make his work so much easier.
But he can’t do that. Not right now, anyway. As much as it pains Vox to admit it, there is still a small part of him that aches for Alastor’s company, to smooth over everything that went wrong 70 years ago.
There’s no way in Hell Vox will be admitting to that out loud, though. Better to just find a way to keep him in line. The bastard is getting way too smug, he needs to be taken down a peg.
Just as Vox is about to fire back a retort, a better idea slips into his mind.
Something that Velvette had dropped off in his office a few weeks ago. Some new prototype she was working on, Vox didn’t listen to the specifics, he usually doesn’t give a shit, as long as it keeps people buying VoxTek products.
But he vaguely remembers her saying something along the lines of this new potion causing intense euphoria and laughter, something similar to laughing gas.
It’s the perfect idea, Vox thinks, Alastor won’t be able to keep slinging those stupid insults if he’s too busy laughing himself silly to think straight.
A smug smirk slides onto Vox’s screen, all of the tension draining out of his body. This is the perfect way to show him who’s really in charge around here. “You know what? I was thinking about shocking you until you shut your mouth, but I think I have a better idea.”
Vox pushes himself up from the chair to slide one of the drawers on his desk open, pulling out a pink, VoxTek branded aerosol can, alongside a ventilation mask. Can’t accidentally breathe in any of this shit himself, after all.
It shouldn’t do any actual harm regardless, it’s supposed to be sold to sinners, after all. VoxTek doesn’t want to have their customer base complaining or dying on the street. Just something good enough to keep coming back for more.
Vox shakes up the vial and approaches Alastor’s chair, attaching it to the mask. “Here, this should get you to stop being a brat.” Before he can get a word in, Vox slides the mask over Alastor’s face to completely cover his nose and mouth and flipping the release valve with a hissing noise.
Alastor’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t protest the mask being shoved onto his face. He’s entirely certain that Vox wouldn’t actually do anything to harm him, and this is likely just another one of his silly little ideas. At least it’s more entertaining than watching him attempt to work. “Oh, do go ahead! It’s not as if I have any say in the matter.”
It only takes a few seconds before Alastor begins to feel a little… odd. His head feels lighter, and the long standing tension in his shoulders begins to fade. It’s not entirely unpleasant, he supposes.
Vox eagerly watches, holding the mask in place and waiting for any visible change in Alastor’s behavior. “What, no smart ass comments to make this time? Don’t want to tell me how pathetic I am?”
Alastor scoffs with a flick of his ears. “I never run out of insults for the likes of- heh- of you.” A laugh slips out between his words, entirely without his permission.
How odd. Of course it’s amusing to insult Vox, but he hadn’t said anything particularly funny this time around. A true entertainer never laughs at his own jokes! And yet, he feels the strange urge to start giggling over how silly Vox looks at the moment.
Vox’s smirk deepens at that little laugh that slips through. Working just as intended. “Oh, there we go. What’s wrong, Alastor? Do you feel a little… funny?”
Alastor’s eyes narrow as he begins to feel… something. Like he’s actively holding back a bubble of laughter, almost as if he’s downed half a bottle of whiskey and everything has become particularly entertaining.
He clears his throat to try to deliver one of his standard retorts. “I’ll have you- heheh- know that ihi-...” Goodness, Alastor can hardly even get a few words out before starting to laugh. How absolutely ridiculous! And hilarious!
Vox is feeling absolutely giddy himself, despite not having inhaled any of the laughing gas. He finally decides to pull the mask away, satisfied that the smug prick will be much more accommodating now. “There we go. That’s a much better attitude, don’t you think?”
Alastor shakes his head with a chuckle, unable to stop the laughter spilling from his lips. “Shuhut your mouth, Vincent! Whahat in the world did you-?”
Vox shrugs, tossing the mask onto the desk carelessly. “Some new potion Vel has been working on. Supposed to induce laughter and euphoria or some shit. Looks like it’s working just as intended!”
Alastor lets out a grumble before dissolving into a fit of soft laughter. He can’t help it, Vox looks so silly, standing there like he’s the smartest demon in the room. How absurd this all is!
Vox can’t help but let out a chuckle himself, finding the way Alastor can’t stop laughing to be hilarious. And maybe a little endearing, if he’s being fully honest with himself. “Look at you! I’ve never seen you so giggly before.”
An even better idea slides into his mind, something that will be even more hilarious when Alastor is in this state and can’t do anything about it.
Vox taps his claws against the desk with amusement. “You know, Al. There’s something I’ve never told you about. You wanna hear it?”
Alastor’s ears flick back and he rolls his eyes with a snicker. “Oh, yes, do tell me all about your sillyehehe little ideas! I’d be thrilled to hear it!”
Vox’s smirk could cut glass with how far it deepens. “Oh, it’s just a little something about this tower. Something you should be aware of if you’re going to be staying here for a while.”
He pushes off of the desk and takes a few steps closer to his prisoner, slipping his voice into something full of fake dramatics. “There’s a veryyy dangerous monster that lives at this tower, Al. If you’re not careful, he might find you.”
Alastor glances up at the man standing near him with forced amusement dancing in his eyes. “Whahat in the world are you on about?”
Vox places a hand on the back of Alastor’s chair, leaning in close. “Just giving you a fair warning before you find yourself caught by… The tickle monster.”
Alastor sputters and lets out another peal of laughter. Surely he can’t be serious.
