sexy guys and tickle fics

Sunday Evening

The two are multiple glasses deep into whiskey even sooner than they were last night. 

With the angelic steel cuffs gone and Alastor’s powers returned, he’s dropped nearly all of his reservations. If things were to go wrong for one reason or another, at least he has his shadows. But he has a feeling he likely won’t be needing them tonight.

Vox is just in a damn good mood, finishing off another glass of whiskey with a laugh. “Come on, old man, just one game. Don’t tell me you’re scared.” He leans a bit further into Alastor’s space on the couch with a drunken, dopey grin settled on his face.

Alastor rolls his eyes lightheartedly, setting his own glass down on the coffee table. “Oh, please. The only thing I’m ‘scared’ of is you shattering a window and leaving glass all over the floor.” 

The alcohol has settled comfortably into his stomach, leaving his muscles relaxed and his vision hazy. Vincent is asking about a game of darts once again, a subject he’s clearly not eager to drop. 

The pouty look he gets on his face when Alastor brushes the request off is rather adorable, he has to admit. Like a sad little puppy begging for a treat.

Vox groans and lifts a hand to clumsily shove Alastor’s shoulder. “I’m not gonna break anything! Come on, it’s just one game. It’ll be fuuuun~.” His voice slips into a playful sing-song, giving Alastor the most convincing pair of pleading eyes that he can possibly manage.

Recreating a memory from years ago, taking something that used to make his heart ache to remember and turning it into something that’ll leave him floating with glee for days to come is something Vox is desperate to get Alastor to agree to.

If he just looks cute enough, he bets he can get the old man to agree with it. He’s been softening up all day long. If he can just pout a little more…

Alastor’s smile widens at the desperate begging, finding it equal parts pathetic and adorable. He lets out a faux exasperated sigh and leans forward to stand, wobbling a little in the process. “Oh, very well. If you’re going to whine about it, I suppose I can manage a single game.”

And immediately, that silly smile is sliding back onto Vincent’s face. It’s too easy. 

Vox beams with glee as he pushes himself to his feet, stumbling a bit as he walks over to the wall. “One game is good enough for me. Prepare to lose.” He snatches up a handful of darts before positioning himself beside Alastor a few feet away from the dart board, dropping some into his hand. “You first.”

Alastor takes the darts, eying the target hanging on the wall a good few feet away. “Don’t get too confident. My aim is impeccable, intoxicated or not.” His ears tilt forward in concentration as he tries to line up his throw, though the way the room feels like it’s spinning certainly adds on an extra challenge.

After a few long moments of focusing all of his drunken energy on the dart board, Alastor flicks his wrist to throw.

The dart thunks against the wall just below the board and unceremoniously falls to the ground. 

Vox barely manages to bite back a giggle at the total miss. “Impeccable aim, huh? Is that what you call it?” He lifts a hand and gently nudges Alastor aside, lining himself up with the board. “Let me show you how it’s done.” 

Alastor chuckles and scoots out of the way with a slight stumble, giving Vox room. “Go right ahead. Let’s see the professional at work.” 

Vox tilts his body at an angle and sticks his tongue out in concentration, fighting off the dizziness swimming in his eyes. After staring at the board for a long moment, he winds his arm back and tosses the dart through the air.

It also thunks against the wall with a miss, bouncing and clattering loudly as it lands on the bar top and nearly knocks over a stray drinking glass.

Alastor’s laughter covers the noise as the glass wobbles dangerously before settling again. “Oh, my, what an interesting strategy! If you had just thrown it a little harder, you would’ve shattered that glass into pieces. That must be worth at least 50 points.”

Vox scoffs, pretending to be annoyed by Alastor’s teasing even as the smile on his face won’t fade. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you.” 

“Oh, is that a threat I hear?” Alastor tilts his head with amusement, taking a step forward and getting into Vox’s personal space. “I’d like to see you try.”

Vox feels a flutter of warmth settle into his stomach at the comment that can’t be entirely contributed to the alcohol. That sounds like an invitation that Vox is all too eager to act upon, the whiskey silencing every thought that might’ve tried to stop him otherwise.

“You asked for it.” He throws his arms around Alastor’s waist tightly, clinging onto him and playfully yanking him in a circle. He locks his hands together against Alastor’s back, ensuring that he can’t be easily shaken off.

Alastor lets out a startled bleat! as he’s nearly knocked off his feet from the sudden tug, balancing his body against Vox to keep himself upright. “And what, exactly, is your plan here, hm?” He allows Vox’s body to settle against his without true complaint, watching him tuck his screen into his chest.

