Summary: (S2 E4) Vox finally has Alastor all to himself. Utterly helpless, completely at his mercy. When he struggles to get a rise out of Alastor, he searches for new methods, and he could not be more pleased with what he finds out.
Tw: Super, super intense tickling. Noncon, though ig it's possible to stretch it into dubcon if you really want to. Bondage. Gag usage. Canon typical swearing (So, a lot). Suggestive material. Implied sexual fantasies (not acted upon). Explicit violent fantasies (not acted upon). Mentions of blood (hypothetical). Forced undressing (upper body only). Mentions of major (canon) injuries (Alastor's wound). Infliction of minor injury. Extensive, but relatively neutral commentary on Alastor's very skinny body (it's just sinner anatomy). Brief ler drop. Crying. Unrequited feelings. Mood swings. Absolute freak behavior. Please, please, please let me know if I missed any!
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Oooohhhhh boy. You read that right, 9.9k words! This really got out of hand and took me forrreeevveerrr. This is my first time really leaning into a limited perspective, and I had a lot of fun playing with that. As much as I want to let this fic speak for itself like a good author should, I have much too much to say, so there will be a little ramble at the end for those who are interested in my thoughts.
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.”
Alastor raised an eyebrow. It was about all he could do, bound to the chair and gagged as he was.
It just made Vox laugh. “Ohhh, Alastor, Alastor, Alastor, Alastor.” His voice darkened and distorted at the end. He placed his hands on Alastor’s shoulders and leaned in.
Alastor rolled his eyes, but Vox caught the tiniest recoil upon contact. He was used to it, especially with Alastor, and thought nothing of it.
Vox squeezed and pulled Alastor closer to his screen. “What should I do with you?” He could hear the eager edge of his own voice. It didn’t matter to him. Alastor was his plaything. “I could have you any way I wanted.”
That got Alastor’s brows to furrow, which made Vox’ smile widen.
Like this, with a printed frown and washed in blue lighting, Alastor truly looked pitiable.
Vox tugged at the edge of the gag wrapped around Alastor’s face, but didn’t pull it down. “What was that?”
He waited for a reply that would never come. The gag silencing Alastor was one of his favorite pieces of technological advancements. It had the ability to completely silence noise. Even if Alastor wanted to put up a futile attempt to muffle out a biting remark, he would go completely unheard. It wasn’t often the Radio Demon was silenced, and Vox couldn’t be prouder of himself. This was all just too perfect.
“No, you’re not even worth that.” He trailed a claw along Alastor’s jaw.
The muscles tensed as Alastor ground his teeth together. Besides the incredibly subtle movement, there was no further reaction.
Alastor’s composure was difficult to break, and it was starting to piss Vox off. What good was having Alastor on a platter if he couldn’t get a proper rise out of him? At least if Alastor could speak he’d have something to go off of, but Alastor being forcibly silenced was not something he was going to sacrifice just for some nostalgic witty banter.
“Alright, Al,” Vox muttered, removing his hands to tap at his screen pensively. “I’ll get you to break, don’t worry.”
Alastor’s head tilted an inch to the left and he crossed his legs at the knees, letting his foot bounce slightly in the air. There was the faintest sound of studio laughter. Vox could see the smugness in his eyes. Even his shadow, projected on the cold tiles of the floor, wore a pompous smile–however that worked.
Vox needed to snuff it out. Immediately.
What could he do? It was so hard to get under that bastard’s skin with words alone, one-sided or not. Pain didn’t do much, either, though he’d be sure to thoroughly test that once Alastor was a little more broken in. He knew vaguely that Alastor didn’t enjoy physical contact, but could that really be enough to shake him? He did usually tense slightly when Vox laid his hands on him (as he’d just been reminded), but it could hardly even be called a slip in the overall air of indifference Alastor was drowning in these days. Vox could just touch him more, maybe.
Well, okay. As much as he savored the thought, he didn’t really want to have Alastor in that way. Not outside of his head, anyway. Not anymore.
It was worth a shot to see if just… touching Alastor would do anything. Unsexy, unerotic touch, but touch nonetheless.
He knelt down in front of Alastor and once again grabbed his shoulders. Alastor was expecting it this time and didn’t react at all. Whatever. He’d have to give in eventually.
“Alastor,” Vox said, sickly sweet, and started kneading as if he was simply giving a massage. His thumbs dug into the stiff muscles of Alastor’s neck, and his fingers curled around his back.
Alastor held eye contact with Vox, challenging.
Vox met his gaze, watching intently for any sign of unease. It was admittedly awkward, staring into Alastor’s eyes while rubbing his shoulders. But it would be worth it if it pissed Alastor off.
The massage obviously wasn’t relaxing, but it was clear it wasn’t getting him anywhere in terms of breaking Alastor’s spirits. He slid his hands down Alastor’s arms. His fingers lightened as he dragged them over the wires keeping Alastor still until they lingered on Alastor’s elbows.
He felt them move. Barely. It might not have even been noticeable if he wasn’t also feeling the subtle shift of the wires. They didn’t have any sensory input on their own, but Vox had a spatial awareness of each and every wire connected through his demonic magic, which–because of how tightly they wrapped around Alastor–allowed him to feel any small tremor in Alastor’s upper body and arms.
Vox locked onto the small movement like a shark to blood. It wasn’t the flinch of first contact. Alastor would have been fully aware of the movement of Vox’s hands before they reached his elbows, so surely it was something more. Something Vox could work with.
Experimentally, he trailed his claw around the tip of Alastor’s elbows. They jerked again, a little more, and Alastor’s eye twitched almost imperceptibly.
“What, Alastor? Is this bothering you?”
He moved his index finger and thumb together, pinching a small amount of skin and fabric between his claws.
Alastor’s body moved more forcibly this time. He jumped and strained against the wires. Even still, the movement was practically microscopic. The wires felt his chest contract with a miniscule, choppy exhale.
Genuinely, Vox didn’t understand why someone would be so repulsed by physical touch that they actually jumped away from it, even if it were from an enemy. It was clear Alastor was attempting to hold back his reactions and just barely missing the mark, which was unusual. Not that he was complaining, of course! This was the goal, after all. It’s just that Alastor was so good at saving face and biting down his annoyance in almost any situation, so he wondered what made this so different.
Oh well, he wouldn’t stop his fun by pulling his gag down and asking him. That’d just be silly.
He continued to pinch Alastor’s elbows, soft and slow. This twitching really was getting quite entertaining. The longer Vox teased his elbows, the less subtle Alastor’s movements got. It went from millimeters to centimeters.
His waist and elbows were relatively immobile, but after a couple of minutes his shoulders actually started visibly twisting and he tried to fold himself down. The convulsions in his chest got more erratic with the sharp hitches in his breath. Alastor’s eyes looked angry. There was something burning in them and his eyebrows were pushed together dramatically. Even Alastor’s static was getting louder.
Vox was eating it up. Annoying Alastor in any form was just so incredibly delightful.
At one point, as Vox had the tips of Alastor’s elbows in his fingers, he wiggled his claws into the bone. Microphone feedback cut through the static–so quiet, but definitely there. Alastor’s eyes widened and he fought against the wires to double over while one of his knees shot up. He caught himself and froze just a second too late.
Holy fuck. Was that- no way. How had Vox not realized before? This whole time Vox thought he was just aggravating Alastor; he didn’t even register what was actually going on. Vox’s eyes took on a manic quality and he cackled. “You’re- you’re- Oh shit, this is amazing! It’s tickling you!?”
Alastor took in a deep breath, eyes shut. They opened on the exhale to peer at Vox through his furrowed eyebrows. One of his brows flicked up as a ‘DING, DING, DING!’ sound effect played. Alastor tilted his head and leaned back in the chair, looking Vox up and down.
“Hey!” Leave it to Alastor to be lippy without saying a word! What was he insinuating? Vox expected him to be embarrassed about it or something, but he was acting like Vox was the stupid one for not realizing it sooner. “Enough of that attitude! You’re so unbelievably fucked right now.”
Vox left no time for Alastor to sass him back. His hands darted to his ribs and he started rapidly squeezing.
Alastor’s arms tightened against his sides (though there wasn’t much room between them in the first place) and his back arched. His radio static cut out for a second as his legs jerked. Vox had to dodge his boney knee.
Vox laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was silly and childish and that’s why it was so fucking satisfying to inflict upon Alastor.
He wiggled his fingers in between each of Alastor’s ribs, which were a little difficult to feel underneath his thick coat, so he just pressed harder to compensate. “Ohoh, Alastor! This is perfect! I hope you’re fucking seething, bitch.”
Alastor’s chest was jumping as he twisted from side to side. It wasn’t enough movement to dislodge Vox’s hands.
Vox was so curious about what Alastor’s laugh would be like, and knew he’d have to remove the gag at some point. For now, though, he was satisfied with the lack of back-talk and he was perfectly entertained just watching and feeling him squirm.
He stayed on Alastor’s ribs for ages. He’d move spots eventually, sure, but there was no rush when he was in total control. And it was such a good spot, too. Alastor couldn’t decide whether to lean forward or arch back, but neither got him away from it in the slightest. It was hilarious.
When his hands reached a little higher, almost to his armpits, Alastor’s head snapped up. Vox could see his eyes forced shut. He looked so pissed off, but the edge of mirth was unmistakable. When his hands dipped lower, Alastor rocked and kicked his legs so hard the chair started to roll away.
“Woah,” Vox said. His foot pressed into the base of the chair, catching it before it got too far. “Where do you think you’re going?” He pulled Alastor back with his hands, still scratching at his ribs. He called upon additional wires to wrap around Alastor’s legs and shoulders, binding them to the chair and almost fully immobilizing him. Now he could see and feel every minor twitch–every time Alastor tried to shift away (and it was a lot), but he didn’t have to chase Alastor with his hands to stay put. “Good fucking luck rolling away now.”