Vox’s laughter joins in, tapping his claws against the back of the chair. “You think that’s funny, huh? Tell me, Al, are you ticklish? Can’t be too careful with the monster roaming around.”
Alastor shakes his head and looks away from Vox, trying to hide the embarrassed blush that’s crawling onto his cheeks. “Dohohont be ridiculous! What a juvenile lihihittle question!”
Even as he answers, though, he’s not entirely sure if that’s the truth. Alastor hasn’t been tickled in many, many years. Nobody would be foolish enough to try such a thing with the Radio Demon.
Perhaps it’s just the laughing gas speaking, but there is something a bit amusing at the idea of being tickled in this state. Surely that’s just the euphoria talking rather than his actual feelings on the matter, at least, that’s what he’ll tell himself.
Vox’s grin grows wider as he lets his voice get even more silly and cooing, just to make Alastor laugh harder. “Oh, I dunno! I think we should test that theory! I should call over the tickle monster right now!”
A snicker escapes from Alastor as he tries to lean backwards against the chair, trying to put even the smallest amount of space between himself and Vox. “Ihi hahave no interest in your- ehehe- sihihilly little ideas!”
“Oh, but you’re gonna want to!” Vox brings his hands down to hover near Alastor’s ribs, wiggling his fingers threateningly. “Here comes the tiiickle monster!”
Before Alastor can even have a chance to protest, Vox has planted his hands on his ribs. His sharp fingers begin to skitter up and down the bones. “Uh oh, the tickle monster got you! You can’t escape, he‘s very hungry for all of your giggles!”
Alastor squeaks and tries to push the chair backwards to no avail, completely trapped under Vox’s claws. It tickles quite badly, in fact! “Vohohox, gehehet your claws awahahay from mehehe-!”
“Vox isn’t here anymore, Al! It’s the tickle monster!” Vox chirps, having far too much fun. His fingers dance down his sides and towards his hips. “I’ve never heard you laugh this much before! Who knew you had such an adorable laugh.”
Alastor lets out a soft grumble between giggles, stamping his feet against the ground to work off the ticklish sensation shooting up his sides. How dare Vox call his laugh adorable, he’s supposed to be terrifying! “Dohohon’t say thahat!”
Vox’s hands land on his hips, gently squeezing there to make Alastor start squirming and bucking against the chair. “Why not? It’s true! The tickle monster loves your laugh!”
A new idea slides into his mind, and his smirk deepens further. His fingers start to slide towards Alastor’s stomach. “Uh oh, you’re in biiiig trouble now. The tickle monster is gonna get your tummy! Better run away before he finds it!”
Alastor’s laughter pitches higher as he stomps his feet against the ground. His tummy?! Dear lord, this is embarrassing!
…Even if it is a little amusing.
Vox peels Alastor’s suit up to expose his bare stomach, claws immediately fluttering against the bare skin. “The tickle monster has to check everywhere! Your ribs, your tummy, and…” He lets out a dramatic gasp and points a claw towards Alastor’s navel. “Is that a widdle button right there?”
Alastor’s ears shoot straight up in the air as he shakes his head. This is getting more and more embarrassing by the second. “Dohohon’t you dahahare! It’s nohohOT a buhuhutton!”
Vox, of course, doesn’t listen. Why would he? This is the most fun he’s had in days, he’s not eager to stop now. His fingers start crawling towards the center of his stomach, inching his sharp points closer and closer. “Left right, left right, marching towards your little giggle button!”
This is easily the most humiliating thing Alastor has ever experienced, even if he can’t force himself to stop laughing. And the closer that Vox gets to the center of his stomach, the higher his laughter is pitching up.
Vox’s fingers circle around Alastor’s navel with fluttering little taps. “He’s gonna give it a teensy, tiny, boop! He bets that it’s very ticklish. Maybe even the most ticklish spot of all!”
Alastor stamps his feet, hoping to dislodge Vox’s attention to literally anywhere else. Even if he wanted to, he can’t stop the helpless laughter pouring from his throat. “Dohoho nohohot-!”
Instead, a single one of Vox’s fingers press right over his navel with a gentle little poke. “Boop!”
Alastor lets out a high pitched giggle. That’s far more ticklish than it should be, and that incessant little ‘boop’ is making the blush on his face burn hotter. “Gehehet awahahay!”
Vox lets out a low chuckle. “Oh no, the tickle monster has found the giggle button! That means he can’t stop now! He wants to hear alllll the giggles!”
His finger starts rapidly, gently poking in and around his navel, accompanied by a “Boop! Boop! Boop!” with each poke.
Alastor lets out an embarrassing, high pitched squeal, trying to twist his torso away from Vox’s finger. “Enohohough! I cahahan’t-!” He absolutely hates to concede defeat to the likes of Vox, but the sheer amount of laughing he’s been doing is starting to make him lightheaded.
Vox tilts his head with amusement at the concession, getting in one final boop before pulling his hand away. He can’t have Alastor passing out on him, after all, that would stop the fun. “Alright, alright, I’ll give you a little break. But don’t think that means that the tickle monster is done here.”
Alastor slumps back against the chair and takes deep breaths to catch his breath. The smile is still wide across his face and lingering giggles are slipping through his lips. “Ihi-... I will destroy you for thihis.”
Vox shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Sure you will. I’ll have to ask Velvette for another bottle of those to keep you in line.”
Alastor lets out a low growl, turning his head to face away from Vox. Perhaps he should find a way to get one of those masks over that silly little screen.