The more that Vincent touches him, the more Alastor is realizing that he truly, genuinely likes it. That he wants Vincent to continue doing it.

Vox chuckles into Alastor’s chest, nudging him backwards to take another step. It’s not out of any real intent to get Alastor to fight back, just to make sure he stays engaged and doesn’t change his mind about allowing the physical contact. “You’re not even trying to fight back. You gotta put a little effort into it.”

Alastor hums, bringing up a hand and slowly placing it on the small of Vincent’s back. “I wasn’t aware this was a mutual effort. I thought you were trying to shut me up?” His eyes shine with amused affection as he looks down at the top of Vox’s head buried into his chest.

He looks so harmless like this. Something that makes Alastor’s chest squeeze with the urge to wrap his arms around him and hold him for the rest of the evening.

He barely manages to just keep his hand resting on Vincent’s back.

“Yeah. And it worked, didn’t it?” Vox rests his full body weight against Alastor, occasionally giving a persistent push to make it seem like he’s trying to do something other than just cuddle up to him. 

Even though he is absolutely, 100%, only interested in cuddling up with Alastor right now. Nothing else matters other than the feeling of his body against Alastor’s.

Alastor allows the nudges, both men wobbling on their feet and letting out chuckles of drunken amusement. Alastor keeps his hand resting comfortably on Vox’s back, brushing his thumb against his shirt. “You always were a terrible dance partner. You’ll send us both to the floor at this rate.” 

This moment is rather similar to that memory, isn’t it? Two young overlords, drunk and laughing together, getting tangled up in each other’s embrace and mumbling about games and dancing. 

Vox scoffs, leaning his head back to look up at Alastor with a grin. “Terrible? You’re the one who wanted to teach me back then. So it’s your fault if I’m bad at it.” 

Alastor’s eyes narrow playfully as he looks down at the man attached to his chest. “The inability to match a tempo is not something I can fix, I’m afraid. I’ve done all I could.” Alastor takes the step forward this time to nudge Vincent backwards, enjoying the way that he stumbles.

Vox catches himself before burying his head back into Alastor’s chest with a playfully indignant huff. “Whatever, old man.” He tucks the top of his head right under Alastor’s chin, enjoying the body heat and scent of smoke that lingers on his clothes.

Alastor sighs and gently holds Vincent against him, letting the tips of his fingers explore the curvature of his back. It’s almost relaxing in itself, holding him against his body like this. When he speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “Comfortable?”

Vox feels a slight shiver run through his body at the tingling sensation Alastor’s claws spread across his skin. He muffles an “mmhm” of agreement and approval into Alastor’s neck, muscles going entirely limp in the embrace.

This is nice. This is everything Vox could want. He can feel his heart fluttering out of excitement and a slight hint of nervousness that he’ll do something that will scare Alastor into letting go.

But the longer he holds on, the more Alastor seems to be leaning into the contact. 

Alastor has to tilt his head up to make room for Vincent’s screen, his claws pricking into his shirt in a playful reprimand. “Do watch your screen, Vincent. There are only so many places you can fit.” 

Vox scoffs, making absolutely no move to adjust himself. He mumbles against the skin of his neck, “You should stop calling me Vincent all the time. It’s Vox now.” 

Vox doesn’t deeply mind the use of his old name, but he had changed what he goes by for a reason. ‘Vincent’ doesn’t feel like the man he is anymore. More like a ghost of a man who was desperate for approval and could hardly stand on his own two feet. 

He’s better than that now, he thinks. He has the Vees, VoxTek, the war against Heaven. He’s finally made something of himself, and he did it without Alastor’s help. Even if the part of him that desperately wants Alastor’s approval continuously rears its head in his mind.

Vincent had been friends with Alastor. Alastor had respected Vincent, if only for a time. Vox has wanted nothing but to have that back again, to feel like an equal standing next to the one man he’s never truly been able to get over.

But even if Vincent is the one who met Alastor, Vox is the one in Alastor’s arms right now.

And he wants Alastor to like Vox just as much as he used to like Vincent.

Alastor’s ears flick at the correction to Vox’s name, his head tilting slightly in thoughtful curiosity. He’s never specifically requested the use of ‘Vox’ compared to ‘Vincent’. Where could that be coming from, he wonders?

Alastor isn’t against using Vox’s name. Though he does find something charming about ‘Vincent’, he supposes that it hardly belongs to the same man anymore. 