Vox dug in with a renewed vigor. His thumbs scratched endlessly in the gaps between the bones, meanwhile his fingers slipped behind Alastor–there was just enough give to get between him and the back of the chair–to wiggle into the edges of his shoulder blades.
Alastor threw his head back. He was practically bouncing in his seat. The wires at Alastor’s shoulders were being struggled against in short, frequent bursts. Alastor’s legs were absolutely fighting for their lives trying to kick out. There was another burst of feedback.
Vox was lucky he didn’t have actual ears, or else the urge to let go of Alastor to cover them might win. Thankfully it only lasted a second. “Eugh. You’re lucky this look is so fitting for you, Al, because the sound is terrible.”
Suddenly the room was filled with the loudest, most annoying feedback Vox had ever heard. This time his hands did actually leave Alastor, aiming for his nonexistent ears out of instinct. “Fuck!”
Alastor was practically panting, trying to catch his breath. Even still, Vox could tell he had the most shit eating grin on under the gag. Alastor was laughing. Vox wasn’t even tickling him still, and he was laughing. Alastor was laughing at him.
“Alright, Alastor. You shut the fuck up.”
He grabbed Alastor by the head in a messy grip. Most of it was hair, some of it was Alastor’s ear. It was definitely painful; the wires felt Alastor’s body stiffen and there was a delightful crinkle of displeasure at the corner of his eye. Vox roughly pulled Alastor’s face up to his screen.
The feedback died off quite quickly. Vox was pretty sure it was just Alastor losing focus, but he chose to believe it was because Alastor was intimidated by him.
“I own you, bitch!”
Alastor’s eyes flicked to the side. A laugh track played.
Vox growled. He kept his grip tight and with his other hand he clawed into Alastor’s belly. He felt it jump under his fingers and watched as Alastor’s face screwed up. Vox could feel the resistance of Alastor’s head trying to pull away, but with the restriction of everything up to his shoulders, he didn’t have a lot of leverage to escape Vox’s grasp. It gave Vox the perfect view of his eyes. They were desperate. Overwhelmed.
Alastor’s stomach was surprisingly concave. Vox should have expected it considering the rest of Alastor’s slim figure, and it wasn’t all that uncommon for sinners to be practically skeletal anyway. There wasn’t a lot there to pinch, so instead Vox just dug his fingers into the jumping muscle.
“Don’t forget who’s in charge here,” Vox said, grinning sadistically.
Alastor did make an effort to keep eye contact with Vox, the prideful piece of shit that he was, but eventually he couldn’t hold his eyes open anymore. At that point, Vox let go of his hair with a shove, sending Alastor’s head falling back. It immediately tucked as far as it was able to into Alastor’s chest in a pitiful attempt to double over.
He used both hands now to tickle Alastor’s stomach. His entire waist was slender enough and Vox’s hands large enough, thanks to demon anatomy, that he could wrap his fingers the whole way around it, so there were claws poking into the front, sides and back of his torso. “You’re so pathetic,” Vox said. “I can’t believe this is so easy.”
The wires were being fought against fervently, but they kept Alastor still. It was kind of uncanny how little Alastor actually moved despite clearly trying to. Vox couldn’t imagine what that felt like on Alastor’s end–to be so thoroughly restrained and absolutely powerless to interfere with someone else’s hands on your body. It stirred something in Vox’s stomach. Not arousal, which surprised him. This was closer to butterflies, or maybe shooting stars sparkling inside of him. It was a longing for the present as if it were a memory long past. He didn’t expect to ever feel that again with Alastor, yet here he was.
It was incredibly entertaining to feel how Alastor’s struggling lessened or increased depending on where Vox’s hands went. His back didn’t seem to make him squirm as much, so Vox focused his attention on his hips and belly.
Alastor’s static began crackling and cutting out in small bursts as Vox stayed on those spots, never relenting. Alastor’s breathing was getting more erratic. Vox had kept him laughing behind the gag for so long he was probably struggling to get air.
Vox didn’t mind, though. He doubted Alastor would pass out or anything, and if he did, Vox could just pick this back up where he left off when Alastor came to.
Vox’s fingers danced around Alastor’s sides as his thumbs curled into the muscle just below where Vox estimated Alastor’s navel was. It was difficult to tell over his coat, though.
Wait. Actually.
Vox chuckled sadistically as the thought hit him. What reason did he have to not tear open Alastor’s coat this very second? What would Alastor do, bite him? Please.
So he called for his wires to loosen at Alastor’s front just enough for Vox to slip his hand under them. Immediately, Alastor’s torso started squirming around with its new, tiny amount of freedom, but it didn’t make too much of a difference for Vox at the moment.
He let his claw glide through the fastenings at the middle, starting from just below Alastor’s chin (which, by the way, made Alastor scrunch his neck up adorably) and trailing slowly down his body. It tore through three layers of fabric, neatly. It was just the buttons and his bowtie that were damaged. They fell back to reveal Alastor’s bare chest and stomach.
At the same time, a high pitch screech echoed eerily around the walls. Vox couldn’t place what the sound was, exactly. It sounded similar to a fork scraping across a plate, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t it. Either way, it wasn’t nearly as annoying as the feedback, and it was over rather quickly.
Vox granted Alastor the mercy of a small break, taking the time to instead just appreciate the view. Alastor’s torso was the same grey as his face, but Vox was delighted to see there was a substantial amount of fur, though not so much that it obstructed the contours of Alastor’s skinny ass body. His ribs were visible even from the front. Vox could follow them with his eyes all the way to the center where they met Alastor’s sternum. The jagged, red gash left by Adam was a point of interest, and definitely something Vox would explore at a later date, but wasn’t at the forefront of his mind at the moment. Vox had left Alastor’s pants intact but he could still see his hipbones jutting out so sharply Vox wondered how they hadn’t cut through the fabric on their own. Vox’s eyes were most drawn to the spasming muscles of Alastor’s stomach, and his chest’s heavy rising and falling.
With a flick of his wrist, the wires tightened again at once. There was something about the way they immediately stifled his movement and dug valleys into Alastor’s fur that Vox found immensely thrilling.
What was even more thrilling was Alastor’s face. He looked downright murderous. In any other circumstance, Vox might have the sense to be nervous about the way Alastor’s eyebrows were cutting downwards, or the way his eye was twitching. Now, though, the sight sent a ball of warmth deep in his chest. It made him giddy. He couldn’t bite back his smile if he tried.
“Don’t worry, Al,” Vox said, voice lilting. “There’s no one here to see you but me.”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed.
He brought his hand up to drift his claws along Alastor’s furred stomach. Bare as it was, Vox could feel the skin shudder upon contact. He twisted a tuft of fur between his fingers, enjoying the texture, and the jumping of Alastor’s chest.
The rougher tickling was nice, of course, but without all that useless fabric in the way Vox could revel in making Alastor writhe around with the lightest of touches. It felt much more intimate. He hoped Alastor felt the same, because he knew it would piss him off.
Vox laid his clawtips just below Alastor’s wound and leisurely trailed them down. It left tiny canyons of parted fur that slowly righted themselves as Alastor’s torso squirmed. He made a few detours to graze along Alastor’s sides before getting to the part he was most excited about.
Once he reached Alastor’s navel he removed all but his pointer finger. He let the single, sharp edge swirl around his bellybutton with a radius of about an inch or two between it and his finger.
Each rotation of the circle took around ten seconds and every time he completed the loop the circle got smaller and smaller.
As he neared his prize, Alastor’s wiggling increased in vigor. His stomach and lungs bounced with more intent.
Vox shifted his gaze to Alastor’s face. His head was tucked down into his neck. It was shaking slightly in a way Vox doubted was on purpose. His eyes were closed and his eyebrows were pulled together. He looked desperate. It was stunning.
Once again, Vox wanted to know what noises Alastor would be making right now if it weren’t for the gag. It would be pretty great to hear Alastor beg, or scream, or giggle. Anything other than the relentless static and stupid sound effects. Even with that curiosity nipping at him, it was still too satisfying to keep Alastor stripped of his words. He left the gag for now and looked back to Alastor’s belly.
The circle was closing in. Truthfully, actually tickling inside his bellybutton like he planned to may just result in bleeding. His claw was just too sharp to not pierce the skin, and it looked too large to fit anyway. Inflicting pain wasn’t something Vox was opposed to, but like Alastor’s wound, he filed it off to be explored another time.
Just as Vox’s finger scratched along the very edge of Alastor’s belly button, nearly dipping inside but not quite, he began increasing the size of the loop. Around and around and around. Bigger, bigger, bigger.
Alastor’s body stiffened when the circle started to grow. A record scratch sound effect played. The noise itself pulled something into Alastor’s eyes. It was more than the mirth of being tickled.
It was amusement. His head jerked down toward Vox, almost nodding.
Vox felt his display rapidly heat. He had to put a mental effort into not letting it show on his screen. Ever the cocky bitch, huh? It was simply too mocking of a gesture, but a thrum in Vox’s chest insisted it was twistedly familiar in a way he didn’t understand.
“What?” he asked, defensive. “Is this entertaining you? Is this just so funny?”
He didn’t change his pace. Around and around and around. Bigger and bigger still.
As if he was still in control, as if he had any power in this situation, Alastor’s eyes flicked towards Vox’s hands and back up. His ears swayed as his head fell to the side. His body was actively twitching away from the touch, and Alastor still wanted to act unbothered.
“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!”
Eventually the trail of Vox’s claw was large enough that he could purposefully linger on Alastor’s lowest ribs, where they began to curve up toward his sternum, in the same rotation as the peaks of Alastor’s pointy hipbones.
Vox relished the way the wires at Alastor’s waist and thighs met a particularly driving wave of resistance when he hit his hips. He definitely wanted more of that. “Good spot?”
He finally abandoned his circling to place both hands on Alastor’s hips. The skin was tight where it stretched over the bone. Vox wrapped his fingers over them.
“They’re like handlebars,” he commented absent-mindedly. “It’s like they were made for me to grab.”
That high pitched squeal filled the air again. It was distorted and washed in overdramatic reverb, but it still had the fork-on-a-plate quality. This time it came out in stuttering bursts, like a skipping CD. Or…
Wait.
Was that an elk call?
Vox couldn’t help but laugh at the realization. “Always on brand with you. Fucking hell.”
He squeezed. His fingers curled into the edges of the bones themselves while his thumbs pressed deep into the cavities.
Alastor fought hard. The chair inched back and forth a couple of inches with how forcefully he was trying to toss his body around. His head was swinging aimlessly, frantically, sending his hair in several directions.
Knowing he was the one to cause these reactions in the Radio Demon sent a shiver down Vox’s spine. It was incredible. He had gotten a taste of absolute control over Alastor and he knew he’d never be able to let it go.
He pinched and pulled the taught skin, rubbed firm circles into the bone, and raked his claws through the fur on the sides.
Everything he did sent Alastor into a new wave of thrashing. He liked the feel of the straining wires. He liked the feel of Alastor’s lungs struggling for air beneath his hands. He stayed just like this for longer than he could count.
Vox’s own heart was beating rapidly at the buzz of it all. His head was swimming, but he felt lighter than he’d ever been.
“I own you.” His voice was gritty and deep. “I own every part of you.” He could feel his screen glitching out from the sheer exhilaration coursing through his veins. “I own your voice a-and your b-b-body, and- and- and- and-”
Vox was buffering. He registered vaguely that his hands were stuck in a loop of clenching and unclenching, and so he was squeezing Alastor’s hips rapidly. It was maybe 30 seconds of disconnection.
A drop of water hit his wrist, which grounded Vox enough for him to latch on and shove his way back to the present. He glanced up.
Alastor’s head was hanging down, trembling, and his bangs hid his face. Vox caught it, this time, as another drop fell from behind Alastor’s hair. It landed on Vox’s knee.
Holy shit. Alastor was crying. Alastor was crying. Vox had to take a long, deep breath to cool his systems down and keep from crashing again.
“No way. Noho fucking way!” Vox laughed.
He kept one hand on Alastor’s hip, still scribbling roughly. Never letting up. His other, in contrast, gently grabbed Alastor’s chin between his index finger and thumb. The static swelled, almost loud enough to cover another one of those darling elk noises. He tipped Alastor’s head up to face him.
It was the most beautiful thing Vox had ever seen. Alastor’s face was wet and shiny with tears. They were pooling in the outer corner of his eye and rolling down his cheeks, soaking into his gag. Vox’s attention was drawn to his eyelashes, which held beads of tears like dewdrops on grass. The light in the room caught on the teardrops’ reflection and turned them into glistening blue stars. His eyelashes looked so delicate. Vox didn’t think he’d ever find anything about Alastor cute, but for some reason the soft curl of his lashes, emphasized by their glittery wetness, was genuinely adorable. It made something uncomfortable–yet inescapable–pinch in Vox’s throat.
Alastor’s eyes flitted around, trying to focus, but he couldn’t seem to anchor his gaze on Vox’s screen. They were glossy and dazed. Eventually he gave up trying. His distant, red eyes stared into nothing, releasing another fat, rolling tear.
“Oh, Al,” Vox said quietly. It was almost a whisper, but it carried the bottom edge of his voice. “Look at you. You’re a complete fucking mess.”
He tilted Alastor’s head this way and that, watching as the tears’ shine morphed when the light hit him at a different angle.
Surprisingly, Alastor didn’t give much of a fight. He was still trying to buck against the wires, and the movement jostled his head, but Vox was pretty sure that wasn’t entirely intentional. Maybe he had accepted his fate, or maybe he’d simply ran out of energy, but he wasn’t putting up any resistance. He allowed Vox to reposition his head as he pleased, like a mannequin, giving no indication he even noticed.
Vox traced his thumb along Alastor’s cheekbone. It was a light touch. He didn’t want to think of it as tender.
It made Alastor flinch. Barely noticeable, but Vox was becoming more and more hyperaware of Alastor’s every tremble.
Vox smudged the wet stain on Alastor’s cheek and collected some of it on his claw. He pressed his thumb against his projection-like tongue and rolled the salty liquid around in his mouth. A smirk spread across his screen when he saw Alastor’s eyes flicker and his nose scrunch fleetingly.
Suddenly, Vox broke his rhythm on Alastor’s hips, squeezing roughly over and over again. Feedback rang out. He had to tighten his grip on Alastor’s jaw, surely to the point of pain, to keep him from pulling away when he jumped. Alastor’s face was being held fully in view and Vox was watching his expression like a hawk.
Alastor’s eyes widened. It made them look wild and deranged. His eyebrows drew upward, dimpling the skin in between. Alastor finally managed to settle his gaze onto Vox’s screen, just for a moment, before his eyes screwed shut from the force of his own inaudible laughter. Another wave of tears cascaded down his face.
It was a long while before Vox finally relented and stilled his hand. The tension in Alastor’s body left all at once, leaving him slumped against the chair. The only movement was the deep heaving of his chest. His eyes remained closed. He looked well and truly spent.
Unfortunately for him, Vox could keep this going for so much longer.
Soft as a breeze, Vox’s hand trailed up from Alastor’s hip. It fluttered around his belly, then continued drifting higher. He made a detour to ghost up and down Alastor’s ribs, so lightly it only just shifted the fur out of place and didn’t even touch his skin.
Alastor still squirmed. His face tightened, like he was trying to resist it, but even as exhausted as he must have been he couldn’t seem to fight the urge to get away.
Vox didn’t stay there for too long. His hand slid over Alastor’s chest. A single claw drew a line through the peak of fur on his sternum, skipped over the wound, then went higher still. He traced Alastor’s prominent collarbones, back and forth, from one shoulder to the other. It was almost a chase, because Alastor’s shoulders were free to wiggle much more than the rest of his body. Though, the tiny amount of movement they had wasn’t by any means generous. Vox’s hand resumed its path and traced small swirls up Alastor’s throat, which got Alastor to attempt to tuck his head down. Vox’s grip on his face held strong. Finally, Vox’s hand came to rest with the other on Alastor’s jaw. Both thumbs rubbed circles into Alastor’s damp cheeks while his fingers wrapped around to settle at the back of Alastor’s neck.
Heavy, red eyes bore into Vox’s. They were tired and wet but still showed an impressive indignation. It was honestly unsettling. Alastor still somehow had enough fight left in him to look only mildly annoyed instead of broken, even as he shivered in his seat, bathed in uneven, lilting static.
“I have to give it to you, Alastor,” Vox grit out, narrowing his eyes. “Your constitution is fucking unnatural.”
There was the subtlest upward flick of Alastor’s eyes, like he was holding back rolling his eyes. Out of a crackle of static came a muffled, weak, trickle of applause.
“What? Is that supposed to mean something?”
Alastor’s jaw shifted. He continued to stare.
“Whatever,” Vox grumbled. “I’m gonna stamp out that attitude out sooner or later. You can’t take this forever.”
One of Vox’s hands gathered the short, surprisingly soft hairs at the nape of Alastor’s neck and pulled. His other roamed a little higher, carding through slightly sweaty red hair at the crown of Alastor’s head with a fair amount of tension.
It was a surprise to Vox when, as he ran his claws along Alastor’s scalp and reached closer to Alastor’s pinned ears, one of them flicked away.
“Oh?”
He grabbed the tip of that ear. It jerked out of his hand. A giggle built in Vox’s chest, but he stuffed it down. He sunk his claws into the base of Alastor’s ear. It could still shift around, but he was low enough that he didn’t have to chase it too far. His fingers curled inward.
Alastor ripped his head away with enough force that he actually managed to dislodge Vox’s hands. He glared at the floor, ears still twitching.
“How cute.” Vox was on a roll with hitting all of Alastor’s best spots.
He didn’t replace his hands just yet. Instead, he stood and walked around Alastor to stand behind him.
Alastor’s head didn’t move. His eyes didn’t leave the floor. But now that Vox was paying attention, he saw the subtle shifts in Alastor’s ears. They angled and twisted with each of Vox’s steps, following his location.
Vox wondered if they did that on their own, or if Alastor was purposefully teasing him.
Vox braced one hand on the back of the chair and with the other, grabbed one of Alastor’s antlers. It was small enough that with just two fingers, one hooked around each prong, he had enough leverage to yank.
Alastor’s head was pulled back far enough for him to be looking up at Vox. A sway of feedback played, whistled eerily, off tune, like wind through empty branches in a dark forest.
Vox could see, peering over Alastor’s chin, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He was drawn to it. Reaching over Alastor’s shoulder, he dug the tip of his sharp claw into the lump. It wasn’t to tickle, this time. He was pressing hard enough to hurt.
“Alastor. My prisoner. The lowest of the low.” His voice was softer than he expected. Focused, but not on his actual words.
If he pressed hard enough, he could make Alastor bleed. He could watch as red dripped down his throat. He could watch Alastor choke on it helplessly. It would be so easy. He should want to, but for some reason he didn’t think he did.
His eyes fell to Alastor’s wound and the pathetic stitching barely holding it together. Then back to his face.
To Alastor’s credit, his expression showed no signs of reaction. He maintained eye contact. He didn’t struggle. But Vox could feel the swallow he took, which pushed his larynx further into his claw. It seemed purposeful, somehow. The static rose in pitch before dropping most of its weight to give way to an echoing, ticking clock.
Heat swelled in Vox’s stomach, and he had to turn his internal cooling fans up.
Vox applied more force. There was a small, needle-point crater formed from the pressure. Slowly, he slid his finger to the side, catching it on the ridge of Alastor’s jugular and leaving a small abrasion in his skin. It wasn’t deep enough to bleed, but it faded from a light grey to a deep pink in the most satisfying way.