With a conceding breath, Alastor flattens his palm against Vox’s back. “Very well. Vox, then.” He shifts his chin to nudge against one of Vox’s antennae. “Though my point stands. You are taking up quite a bit of room.” 

Vox grins to himself before pressing his face right up to the skin of Alastor’s neck and delivering a single scrape of his teeth, a fake bite, before pulling back entirely. “Too bad. You’re stuck with me until tomorrow.” 

Alastor stiffens slightly at the scrape of teeth, though he doesn’t pull away. It’s just… a surprising sensation. Not something pleasant, but not something unpleasant either.

He nudges Vox to step back towards the couch. “If I am to be your baby sitter, then you should have a seat before you trip over your own feet.” Alastor nearly trips when Vox refuses to move, sending the both stumbling a few steps forward.

“Oooohh, bossy.” Vox teases, finally resisting and falling back onto the couch. He holds on tightly to Alastor’s waist, landing in a heap of limbs side by side.

The two settle in comfortably, Vox tucking himself up against Alastor’s side and Alastor resting an arm around his shoulders. If someone were to walk through the front door, they’d likely assume the pair of overlords are a couple rather than long term rivals.

They look domestic. Comfortable.

Affectionate.

Maybe that’s not such a terrible thing to call it.

Alastor lets his thumb brush against Vox’s shoulder as he stares at the wall in front of them, muscles loose and relaxed despite the lingering strangeness of this entire situation.

He truly is just cuddling up with Vox. 

As much as he wishes that he could blame the alcohol for the entire thing, he knows that’s not entirely the truth. The feeling of Vox’s weight leaning against him, the warmth from his body, the way his chest rises and falls with each relaxed breath…

It settles some long-standing tension within his chest, bringing him a sense of comfort he hasn’t ever felt to this degree. 

Completely bizarre, Alastor thinks, to feel safe with his enemy laying against him like a sleepy puppy. But he can’t find a single thing wrong with this position. It feels pleasant.

With a sigh, Alastor tilts his head down to look at the man collapsed against his shoulder. “You’re not going to fall asleep there, are you? I’d hate for you to wake up with a crick in your neck.” 

Vox nuzzles his head against Alastor’s shirt, refusing to move away from the warmth. “Maybe. What’re you gonna do about it if I do?” 

Alastor taps his claws against Vox’s shoulder, taking on a more playful lilt to his tone. “Perhaps I’ll leave you here to sleep on the couch while I take the bed. It’s only fair, really.” 

Vox pushes himself away with a dramatic gasp as if he’s offended by the very idea, but a wide grin is lingering on his face. “You wouldn’t.” Vox would definitely let him have the bed if he really asked for it, even if that meant he had to sleep on the couch.

“I would.” Alastor returns with a smirk, using one hand to gently extradite the man from his chest. Not out of any interest to end the contact, rather to make sure that Vox doesn’t end up snoring on top of him within the next five minutes. “Come now, it’s hardly time for sleep! We can find something more entertaining to do. Perhaps… a game?” 

Vox allows himself to be gently nudged away with a grunt, shifting to sit more comfortably beside Alastor. “What’d you have in mind?” 

“Hm.” Alastor settles his hands back into his lap as he glances around the living room for any ideas, his eyes lingering on the glasses of whiskey and the half full bottle. Though he’s not eager to make himself sick with drink, he also feels it would be a shame to leave the unfinished whiskey here when they leave tomorrow. “We could use the last of the whiskey for the evening. Perhaps a drinking game.”

Vox glances down at the glasses with a shrug. “Guess we could do that. Answer a question or take a drink?” He isn’t exactly eager to drink any further, but he is absolutely interested in asking Alastor several questions.

Like what was up with the whole situation last night where Alastor ran into the bathroom? That’s on the top of his list of things to ask. Or long standing questions that Vox has had for the entirety of their relationship.

He just hopes that Alastor will be willing to play along with the game instead of shutting it down entirely.

Alastor hums in thought, staring down at the drinking glasses. He isn’t particularly fond of the idea of having to answer questions, who knows what Vox will get the bright idea of asking. Things he certainly has no right asking about, he’s sure of it.

But, he supposes, if he truly doesn’t want to answer something, he can simply take another drink. Simple enough.

The little voice in the back of his head saying that Vox can be trusted with his secrets is one he pointedly ignores. Pesky, alcohol induced little thing.

Alastor lifts his gaze back up to Vox and shrugs dismissively. “I suppose a question game could pass the time.”