His claw continued to roam Alastor’s taught throat, which kept Alastor’s attention. Vox let it drift without thought while he took a look at the cables wrapped around the back of the chair. He considered the best angle for a couple of seconds before he summoned two more wires. They snapped up and wrapped around Alastor’s antlers so Vox could free his hand.
Alastor’s antlers were incredibly convenient anchor points to hold his head still. It was a shame more sinners didn’t have them, or else he’d bring the idea of an antler bondage line to Valentino. They would sell out so quickly. Alastor could be on the advertisement.
Vox shooed the thought away as quickly as it came.
With both hands free, Vox wasted no more time in grabbing Alastor’s ear tightly to hold it still. It shuttered uselessly in his grip. Immense satisfaction washed over Vox.
He met Alastor’s eyes, which narrowed. Vox knew his screen was all shit-eating smile. It was extremely appropriate, in his opinion, given the circumstances.
Vox’s other hand came up and scratched along the outer edge of Alastor’s ear.
Immediately, Alastor’s ear tensed and his head jerked as much as it was able to, which is to say not all. There was a sharp intake of air through his nose. Perfect.
Vox didn’t expect the heat that spread through the soft, velvety fur. Black and red strands parted, giving way to his fingers and enveloping them in warmth.
If Vox pretended this was under different circumstances, it seemed all too domestic. Fleeting looks shared between friends. Gentle touches lingering a little longer than they should. A shell of a memory gone by. He’d never had it with Alastor when he wanted it, but in this moment he missed it all the same. Empty longing was too familiar a feeling.
He was happily dragged out of that train of thought when his eyes met Alastor’s, filled with so much hatred. They were literally dripping with disgust. Every stroke of Vox’s fingers on his ears made them tighten.
It was better this way. More true. Vox didn’t want to have the made up image of Alastor looking at him with anything akin to affection burned into his memory bank anymore.
He dug his claws into Alastor’s ear and tugged it aggressively. The muscles in Alastor’s throat shifted and his eyebrows furrowed deeper.
Vox lifted one hand from Alastor’s ear and ran his finger along the edge of his gag, before slipping his claw under and finally pulling it down.
There wasn’t even a beat to breathe before Alastor tried to bite his hand. It was easy to avoid, with Alastor’s head immobilized.
Alastor let out a heavy chuckle. It was wet and dry at the same time. “Forgive me.” His voice was the most raw Vox had ever heard it. “You can hardly blame a fish for swimming.”
“Or a bitch from biting,” Vox countered flatly.
Another laugh caught behind Alastor’s teeth. It cut off into silence when Vox pulled his ear again. The edges of Alastor’s mouth curled up, revealing his black gums.
Vox’s hand resumed its position on the edge of Alastor’s ear, brushing lightly against the fur. He watched Alastor’s expression closely.
A small gasp was let out before Alastor could catch it, but after a second his lips pressed tightly together.
“What’s the matter, Al? Nothing to say?”
Alastor’s eyebrows fell and he peered up at Vox through slitted eyes. “What, do you want critiques?” The words were stilted and squeaky, like they took effort to force out.
“Please, be my guest.”
Vox waited until Alastor opened his mouth again to quickly dart his hands down and latch on to his sides.
Whatever Alastor was about to say died on his tongue. He clamped his teeth together, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the short, high pitched cry as his arms pressed inward.
“Sorry, what?”
Apparently, Alastor was already too worn out to resist any more than that, because after only a few more seconds loud laughter poured out unceremoniously. The sound was jagged. Rough.
As far as Vox was concerned the noise was the symphony of his success.
He didn’t stay on the spot for long. He would savor that laughter soon, but for now he gathered all of his quickly draining will power to continue his game. Toe the line of Alastor breaking, step over for just long enough to shed him of his superiority, then inch back and make him wallow in the pieces of his broken mask.
His hands pulled away and reappeared on Alastor’s ears in one motion. He curled his fingers under the muscles at the bases, close to his skull.
Roaring laughter filtered down to sparse, pattered giggling. It was almost sweet, the way the pitch rose and fell in time with Alastor’s resistant pulls on the wires holding his antlers.
“You hahave me as your- ngh- your wihilling prisoner,” Alastor said through strained mirth and crackling interference. “And yet, you cahaha- cahan’t bring yourself to- ahaha- inflict anything r-real upon me.”
Somehow, in a way Vox would be impressed by if it wasn’t pissing him off, Alastor managed to sound exceptionally condescending. Even with laughter dancing around his words, pulling his voice tight, he found a way to wiggle under Vox’s ego and pry it up like a crow bar on a loose panel.
“This is real, alright,” Vox reassured, tongue coated in a bitter lining.
He angled his fingers just so, and almost didn’t catch the way Alastor’s head leaned into them—at least, into the wires—with a shiver. His eyelids fluttered, his throat bobbed, and his lips curled into his teeth, stifling what would have been one of the prettiest gasps Vox had ever heard.
Vox smirked. “At least, these reactions would make someone think so.”
“I-“
Vox cut him off immediately by hitting the exact same spot. Whatever retort Alastor was about to give died on the spot, becoming nothing but a sharp wind sucked in through his clenched teeth.
This was nice. Who needed a gag, anyway? It was so easy to keep Alastor silenced through his fingers alone.
“Hm?”
Alastor tried again. “I can- can- Ah-!”
The same spot, once more. The cry that tumbled out of Alastor’s lips ignited a fire somewhere inside of Vox. When Alastor’s eyes peeled open, falling onto Vox’s screen—so well illuminated—his pupils were blown wide.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking fuck.
God damn.
God in heaven.
Alastor’s eyes flicked to the floor, brows raised. Whatever he found there made him chuckle.
Vox’s body refused to move.
The rattling sound of a crash cymbal invaded the room. It bounced off the walls to settle into the buzz of static, and directly into Vox’s spine.
Vox blinked. Alastor blinked back. His eyes glanced at the floor again, with much more difficulty than Vox had noticed the first time—what, with the angle and all. Alastor’s shadow, looming large by their feet, didn’t blink. It stared, unashamed, mouth agape in an upward curve.
Vox’s hands, which he was just becoming aware of again, had been cupping Alastor’s ears like a pair of sick baby birds, gentle and still. Vox pulled them back like he’d been burned.
“Welcome back,” Alastor chirped pleasantly. “Have a nice time away?”
“Oh, you absolute piece of shit!”
His hands quickly found Alastor’s ribs again and dug forcefully into the pronounced ridges. Each finger found a spot in one of the valleys and his thumbs, shifting under the loose fabric, wrapped around to press into Alastor’s spine.
Mad cackling exploded out of Alastor in an instant. It was so loud, so forceful, and so sudden that whatever phantom speakers Alastor operated through buzzed in aggravation, threatening to blow out. Vox could feel with his hands this time the way Alastor’s shoulder blades pinched together, and it felt so much nicer then than it had through the wires. Still, Vox didn’t take the frantic, rocking tugs at Alastor’s shoulders and thighs for granted.
Vox had to get a better hold on himself. He couldn’t believe he’d short circuited twice. If he kept losing his shit every time Alastor made a satisfying noise, or lingered in his mind too strongly, how was he supposed to enjoy this?
Oh, but Alastor seemed to enjoy it plenty. Granted, he’d been pretty distracted the first time, but just now Alastor was entirely too satisfied to watch Vox glitch out.
Of course, now he was beside himself, almost screaming in laughter, so it’s not like that satisfaction was long-lived. It was almost worth it to watch his pleased grin snap away in a second and morph into hysteria. Still, Vox assured himself he wouldn’t lose focus again.
When Alastor’s laughter started breaking into shrill squeaks of lost air, and tears prickled at the corners of his eyes again, Vox let up. Naturally, his hands took their spot atop Alastor’s head.
Without a second to breathe in between, the last of Alastor’s wailing trickled into wet tittering. He was so focused on getting air he had no hope of muffling the whining noises Vox’s attention to his ears ripped from his throat. His lungs trembled as they heaved. Vox could see his sternum rising and falling with a considerable amount of effort.
A single tear fell, leaving a trail along his cheekbone before slipping away to disappear into his hair.
Vox brushed a finger along the trail to rub it away. In time with a bursting elk call playing in the air, Alastor snapped his teeth at him, and he quickly yanked his hand away and placed it right back on his ear. He shot Alastor an unimpressed look.
“I know, I know. A fish and his swimming, yada yada, blah-blah-blah.”
“A behehe- mmh- bit- aha!” Alastor shut his eyes and took a long, shaky breath in through his nose. His ear gave a particularly vigorous—though overall useless—flick as his eyes opened and he set them on Vox. “A bihitch-! From- ah- from-mm, eheh, bihitihing.”
Vox found a genuine smile worming its way onto his screen. Not quite sadistic, just comfortable. He didn’t know if it was from Alastor actually calling back to his stupid joke, or the fact that it took so much effort for him to do so. It was endearing, as much as he would rather rip off his own arm than admit it, the way Alastor seemed so unbothered by his own laughter, except for the fact that it made it harder to deliver the punchline. Alastor was, and always had been, an entertainer first and foremost, after all.
Ugh, it was disgusting. He bit back the grin and lowered his eyebrows, hoping to give off annoyance instead.
Through his pathetic, whimpering giggles, Alastor’s eyes still crinkled at the edges in a way that told Vox he hadn’t put his expression in check quick enough.
“Whatever,” he huffed with a roll of his eyes. “A bitch from biting, yes, I’m so hilarious. Now laugh.”
And Alastor did. His stomach was the next target.
The chair rolled back and hit Vox’s chest, which just allowed him more leverage to grab at the exposed skin and fur. Grey strands entangled themselves in his claws as he scratched around the area.
It was so reccessed—and Vox knew, of course, sinner biology was incredibly varied. Some had more body parts, some had less, completely different shapes and sizes, and systems that worked in ways he couldn’t even comprehend.
He, himself, was a shining example: half electronic, half organic, no clear distinction of which was where, and also he was kind of, sort of, vaguely aquatic. Not to mention his computer of a brain which confused anyone he tried to explain it to. It’s not like he understood how Velvette’s joints stuck together or how, exactly, Valentino’s pink smoke situation worked.
But the sinner that confused him the most had always been Alastor, from his freaky sound effects to his even freakier shadow. He was deceptively human on the outside yet had countless supernatural systems in place underneath.
And now, as he pressed his fingers into his hollow belly, he wondered if Alastor had any organs at all. He wondered if Alastor even knew himself. He wondered how easy it would be to get the answer and slice him open right now with his claws. He wondered how warm the blood would be as it seeped into his hands.
He wondered if Alastor had any idea where his train of thought was leading him to, or if he was too lost in his shrieking and squirming to even consider.
That shrieking and squirming was getting exceptionally desperate, actually. His eyes were scrunched tight but his face was wet again. He was interrupting his own cacophony of laughter with sharp hiccups, which he nearly choked on. Vox found that less entrancing than he expected to.
It seemed all at once that a sheet of indifference fell over Vox. He kept tickling fervently, but he watched Alastor with something akin to boredom. Maybe it was so far into boredom that it turned to repulsion.
A pinch here. A squeeze there. His movements were getting mechanical. And Alastor’s laughter was getting grating. Both on Vox’s audio receivers and Alastor’s throat, it seemed, because it was starting to creak. It sounded like it was scratching painfully.
Vox kept going.
Somehow, Alastor was hardly resisting his wires anymore, except for his chest which pushed out against them with all it had. Alastor was running out of oxygen, then.
He kept going, still.
The gasping hiccups got more and more frequent, until they overtook him entirely and all that was coming out was a whistling plea for breath, interspersed with silence. Vox didn’t remember when the static cut out, but the room was completely void of it.
And still, he didn’t relent.
Alastor’s face was going red, which Vox had never seen from him before. His mouth hung open like a newborn baby, yet to properly cry, though tears were streaming down his face like the rolling waves of the ocean.
His bottom lip tucked briefly into his top teeth before popping back out silently. He just barely managed to drag in a breath before his lip did it again. It wasn’t until the third time that Vox heard a soft ‘ksss’ hissed behind the motion.
His eyebrows pulled together and he slowed his hands a fraction to listen.
Literal bells and whistles rang out. “V-“ A gasp. “V-“ A hiccup. “V- -x!”
Vox wasn’t even sure it was on purpose, when his hands let go. He was just taken so off guard when he realized Alastor was trying to say his name. He wasn’t sure why he was so shocked. What else was Alastor supposed to say? Still, it was the closest to begging for mercy possibly anyone had ever gotten from the Radio Demon.
And just like that, the sheet of indifference floated away, and Vox was sure it was impossible to be more smug than he was now.
“Oh, me? Who were you calling for? Me? Just little old me? Begging for me to save your pathetic ass? ‘Vox, pretty, pretty please stop tickling me, I can’t take it! Vooox! Oh, it just tickles soooo much, Vox!’”
In Vox’s opinion, his Alastor impression was pretty good. This, however, was a whiny, muppetized, bastardized version of it and nowhere close to Alastor’s voice. If he was a being of higher dignity it would have even been embarrassing, but luckily for him he was used to acting like a fool in front of people. Also, he was riding the high of Alastor calling out his name like it was the last thing he’d ever do, so he didn’t think he had it in him to be slightly shameful of anything at all for the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, Alastor was too busy hyperventilating to even pay attention to his gloating. With whatever dull haze that overtook him completely washed away, Vox could genuinely appreciate the state Alastor was in.
His face was losing its color quite quickly, fading back to its usual grey with every gasping breath he took. Vox was drinking up the tug of the wires every time Alastor’s chest convulsed with a hiccup and—yeah—it didn’t seem like those were stopping anytime soon. Alastor’s tears had run down the sides of his jawline, and up into his hair, which was almost completely soaked with sweat as well. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
Vox was not one to show mercy, but he didn’t mind spending a couple of minutes letting Alastor recuperate. It’s not like he wasn’t enjoying watching.
Slowly, Alastor’s breathing steadied. At least, as much as it could with the (frankly, hilarious) hiccups slipping out every once in a while. At last, Alastor’s gaze shifted back to Vox.
“Welcome back,” Vox chirped pleasantly. “Have a nice time away?”
Alastor rolled his eyes, but his smile widened. With a click, the static roared back to life.
“Whahat a wa-hicc-waste.” Alastor’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, dearie me! Pardon my-hicc-my, well, that. How- ahaha! How unbecoming!”
Vox stared. Only Alastor, fucking Alastor, could somehow make hiccuping seem like an insult to him. And to top it off, he managed to wrap in his own giggling—which, by the way, Vox knew was involuntary—and twist it so Alastor was giggling at him instead! If after all of that, Alastor was still the most prissy, attitude riddled wretch in the Nine Circles, there really was just no helping his case.
“It’s a waste, by the way,” Alastor continued. “Because you wehere so-hicc-! Mhm.” He took a breath. “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.” The static popped and crackled and coated his words. If Vox had to guess, that was his substitute for not being able to gesture with his hands.
“I-! I’m not-! I ca- I- What? What are you even talking about!?” God damn it, how is Alastor the one making him stutter like a fucking mess? “That was real! It was fucking real, what do you mean!?”
Canned laughter, dancing all around him, bit him with daggered teeth.
“I’ve laughed harder than that over a cup of t-hicc-tea and good gossip with Zestial, I’m afraid.” The studio laughter morphed into a collective ‘Aww’ that dripped like honey down the walls.
“Zestial!?” Surely Alastor was saying that just to get under his skin. Zestial, that old slab of dust, had cobwebs where his sense of humor should be. Not to mention, he’s never been known to make social calls. “You’re lying, obviously. I don’t even care.”
He fluttered his claws under Alastor’s jaw.
“Ha,” Alastor said dryly, though it was immediately clear real laughter was starting to bubble up in his chest again. “I’m hurt. You really make me out to be a liar?” The end of his sentence pitched up, and his shoulders shook in a way that wouldn’t fool anyone.
“Just shut up already,” Vox grit out. “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!”
“It was a disappointment,” Alastor sighed wistfully, though the effect was sullied when a bark of laughter slipped out. “Better- ahaha- better luck next tehe- time, I -hicc- suppose!”
Vox wasn’t oblivious to what was going on here. He wished he could say Alastor was easy to read, but even after all these years, he wasn’t. Still, Alastor was obviously trying to get him riled up.
To what end, though? Surely he realized poking the bear would end up with him in tears, laughing so hard he can’t breathe. There was no way that was actually what Alastor wanted, no matter how much he pretended to be unaffected. So clearly, it was about avoiding something worse, then. What was it?
His hands inched up again. They booped his nose on their way, quickly, already expecting the snapping teeth. They reached Alastor’s ears.
It wasn’t even a gasp, this time. It was more like a bone weary sigh.
“Something wrong?” Vox asked.
It doesn’t manage to actually move, but Vox could feel the sentiment of a shaken head with the alternating pulses of strain from each antler. “No, no, nothing at all.” And Alastor was just doing it for the bit; his tone didn’t actually try to hide his disdain. Not that it mattered, because Vox was just going to do it anyway, and Alastor knew that. “Carry oN-!”
Alastor hit quite the impressive high note when Vox interrupted him to press his fingers into the increasingly familiar spot. He was getting rather skilled at working the controls after all this time.
“Is this what you were avoiding? Why?” It was mostly mumbled to himself in contemplation. It’s understandable, Vox supposed, that someone like Alastor would find touch nearer to his face to be less bearable than somewhere else, even if it tickled less.
Though, Vox pondered if it actually did tickle less. He certainly got more reactions out of Alastor by just ghosting contact over his ears than he did with any spot on his torso. It was only when he dug in with some force that he got a true rise out of Alastor–more than helpless wiggling, anyway. With his ears, though, a firmer touch didn’t send Alastor into hysterics in the same way. It just sort of… Disrupted him. So when he did this…
“Mhmgh!”
And when he did that…
“Agh-!”
When he curved his fingers like so…
“Unnh...!”
Vox willed his system not to overheat. The noises were becoming downright lewd.
A quick glance to Alastor’s rattled expression told Vox that Alastor was hearing it too.
Vox was like, ninety percent sure that Alastor wasn’t actually getting all hot bothered about it, but the vocalizations came out all the same.
He leaned down, putting his screen just an inch or two from Alastor’s ear.
“What, is it getting t-t-to you, Al?” He kept his voice low and smooth. It would have been so effective if his voice didn’t glitch.
Once again, Alastor broke off into a trail of giggling. “To mehehe? You seheem a-ahaha- little worse- mnmh- worse for wear y-yourself.”
The soft rumble of electricity polluted the air like ink in water. The fur on the tips of Alastor’s ears stood on end.
“If you’re- ahaha! Ngh-! G-going to… to- mhmn.” Alastor’s lips pressed together to quiet the laughter and what could only be described as moans. Vox could feel the shiver that ran down Alastor’s body.
“Aw, keep trying. You’ll get it out eventually.”
Whatever playful edge Alastor had in his eyes disappeared and was immediately replaced by a grimace. If Vox didn’t know any better he’d say Alastor actually looked flustered. There was a snap of aggressive feedback.
Then, Alastor’s eyes drooped and roamed around Vox’s screen hungrily. “Vox,” he gasped, soft and sweet.
Heat. “Wha- uh, huh?”
“Vox. Mm, oh, Vox.” It was almost like a song.
There was a sudden pressure in Vox’s chest that bursted in all directions. Down to his stomach, where it twisted and turned. Up his throat and into his head.