Vox internally cheers at the agreement, thrilled that he has an opportunity to ask Alastor one of the thousands of burning questions he’s had for years. “Alright, I’m going first. How about…” He taps his claws against the couch cushion, considering which one to pick first.

Starting off with something too serious might scare Alastor into silence. Can’t push too hard right out the gate. So he decides to take it easy for the first question.

Vox’s eyes fall to Alastor with a grin on his face, teasingly asking, “Why do you always have a stick up your ass?”

Alastor blinks in shock before letting out a laugh. “I beg your pardon?” His ears flick towards Vox in pure amusement. Perhaps this will be more fun than he thought. “I guarantee I have nothing of the sort up my… derrière. I just find your antics particularly grating.” 

Vox laughs along with him, shoulders shaking with mirth. “Yeah, join the club. You’re annoying as hell. It’s a miracle I’ve managed to deal with your ass all weekend.” He straightens himself up with a sigh before pointing a finger at Alastor. “Your turn. Ask me something.” 

Alastor crosses one leg over the other, silently considering before asking a playful question of his own. “Is it truly necessary to have the entirety of your tower lit from top to bottom? The sheer amount of lighting in that establishment is enough to give a man a migraine for a week.” 

Vox lets out a faux offended gasp, putting one hand over his chest dramatically. “Hey, that’s top of the line lighting! The migraine is just a bonus. Keeps the employees in line and full of pain killers.” 

He watches Alastor, seeing the way his posture is starting to get lazy. Good, he’s still drunk enough to be in a good mood. Maybe now he can try asking a more serious question and hope it doesn’t all go horribly wrong.

Vox lets the silence sit for a moment before he decides to test the waters. “Alright, next question. How did a guy from the 30’s end up being the one of the most powerful overlords in Hell?” 

Alastor’s eyes narrow at the question, the static rising slightly in his chest. That’s a very personal wound to be prodding at, especially considering the whole reason he’s stuck under Vox’s thumb in the first place.

He certainly can’t tell Vox everything. It’s too much of a risk when Alastor still needs him to break the deal in the first place.

But Alastor finds himself strangely unwilling to just… lie. The thought sours something in his mind, for some inexplicable reason. Like he would feel guilty if he were to lie to Vox at this very moment.

The thought is completely bizarre to him, but he isn’t willing to deal with something like guilt keeping him awake all night. The nervousness he’s starting to feel is starting to sober him up, shaking off the strongest effects of the liquor.

Perhaps there’s a way to answer in a way that gives away very little of his true reasoning.

After a long moment of silence, Alastor finally gives into a vague answer. “That’s quite the question, isn’t it? Well, I suppose I can tell you that I wasn’t entirely on my own. I needed a hint of assistance getting my feet off the ground.” 

Vox listens intently like this is the most interesting piece of information he’s heard in years. Assistance? He needs to know more.

Vox speaks up nearly the second Alastor finishes his sentence. “From who?” 

“Ah-ah.” Alastor chides, playfully wagging his finger in front of Vox’s face. “You already had your turn. I believe it’s my turn for a question, isn’t it?”

Vox blinks at the finger before rolling his eyes. “I guess you’ve got me there. Ask away, then.” He leans back again, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting patiently.

Alastor’s shoulders fall a bit once the attention is off of him once more. Good, Vox hardly needs to be prying into such personal details. Better to keep him unaware of the specifics, at least for now. Perhaps the long term plan can be changed, should he play his cards right.

Alastor taps his claws against his legs before he settles on a question. “Earlier, you had requested that I call you Vox instead of Vincent. May I ask why?” He glances over at Vox, genuinely curious as to what had sparked that request in the first place.

Vox stiffens slightly as a personal question is thrown back at him. He guesses he should have expected that, it’s only fair that Alastor asks something personal after he had just pried.

Vox sees no reason to lie or beat around the bush. Might as well just be honest about the reasoning.

He brings a hand up to the back of his neck and lets out a soft laugh of nerves. “Well, I just… I changed my name to separate myself from who I was. Back then.” 

Vox’s gaze falls to the floor, not wanting to watch Alastor’s expression. He doesn’t want to see it if this moment gets twisted into mockery. “I was weak, back then. All I did was follow you around, I never did anything for myself.”

Alastor listens quietly, his ears slowly tilting back. He certainly remembers how much Vincent had puppy dogged him around all those years ago. How he was so eager to rule Hell together as partners.

It’s understandable that he wishes to separate himself from a version that was younger and naive. And Alastor is willing enough to forget the old name if that’s what Vox wishes.