“Ahah- V-Vox…”
A stinging buzz of frying wires, and Vox was cut off from the world.
In what felt to him like less than a second, he was back online, though still much too warm. He found himself kneeling on the floor.
Alastor was still in the chair, immobilized. But he was looking down at Vox with condescension nestled deep into his eyes.
“Welcome back,” he chirped pleasantly. Except, this time, it was so much more contemptful. “You’re as predictable as always. And disgusting." A hiccup punctuated the end of his words, but somehow it, too, leaked of disapproval.
“You- you- I- uh.” He simply couldn’t find the words.
Alastor’s eye twitched. His brow raised.
“Fuck off,” Vox finally grit out. He stood and brushed himself off. “I’m done with this.”
All of the wires, except for the original ones over Alastor’s arms and chest, slid back into their pocket dimension.
Suddenly slack, Alastor’s head fell forward, but he quickly righted it and began rolling it side to side, stretching out his neck. His legs, too, kicked and worked their muscles for a second before one crossed over the other politely.
“Well, every good host knows when to call it a night! Haha!”
Vox couldn’t fathom how Alastor still had the energy to put all that fake cheer into his voice. He roughly gripped Alastor’s face and shoved the gag back into place. “It’s time you shut the fuck up.”
Alastor stared at him, unblinking.
With a deep sigh, Vox turned away and walked out of the room. He shut off the lights with his mental control panel a second later.
---
"Welcome back," the Absolute Loser of a Man chirped pleasantly. "Have a nice time away?"
This was originally intended to be around 4k. There was a specific image I had in mind, that was the entire reason for me writing this in the first place, and I didn't even get to it until over 5k words in. It's 24 pages on Docs. Oopsies.
It's also, unsurprisingly, difficult to write anything engaging in limited perspective when the non-pov character can't move or talk and there's nothing to bounce off of. I put a lot of thought into how Alastor would express things in the very limited manners he still could, and how Vox would percieve it all on his end. Everything is filtered through Vox's eyes, and Vox is a delightfully unreliable narrator.
Unfortunately, that means the readers aren't privy to Alastor's inner commentary, which is absolutely hilarious. I thought about explaining some of his thoughts and actions here, but then I had the idea to completely rewrite this fic, beat for beat, but from Alastor's perspective instead. Let me know if that's something you would be interested in! He's such a little shit I can't even lie.
Besides that, Vox's thoughts and observations are obviously very clouded in bias. For example, Alastor's shadow is much more expressive than this fic implies, simply because Vox doesn't think to look unless Alastor brings his attention to it. Instead, he's actually more aware of Alastor's sound effects than I think the average person would be, because of their history but moreso because he's intune with electronics, radios, etc and he has some similar tells.
He's dealing with extremely mixed emotions which give him whiplash as they drag him around, which is why one second he doesn't even want to hurt Alastor and the next he's basically drooling over the idea. There's absolutely implied RadioSilence, or even RadioStatic, but it is extremely toxic and not meant to be taken as an example in any way shape or form. As much as Vox is obsessed and in love with Alastor, he genuinely hates him too.
Thanks for making it this far, and reading my rambling if you did that! Let me know if you liked this fic, it would absolutely make my day!
Tags: Tickling Kink, Tickle Torture, High Sensitivity, Power Dynamics, Emotional Breakdown, Dubious Consent, Aftercare, Shark-Gills, Rib Tickling, Vox Is Ticklish.
Summary:
Valentino arrives early for his midnight meeting with Vox, eager to test a long-held hypothesis: what exactly happens when you apply focused, merciless pressure to a Techno-Demon built of tension and static? Val finds Vox's most hidden, most vulnerable spots—the intercostals, the antennae, and the uniquely sensitive shark-gills—and methodically drives the cool, collected Overlord into a state of pure, shrieking, digital hysteria. What follows is a quiet, intimate dance between absolute power and exhausted, grateful submission.
- Missed me, my friend? - Valentino's voice behind Vox sounded gentle, even sickeningly sweet.
Vox turned to face him, looking as self-assured and cocky as always.
- We agreed to meet at midnight. It's only seven.
- And I can't visit my little TV star? - Val approached Vox's screen and ran a finger along its edge, where the chin would be on a face.
Vox leaned in for a kiss. The kiss was lingering, filthy, and wet. Val pulled back with clear pleasure, and then traced the edge of the screen again with his fingers.
- Did you fear tickling when you were alive? - Valentino asked, a hint of insinuation in his voice.
- What? - The "gif" on his face froze. For a second, his static, neutral image appeared. - Feared... Hard to say. I don't recall anyone ever daring to check.
Vox kissed the Moth again, already letting Valentino's saliva-aphrodisiac tempt him. Val wrapped his lower two arms around his waist, while the other pair of hands touched his antennae above the monitor, gently fiddling with them.
- Unpleasant, - Vox lied, to avoid dropping to his knees before him from pleasure.
His voice sounded hoarse from the speakers, and the static ripple on his screen betrayed him completely. Valentino made a sweet little smacking sound, as if sampling the most exquisite dessert.
- You're lying, darling. Your antennae are vibrating like strings, - he whispered right into the microphone, and his lower hands, without letting go of Vox's waist, began a slow, exploratory movement under his jacket. Fingers slipped across the silk of the shirt, tracing the contours of his ribs. - Oh, your ribs are just... Sharp, beautiful. A real ladder for my fingers.
His touch wasn't ticklish, but almost affectionate - gliding along each bone, from the solar plexus to the side. Vox froze, trying to anticipate where the attack would begin. His breathing, which he couldn't feel but which the cooling system modeled, quickened, emitting a slight hum.
- And where would it be the most ticklish here? - Valentino mused, and his upper hands let go of the antennae to gently press Vox's collarbones with his thumbs, holding him in place. - Perhaps... here?
His lower fingers suddenly changed tactics. Instead of gliding, they dug into the intercostal spaces - gently, but with deadly precision. It wasn't a chaotic dash, but a focused, pulsating pressure in the narrowest, most vulnerable gaps between the bones.
Vox flinched as if from an electric shock. A sharp, abrupt sound burst from his speakers - not laughter, but more a stifled "kkh-kkh-ah!", like static interference. His screen froze, flickering with blue noise.
- Ohoho, - Valentino hissed with unconcealed delight. - Hit the spot? Let's do more.
He wiggled his fingers in those sensitive hollows, no longer pressing, but picking, as if playing a flute made of nerves and tensed muscles. Vox's body arched in a silent spasm. He tried to hold back, squeezing the "lips" on the screen into a thin line, but his shoulders twitched, and his fingers convulsively dug into Valentino's jacket sleeves.
And then Valentino found the gills.
His fingers, still dancing on the ribs, slipped slightly lower, to that strange, almost intimate anatomical detail - to a row of sensitive slits on his sides. He touched the edge of the first slit just with the tip of his nail.
Vox wailed.
It was a clean, high sound, a mix of static screech and genuine, defenseless laughter, which he hadn't heard himself since his human life. His whole body trembled.
- N-n-no-ha-ha-t! - he choked out, and the image on his screen distorted in panic and uncontrollable reaction. - V-Val... st...
But the plea was lost in a new burst of laughter as Valentino began to run the pad of his finger along the entire line of the gills, from top to bottom. It was an unbearable, piercing sensation, as if his internal wiring was being yanked out into the light by a tickling torture.
Vox, always perfectly straight and composed, went limp. His knees buckled, and he hung in Valentino's arms, who only pressed him closer, continuing his methodical, merciless, and yet admiring "interrogation with exploration."
- There he is, my fearsome Voxie, - the moth whispered with affection, kissing the edge of his monitor, which was hot from overload, - Lie down on the table.
Vox pressed closer to Valentino. The sweet, intoxicating aphrodisiac washed over him again. His systems, already overloaded with laughter, were losing ground, replacing panic with a vague, viscous desire.
- Lie down on the table, - Val whispered, as pink smoke tendrils wrapped around Vox's arms, gently but inexorably pulling them away from his silky chest. The smoke was weightless, yet unbreakable - it wrapped around his wrists, fingers, fixing them not with force, but with temptation, forcing Vox's muscles to relax and submit.
There was nothing to resist with. Vox allowed himself to be led two steps back, until his lower back hit the cold, mirror-polished black table. Valentino tipped him back, and Vox lay down, his head hitting the table with a dull, metallic thud. His monitor stared at the ceiling, on the screen - chaotic, bright flashes...
Valentino stood over him, blocking the neon lights, and watched Vox's chest plate rise and fall. The smoky restraints fixed his arms at his sides. He was open, defenseless, and incredibly beautiful in this loss of control.
- Completely different, - Valentino whispered, running a palm down from his throat to his solar plexus. - Without the jacket, without that... cold mask. I'll drive you into hysterics.
And he began. It wasn't a game, but a methodical invasion.
First - reconnaissance. The fingertips of his lower right and left hands touched the ribs simultaneously, just below the chest plate. Lightly, almost airily. Vox flinched, a sharp pixel line jumping across his screen.
- Sensitive, - Valentino noted to himself, and his fingers came alive.
They didn't just tickle. They explored. Gliding along each intercostal space, from the hard edge of the ribcage to the soft side, finding the narrowest, deepest hollows, and there, in the most vulnerable flesh, beginning fast, vibrating movements, as if trying to drill a hole in him with laughter. Vox snorted - a short, sharp sound, like static. His body twitched.
- No, no, don't twitch, - Valentino hissed sweetly, and his upper hands descended on Vox to pin his shoulders to the table, while the lower ones continued their work.
He found a rhythm. The fingers of his right hand tapped a disjointed, insane drumbeat on the ribs, and the fingers of his left - began slow, zigzagging runs on the same ribs, but from the opposite side. Two independent, contradictory patterns of tickling. The effect was instantaneous.
The first real laughter burst from Vox's speakers. Sharp, metallic, but unmistakably recognizable.
- Heh-heh-kha!
His screen flashed, trying to display a smirk, but only chaotic bursts resulted.
- Oh, there it is, - Valentino rejoiced. - The little voice. Louder.
He shifted the attack. The right hand slipped from the ribs and dug into his armpit, which was exposed by the shifted sleeve. Not just tickling, but gathering the fingers into a pinch and quickly-quickly nipping the delicate skin on the inside of the shoulder. The left hand, meanwhile, dropped lower, to the shark gills.
The touch to the gills was different. Valentino didn't scratch them. He pressed his whole palm to the side and began to shake it very slightly, creating a vibration that penetrated inside the slits, tickling them from within. It was a strange, piercing sensation, as if his insides were trying to escape through laughter.
Vox's laughter changed. From sharp and abrupt, it became long, squealing, on a high note.
- Ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ha-ha-ha-staaaap!
He threw his head back, the monitor hitting the table. His body writhed, but the pinned shoulders and smoky restraints on his wrists left little room. His legs thrashed in the air, beating a crazy rhythm against the empty space.
- Louder, my dear, louder! - Valentino egged him on, and his fingers in the armpit accelerated, turning into a blurred, unbearably ticklish spot. And the left hand at the gills switched from shaking to movement - he began to trace his index finger along the entire line of the gill slits, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, from the very top to the bottom.
It was too much. Vox's laughter broke into hysterics. He laughed so hard it seemed his speakers would burst. The sound was hoarse, wheezing, interrupted by gasps for breath that he couldn't get enough of.
- HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-WHA-WHA-WHASTOOOP! I CA-A-AN'T-HA-HA-HA!
Nothing resembling a face remained on his screen - only a frantic kaleidoscope of colored stripes, circles, flashes, synchronized with the body's convulsions. There were no tears, but bright, emergency yellow pixels appeared at the edges of the monitor - a sign of systemic overload.
Valentino was mesmerized. He watched this always collected, cold techno-demon fall apart from simple touches. He leaned closer, his lips almost touching the hot screen.
- More, - he whispered. - Give me everything. All your laughter.
And he resorted to the cruelest, most effective methods. His fingers found the lowest, most floating rib and pinched it. Simultaneously, the thumb of the other hand plunged into the deepest gill slit and wiggled there.
Vox howled. His laughter reached its peak, turning into a continuous, ceaseless, choking roar. His body thrashed in genuine hysterics, convulsions caused solely by tickling. The sound was deafening, unmodulated, a pure manifestation of panic and the inability to stop.
- A-A-A-A-A-A-A-HA-HA-HA-A-A-A!
He no longer asked to stop. He just laughed, crying this digital, insane laughter, completely at Valentino's mercy.
And only when the yellow pixels at the edge of the screen began to merge into a solid circle of alarm, Valentino took pity.
He removed all his hands at once.
Silence fell, broken only by the hoarse, interrupted hum of Vox's cooling systems and a faint, hissing sound from his speakers - the after-laughter. His body went limp, utterly and completely. On the screen, slowly, as if with effort, a simple static image appeared - two straight white lines, a symbol of closed eyes, and below - a curved, trembling dash, like a helpless smile.
Valentino breathed heavily, watching this. Not from exhaustion, but from the surging feeling - sharp, sweet, almost painful possession. He slowly, almost tenderly, ran a finger across the hot screen, collecting the static charge from it, feeling a light, tickling crackle on his fingertips.
- Hysteria, - he quietly stated, and his voice held the deepest, intoxicating satisfaction. - Absolute.
Vox didn't answer. He just weakly, almost imperceptibly, tilted his screen towards the touch, like a cat seeking affection. This tiny gesture was more eloquent than any words. Capitulation. Trust. Invitation.
Valentino leaned down and pressed his lips to the still-warm surface of the monitor. The kiss was slow, lingering, devoid of the previous rough passion. It was a seal. Confirmation. Vox responded with a barely audible hum, and his trembling smile on the screen became slightly steadier.
When Valentino pulled away, his upper arms were still gently holding Vox's wrists, and the lower ones... the lower ones rested on his sides again. But now it wasn't an invasion, but a return. Not torture, but a continuation. His fingertips touched the exposed intercostals, which had been through the hell of tickling, and began to move. Completely differently.
He tickled him again. But now - gently. Barely perceptible. These were not sharp pokes or vibrating attacks, but light, airy runs of his fingertips along each rib, as if he were erasing the traces of the former cruelty, leaving in their place a thin, ticklish ripple. It was like stroking ruffled fur, soothing it.
Vox flinched - a reflex, an echo of the nightmare just experienced. But soon his body, still tense and painfully sensitive, began to slowly relax under this new, almost caressing touch. Not laughter, but a long, deep, hissing sigh escaped his speakers. On the screen, the trembling smile softened, turning into an expression of languid, exhausted bliss.
They both wanted this. Vox - for his sensitivity, pushed to the limit, to finally find a pleasant, not agonizing, application. For the sharp needles of laughter to be replaced by warm waves. Valentino - to prolong this moment of complete power, but to color it with tenderness, to cement his victory not with fear, but with a strange, perverse gratitude.
His fingers glided across his sides, across his stomach, lightly touching the lower ribs, and each time Vox shuddered from a particularly ticklish touch, Valentino muffled it with a quiet whisper: "Shhh... it's alright...". He kissed him again - the corner of the screen, the place where a cheek would be, the microphone on his neck. And Vox responded, his hands, finally freed from the smoky restraints, slowly wrapped around Valentino's neck, pulling him closer.
It wasn't a fight. It was a dance on the ashes of hysteria. Tickling became their language - quiet, understood only by the two of them. Valentino asked: "Still sensitive here?", and Vox replied with a stifled chuckle when the fingers found a particularly tender spot. They both wanted this - this intimacy, built on the absolute vulnerability of one and the careful, yet complete power of the other. And in this quiet, ticklish agony after the storm, there was something more intimate than anything that had been between them before.
Tags: Tickling Kink, Tickle Torture, High Sensitivity, Power Dynamics, Emotional Breakdown, Dubious Consent, Aftercare, Shark-Gills, Rib Tickling, Vox Is Ticklish.
Summary:
Valentino arrives early for his midnight meeting with Vox, eager to test a long-held hypothesis: what exactly happens when you apply focused, merciless pressure to a Techno-Demon built of tension and static? Val finds Vox's most hidden, most vulnerable spots—the intercostals, the antennae, and the uniquely sensitive shark-gills—and methodically drives the cool, collected Overlord into a state of pure, shrieking, digital hysteria. What follows is a quiet, intimate dance between absolute power and exhausted, grateful submission.
- Missed me, my friend? - Valentino's voice behind Vox sounded gentle, even sickeningly sweet.
Vox turned to face him, looking as self-assured and cocky as always.
- We agreed to meet at midnight. It's only seven.
- And I can't visit my little TV star? - Val approached Vox's screen and ran a finger along its edge, where the chin would be on a face.
Vox leaned in for a kiss. The kiss was lingering, filthy, and wet. Val pulled back with clear pleasure, and then traced the edge of the screen again with his fingers.
- Did you fear tickling when you were alive? - Valentino asked, a hint of insinuation in his voice.
- What? - The "gif" on his face froze. For a second, his static, neutral image appeared. - Feared... Hard to say. I don't recall anyone ever daring to check.
Vox kissed the Moth again, already letting Valentino's saliva-aphrodisiac tempt him. Val wrapped his lower two arms around his waist, while the other pair of hands touched his antennae above the monitor, gently fiddling with them.
- Unpleasant, - Vox lied, to avoid dropping to his knees before him from pleasure.
His voice sounded hoarse from the speakers, and the static ripple on his screen betrayed him completely. Valentino made a sweet little smacking sound, as if sampling the most exquisite dessert.
- You're lying, darling. Your antennae are vibrating like strings, - he whispered right into the microphone, and his lower hands, without letting go of Vox's waist, began a slow, exploratory movement under his jacket. Fingers slipped across the silk of the shirt, tracing the contours of his ribs. - Oh, your ribs are just... Sharp, beautiful. A real ladder for my fingers.
His touch wasn't ticklish, but almost affectionate - gliding along each bone, from the solar plexus to the side. Vox froze, trying to anticipate where the attack would begin. His breathing, which he couldn't feel but which the cooling system modeled, quickened, emitting a slight hum.
- And where would it be the most ticklish here? - Valentino mused, and his upper hands let go of the antennae to gently press Vox's collarbones with his thumbs, holding him in place. - Perhaps... here?
His lower fingers suddenly changed tactics. Instead of gliding, they dug into the intercostal spaces - gently, but with deadly precision. It wasn't a chaotic dash, but a focused, pulsating pressure in the narrowest, most vulnerable gaps between the bones.
Vox flinched as if from an electric shock. A sharp, abrupt sound burst from his speakers - not laughter, but more a stifled "kkh-kkh-ah!", like static interference. His screen froze, flickering with blue noise.
- Ohoho, - Valentino hissed with unconcealed delight. - Hit the spot? Let's do more.
He wiggled his fingers in those sensitive hollows, no longer pressing, but picking, as if playing a flute made of nerves and tensed muscles. Vox's body arched in a silent spasm. He tried to hold back, squeezing the "lips" on the screen into a thin line, but his shoulders twitched, and his fingers convulsively dug into Valentino's jacket sleeves.
And then Valentino found the gills.
His fingers, still dancing on the ribs, slipped slightly lower, to that strange, almost intimate anatomical detail - to a row of sensitive slits on his sides. He touched the edge of the first slit just with the tip of his nail.
Vox wailed.
It was a clean, high sound, a mix of static screech and genuine, defenseless laughter, which he hadn't heard himself since his human life. His whole body trembled.
- N-n-no-ha-ha-t! - he choked out, and the image on his screen distorted in panic and uncontrollable reaction. - V-Val... st...