Vox continues, “But now I’ve got everything going for me. I’ve got the Vees, VoxTek, and half of the Pride Ring on my side. I’m not just… the guy who follows people around all the time anymore. I’m Vox.” 

There. The words are finally out of his mouth and in the air now. Vox glances up from the floor to Alastor’s face, expecting a smirk or a mocking comment to follow.

But it never comes.

Alastor hums in thought before shrugging his shoulders, as if he had simply explained why he prefers whiskey over vodka. “I suppose that makes sense. You are a bit different than you were 70 years ago.” 

Vox breathes out a sigh of relief when no mocking comment ever comes, his shoulders relaxing again. Good. Now it’s his turn.

And there’s something a bit more interesting that he wants to ask, something that has to do with everything that’s happened this weekend. He needs to know what had gotten Alastor so worked up yesterday and how Vox had incorrectly read the situation.

Vox sits up straighter, letting a more comfortable smile slide back onto his face. This should be interesting. “My turn. What was up with you running off to the bathroom last night? I thought you were… enjoying yourself.”

Maybe the alcohol has given Vox a bit too much confidence. But the question is out there now. And Vox is desperately hoping for an answer instead of a retreat.

Alastor stiffens at the mention of last night, his ears fully pinning flat. Of course the man was still hung up on that little incident. They had gone all day without discussing it, and now he wants to talk about it?

Alastor’s eyes land firmly on the whiskey glass in front of him. At least there’s a way out, and he’s seriously considering downing the entirety of the bottle to ensure Vox never brings the subject up again.

Vox’s voice interrupts him just as he’s about to reach out for the glass. “Look, I’m not gonna tell anyone else, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m just… curious. That’s all. No judgement from me.” 

Alastor’s eyes narrow slightly, his gaze refusing to leave the whiskey glass. Vox does sound sincere enough to be believable, and he already knows half the story as it is. Not to mention, he’d even essentially apologized after overstepping.

Vox clearly respects his boundaries, to some degree. Which is a respectable trait. A trait that makes him want to trust Vox. 

How much harm could it truly do to give him a bit more context?

Alastor finally leans away from the whiskey glass on the coffee table, glancing up to the ceiling as if searching for divine intervention that isn’t coming. “I suppose I can give you some sort of answer. If the subject is truly continuing to bother you.” 

He taps his claws together in thought, trying to decide exactly how much to divulge. “I’ve had a sort of… interest in the subject as a whole for quite some time. For some peculiar reason that I have difficulty narrowing down myself.” 

Vox leans in, completely captivated by any sort of answer. But an ‘interest’ is still vague. Is it a kink? It has to be a kink, right?

“So it’s a kink.” Vox speaks, tilting his head curiously. Maybe he should tell Val to start exploring some new content options, if that’s what Alastor is into. Vox supposes he can see the appeal to some degree…

“That’s not the word I would use.” Alastor glances at Vox out of the corner of his eye, static rising in his chest. “It’s… simply an interest.” 

Vox sits silently, staring down at his own feet on the floor. He knows, to some degree, that Alastor has been… weird about physical contact. Always has been. This is the one thing that’s different, apparently. 

So he enjoys the laughter and light touches, which is good to know. An easy ticket to getting Alastor in a good mood, he thinks.

Vox lets out a breath and responds softly. “I guess that makes sense. It just makes you feel good, without having to worry about anything else that could be more... complicated.”

“Precisely.” Alastor nods in full agreement, smiling a bit wider that he had been understood so easily. Tickling is exciting in a way that he finds nothing else to be. But everything else is… complicated. Messy. Intimate.

Vox can feel his antennae sparking as a thought starts to cross his mind. If Alastor genuinely enjoys being tickled, would he let Vox do it? For nothing more than pure enjoyment for the both of them?

After last night, he’s a bit nervous about asking. But right now, Alastor is being so open, so honest about this whole subject… Maybe it’s the perfect time to ask.

Vox clears his throat and glances away briefly. “I can kind of see the appeal. So, if you ever feel the urge to… tickle someone. Or if you ever want someone to do it to you. You can ask me, you know.”

One of Alastor’s ears flick in clear interest. Vox isn’t just humoring him, he’s offering himself up to explore further. He doesn’t respond immediately, but it’s clear from the way that his ears have tilted towards Vox that he’s very interested in the idea.

The smile on Vox’s face gets wider as he sees how Alastor reacts. Oh, he’s interested. He can work with that.

Vox leans in a little bit closer, eager to see how far Alastor would be willing to go with this. “You could just tell me what you want me to do. Where you want me to touch. Or if you want to tickle me, I guess I can try to hold still.” 

Alastor’s static rises in delight at the offer, growing more invested by the second. This would be a completely reasonable way for him to get the thoughts out of his mind whenever they start cropping up too frequently. 

His body reacts in tandem, an enjoyable warmth flooding into his chest. He can hardly blame the alcohol anymore, he’s nearly fully sobered up from the excitement of this conversation alone.

Alastor sighs deeply. Well, if they’re truly having this conversation, he’s already admitted more than enough to Vox. No reason to start retreating into silence or denials now. “Perhaps it isn’t a terrible idea.”

Vox bites his lip, getting excited at the idea of engaging with Alastor in such a way. Though he’s never engaged with tickling to this degree before, the realization of how much it gets to Alastor drives Vox crazy with interest.

He needs to know more. “So… do you have any favorites? Spots? Tools? Fingers, or feathers, or…?” Vox’s eyes are wide with excited, genuine curiosity.

Alastor feels his mouth going dry at the questions, the images starting to flood into his mind. “Both of those, yes. And, well…” 

He trails off a bit, claws digging into his own pants at the thought alone. “I have a particular curiosity about makeup brushes, silly as it may be.” The blush that has flooded onto Alastor’s cheeks is deeply embarrassing, but this conversation is more exciting than he wants to admit.

Talking about a subject he’s so deeply interested in, so openly, without feeling like Vox is mocking him… He’s feeling more and more comfortable with it by the second, even if the butterflies feel like they're swarming inside of him.

Vox’s eyes widen with glee. Oh. Oh. Velvette definitely has makeup brushes somewhere around here. She’s come up with him once or twice. He bets there’s some in the bathroom drawers upstairs.

If that’s all it’ll take to drive Alastor crazy, Vox is ready to spring up the stairs right this second.

Vox lets out a soft chuckle, leaning back and trying to come off as nonchalant as possible. “Makeup brushes, huh?” He taps a foot against the ground with antsy excitement.

He has to hold back the enjoyment in his voice. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got a few of those around here. You know, if you’re curious or anything.”

Alastor feels a rush of pure excitement. He’s never discussed these silly little ideas with another person, and now the one person he’s finally discussing it with is… open to the idea. Non-judgmentally accepting it with a smile on his face.

“Is that so?” Alastor finally answers, his gaze firmly on his own hands in his lap. “Perhaps… I wouldn’t be… opposed…” He nearly whispers the last word, pure heat crawling through his veins.

Vox lets out a breath, seeing the stiffness still lingering in Alastor’s posture. He isn’t sure if it’s discomfort or pure excitement, and he is entirely committed to make sure that Alastor doesn’t dip into true discomfort. Might as well overcorrect, just in case.

Vox doesn’t touch him, but he scoots a little closer and softens his tone. “Hey, we don’t have to do anything crazy if you don’t want to. If you just want me to… I dunno, tickle your stomach for a few seconds or something, I can do that too. Nothing serious. Just for fun.”

He’s genuinely offering, wanting to do something that’ll bring Alastor enjoyment without making him uncomfortable. The idea of truly making Alastor uncomfortable is fully and entirely unappealing, and is not where he wants this night to go.

Does he want to make Alastor genuinely enjoy himself because of Vox's touch alone? Abso-fucking-lutely.

But he doesn’t want Alastor to regret it afterwards. He wants it to be… good. He wants to be good.

The tension slightly drops from Alastor’s shoulders at the offer, feeling far more comfortable with the reassurance.

Alastor is the one in control of how far this goes. And that puts him in a much more comfortable position. One where he’s even considering this ridiculous idea.

The idea doesn’t make him feel regret. It makes him feel… deeply excited.

With a sigh, Alastor lets his smile grow a bit wider as he finally pushes himself to his feet. “Well. If that is the direction this evening is going, perhaps we should retire to the bedroom? Rather than squishing together on this couch.” 

He looks down at Vox with a wide smile, ears perked up and eager with interest. He isn’t sure how far he’ll actually take this, but just the idea of willingly getting tickled does sound exciting. All at his own pace.

Vox is on his feet in an instant.

“Oh, yeah!” Vox is practically vibrating with excitement, eagerly heading to the stairs towards the bedroom. “You’re totally right. Way more comfortable in a bed. And I can go looking for some of Velvette’s makeup brushes. I’m sure she’s left a few lying around.”

Alastor follows behind him at a more relaxed pace, feeling the dread finally melt away into something eager.