But the plea was lost in a new burst of laughter as Valentino began to run the pad of his finger along the entire line of the gills, from top to bottom. It was an unbearable, piercing sensation, as if his internal wiring was being yanked out into the light by a tickling torture.
Vox, always perfectly straight and composed, went limp. His knees buckled, and he hung in Valentino's arms, who only pressed him closer, continuing his methodical, merciless, and yet admiring "interrogation with exploration."
- There he is, my fearsome Voxie, - the moth whispered with affection, kissing the edge of his monitor, which was hot from overload, - Lie down on the table.
Vox pressed closer to Valentino. The sweet, intoxicating aphrodisiac washed over him again. His systems, already overloaded with laughter, were losing ground, replacing panic with a vague, viscous desire.
- Lie down on the table, - Val whispered, as pink smoke tendrils wrapped around Vox's arms, gently but inexorably pulling them away from his silky chest. The smoke was weightless, yet unbreakable - it wrapped around his wrists, fingers, fixing them not with force, but with temptation, forcing Vox's muscles to relax and submit.
There was nothing to resist with. Vox allowed himself to be led two steps back, until his lower back hit the cold, mirror-polished black table. Valentino tipped him back, and Vox lay down, his head hitting the table with a dull, metallic thud. His monitor stared at the ceiling, on the screen - chaotic, bright flashes...
Valentino stood over him, blocking the neon lights, and watched Vox's chest plate rise and fall. The smoky restraints fixed his arms at his sides. He was open, defenseless, and incredibly beautiful in this loss of control.
- Completely different, - Valentino whispered, running a palm down from his throat to his solar plexus. - Without the jacket, without that... cold mask. I'll drive you into hysterics.
And he began. It wasn't a game, but a methodical invasion.
First - reconnaissance. The fingertips of his lower right and left hands touched the ribs simultaneously, just below the chest plate. Lightly, almost airily. Vox flinched, a sharp pixel line jumping across his screen.
- Sensitive, - Valentino noted to himself, and his fingers came alive.
They didn't just tickle. They explored. Gliding along each intercostal space, from the hard edge of the ribcage to the soft side, finding the narrowest, deepest hollows, and there, in the most vulnerable flesh, beginning fast, vibrating movements, as if trying to drill a hole in him with laughter. Vox snorted - a short, sharp sound, like static. His body twitched.
- No, no, don't twitch, - Valentino hissed sweetly, and his upper hands descended on Vox to pin his shoulders to the table, while the lower ones continued their work.
He found a rhythm. The fingers of his right hand tapped a disjointed, insane drumbeat on the ribs, and the fingers of his left - began slow, zigzagging runs on the same ribs, but from the opposite side. Two independent, contradictory patterns of tickling. The effect was instantaneous.
The first real laughter burst from Vox's speakers. Sharp, metallic, but unmistakably recognizable.
- Heh-heh-kha!
His screen flashed, trying to display a smirk, but only chaotic bursts resulted.
- Oh, there it is, - Valentino rejoiced. - The little voice. Louder.
He shifted the attack. The right hand slipped from the ribs and dug into his armpit, which was exposed by the shifted sleeve. Not just tickling, but gathering the fingers into a pinch and quickly-quickly nipping the delicate skin on the inside of the shoulder. The left hand, meanwhile, dropped lower, to the shark gills.
The touch to the gills was different. Valentino didn't scratch them. He pressed his whole palm to the side and began to shake it very slightly, creating a vibration that penetrated inside the slits, tickling them from within. It was a strange, piercing sensation, as if his insides were trying to escape through laughter.
Vox's laughter changed. From sharp and abrupt, it became long, squealing, on a high note.
- Ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ha-ha-ha-staaaap!
He threw his head back, the monitor hitting the table. His body writhed, but the pinned shoulders and smoky restraints on his wrists left little room. His legs thrashed in the air, beating a crazy rhythm against the empty space.
- Louder, my dear, louder! - Valentino egged him on, and his fingers in the armpit accelerated, turning into a blurred, unbearably ticklish spot. And the left hand at the gills switched from shaking to movement - he began to trace his index finger along the entire line of the gill slits, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, from the very top to the bottom.
It was too much. Vox's laughter broke into hysterics. He laughed so hard it seemed his speakers would burst. The sound was hoarse, wheezing, interrupted by gasps for breath that he couldn't get enough of.
- HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-WHA-WHA-WHASTOOOP! I CA-A-AN'T-HA-HA-HA!
Nothing resembling a face remained on his screen - only a frantic kaleidoscope of colored stripes, circles, flashes, synchronized with the body's convulsions. There were no tears, but bright, emergency yellow pixels appeared at the edges of the monitor - a sign of systemic overload.
Valentino was mesmerized. He watched this always collected, cold techno-demon fall apart from simple touches. He leaned closer, his lips almost touching the hot screen.
- More, - he whispered. - Give me everything. All your laughter.
And he resorted to the cruelest, most effective methods. His fingers found the lowest, most floating rib and pinched it. Simultaneously, the thumb of the other hand plunged into the deepest gill slit and wiggled there.
Vox howled. His laughter reached its peak, turning into a continuous, ceaseless, choking roar. His body thrashed in genuine hysterics, convulsions caused solely by tickling. The sound was deafening, unmodulated, a pure manifestation of panic and the inability to stop.
- A-A-A-A-A-A-A-HA-HA-HA-A-A-A!
He no longer asked to stop. He just laughed, crying this digital, insane laughter, completely at Valentino's mercy.
And only when the yellow pixels at the edge of the screen began to merge into a solid circle of alarm, Valentino took pity.
He removed all his hands at once.
Silence fell, broken only by the hoarse, interrupted hum of Vox's cooling systems and a faint, hissing sound from his speakers - the after-laughter. His body went limp, utterly and completely. On the screen, slowly, as if with effort, a simple static image appeared - two straight white lines, a symbol of closed eyes, and below - a curved, trembling dash, like a helpless smile.
Valentino breathed heavily, watching this. Not from exhaustion, but from the surging feeling - sharp, sweet, almost painful possession. He slowly, almost tenderly, ran a finger across the hot screen, collecting the static charge from it, feeling a light, tickling crackle on his fingertips.
- Hysteria, - he quietly stated, and his voice held the deepest, intoxicating satisfaction. - Absolute.
Vox didn't answer. He just weakly, almost imperceptibly, tilted his screen towards the touch, like a cat seeking affection. This tiny gesture was more eloquent than any words. Capitulation. Trust. Invitation.
Valentino leaned down and pressed his lips to the still-warm surface of the monitor. The kiss was slow, lingering, devoid of the previous rough passion. It was a seal. Confirmation. Vox responded with a barely audible hum, and his trembling smile on the screen became slightly steadier.
When Valentino pulled away, his upper arms were still gently holding Vox's wrists, and the lower ones... the lower ones rested on his sides again. But now it wasn't an invasion, but a return. Not torture, but a continuation. His fingertips touched the exposed intercostals, which had been through the hell of tickling, and began to move. Completely differently.
He tickled him again. But now - gently. Barely perceptible. These were not sharp pokes or vibrating attacks, but light, airy runs of his fingertips along each rib, as if he were erasing the traces of the former cruelty, leaving in their place a thin, ticklish ripple. It was like stroking ruffled fur, soothing it.
Vox flinched - a reflex, an echo of the nightmare just experienced. But soon his body, still tense and painfully sensitive, began to slowly relax under this new, almost caressing touch. Not laughter, but a long, deep, hissing sigh escaped his speakers. On the screen, the trembling smile softened, turning into an expression of languid, exhausted bliss.
They both wanted this. Vox - for his sensitivity, pushed to the limit, to finally find a pleasant, not agonizing, application. For the sharp needles of laughter to be replaced by warm waves. Valentino - to prolong this moment of complete power, but to color it with tenderness, to cement his victory not with fear, but with a strange, perverse gratitude.
His fingers glided across his sides, across his stomach, lightly touching the lower ribs, and each time Vox shuddered from a particularly ticklish touch, Valentino muffled it with a quiet whisper: "Shhh... it's alright...". He kissed him again - the corner of the screen, the place where a cheek would be, the microphone on his neck. And Vox responded, his hands, finally freed from the smoky restraints, slowly wrapped around Valentino's neck, pulling him closer.
It wasn't a fight. It was a dance on the ashes of hysteria. Tickling became their language - quiet, understood only by the two of them. Valentino asked: "Still sensitive here?", and Vox replied with a stifled chuckle when the fingers found a particularly tender spot. They both wanted this - this intimacy, built on the absolute vulnerability of one and the careful, yet complete power of the other. And in this quiet, ticklish agony after the storm, there was something more intimate than anything that had been between them before.
they're so similar. if they ever actually teamed up they would become too powerful and implode in on themselves from sheer workaholism/borderline delusional levels of belief in themselves
i wasn't planning to post it bc i like to draw additional pieces just for myself sometimes but oh well here you go
and you know the rules
don't tell a soul i drew this 🫵
(uhm, suggestive??? not actual nsfw???? eh????????????) this is kind of a part 2 to this comic <3
radio demon tickle monster
(hmm yes hes so used to saying empty threats to alastor from when they were enemies that he still does it HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHGRKHAP OLD HABITS!!!)
i got an ask about whether or not vox is ticklish in my art (perma body swap??? my usual established relationship radiostatic?? idk but i went for the latter and only realized later irs prob the former) and ended up getting so inspired i made this WHOLE small comic about it, but instead of replying to the ask directly with it im now too embarrassed to reply with this whole elaborate comic if it turns out it's about the perma body swap AU, I'M TOO PATHETIC OKAY HAHDPANRLWVRLEHEPGPRHUFQO i am 2 seconds old and my brain is the size of a grain of rice :3
gummygunk
andulkaphoto
janainaart
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
