---

Alastor was having a bad week.

First, his radio station got infested with termites so he couldn't perform until it was fully fumigated and inspected.

Second, the kill that Vincent and he had planned was a bust. Their target took an unexpected trip to California before the hit was set to take place. It had now been 26 days without a kill.

Third, he was out of organ meat for the time being. He had eaten the last of the liver last night. And now he had no idea when he'd be able to restock.

In short, he was agitated and stir-crazy.

Though, he had an outlet now.

He and Vincent had made a rather silly deal while intoxicated. When Alastor was craving violence and couldn't satisfy it normally, his business partner would allow himself to be tortured...

Alastor could admit in the privacy of his head that the method of torture was a little embarrassing. Both in how juvenile and harmless it was, plus the fact that he really really enjoyed it.

Tickling.

Vincent, to Alastor's delight, was devastatingly ticklish. An absolute joy to toy with.

And now... Alastor was going to cash in on their little deal, put his twitching fingers to work.

Vincent was still at work, though he would be getting off soon. He was typically back home by 5:40. Easy.

He slunk through the bayou to Vincent's house. The man had given him a spare key. The trusting fool.

He slipped in through the back door, toed his shoes off (Alastor was not so tactless as to track swamp water through Vincent's home), hid behind the corner of the wall close to the front door, and waited for his victim to arrive.

...

Days at the tv station varied from exciting to exhausting to everything in between.

Today, Vincent was bored out of his skull.

He did his typical news report, then was in what felt like never ending meetings, full of people who talked and talked but said nothing.

Those damn higher ups... More power and attention than Vincent but didn't even know how to use it properly.

Plus that guy who hosted the talk shows kept going on and on about the crowds of fans and people screaming for his attention.

The bastard... rubbing it in.

He'd have to bring his name up to Alastor next time they met.

Vincent sighed as he got in his car and began his drive home. He wasn't sure exactly when he'd get to see Alastor again now that their kill had been called off. Maybe bringing up the redhead from the station the right way... he could persuade Alastor on that.

He yearned to see his business partner again. Days were often dull without him.

What was he going to do after a drag of a day like that? Go home, heat up some canned soup (that was about all he knew how to cook), sit in front of the tv for hours, then go to bed.

He groaned as he stepped out of his car in his driveway. Maybe there'd be a movie he hadn't seen being broadcasted. He needed something to make him laugh after having a painfully fake people-pleasing smile plastered on for 8 hours.

He unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and took a long deep sigh.

God he missed Alastor. He could almost smell his cologne. The man took frequent trips to the bayou so he often had an earthy musk that somehow mixed incredibly with a spicy cinnamon aroma.

The smell was so vivid. It was almost like he was-

The wind was taken out of him as a blur grabbed him and shoved him against the wall, chest-first.

A shorter figure. The scent of cinnamon and moss enveloping him.

His alarm melted once he realized who the blur was.

"Evening, Al." He greeted in a slightly strained but remarkably calm tone.

God, the man could kill him right now and he wouldn't care. What mattered was that he was here.

Though being pinned to the wall was new. He was curious what that was about. But he was absolutely not complaining. In fact, he was perfectly fine with staying like this. All night... Alastor pressed against his back.... Hands gripping his jacket.

He could feel his breath on the back of his neck and he shivered.

He took another deep breath of the scent. The aroma set deep into his bones, melting any tension from him in seconds.

And that rich syrupy voice purred so close to his ear. "Do you remember the little deal we made?"

Vincent blinked, slowly coming out of his happy place.

His face flushed and his stomach leaped. Was he actually-?

It would make a lot of sense actually. When they first made the deal he specifically pointed out craving activity when going without violence.

The lack of kills plus being out of the studio must've been eating him up.

He was pressed more firmly against the wall as one hand wandered to lightly tap a single finger to his ribs.

"Are you ready to fulfill your end?"

Vincent jolted and gasped, his nerves lighting up with anticipation.

This was not in his wildest dreams how he expected his night to go but he couldn't be more happy about it.

He cleared his throat and attempted to steady his accelerating heartrate.

"I, uh... Y-yeah, Al. If it'll help out your frustration..." His voice came out uncertain and hesitant, but that was truly only because of him not wanting to sound too eager.

"The amount of seconds it takes for you to lay on your bed with your arms up is the amount of seconds i spend at this little spot here to warm-up." A firm tap to his lowest ribs elicited an embarrassingly high squeak. Alastor chuckled, likely entertained by his reaction.

Abruptly, Alastor stepped back, leaving Vincent shaking on jelly legs as he stumbled back from the wall.

Then what he had said hit him like a truck.

Vincent bolted to his bedroom, whipping around the corner so clumsily he almost ran straight into the door frame. He forcefully kicked his shoes off into the hall and all but dove onto his bed before scrambling so he was laying flat on his back with his arms over his head.

The shorter man casually walked in with a sly smile. "Fourteen seconds."

Fourteen. Vincent could do fourteen. That was manageable.

The bed dipped as Alastor climbed on it and-

Hooooly shit.

Alastor threw one leg over Vincent's hips and sat down, straddling his waist.

Vincent was laying on his back... with Alastor on top of him... staring down at him with half-lidded eyes and a satisfied smile...

He was sure if he was standing up his jaw would be on the floor. This was like something out of a fantasy.

"I'm afraid you'll have to help me keep count. You can do that, can't you?"

Alastor could've asked him to lasso the sun and he would've said yes.

Vincent cleared his throat and nodded.

"Good. Count backwards from fourteen. If you rush through, skip any numbers, or bring your arms down, I will make you start over."

...He should've known Alastor wouldn't make this easy. Alastor never made anything easy. The man loved to watch Vincent squirm.

Vincent's heart leapt to his throat when he felt Alastor's index fingers rest on his lower ribs.

That's when his brain finally went from 'Alastor Alastor Alastor' to the realization that he was about to be tickled half to death. Maybe even three-quarters.

"Start whenever you're ready." Came that cotton-soft purr.

After taking a moment to remember how counting worked he closed his eyes and nodded.

"Okay... Um, Fourte-EEHEHEHEHEEEEEN! AIIEEE!" All the air in Vincent's chest was yanked out of him as his nerves buzzed to life, Alastor's dextrous fingers rapidly pressing and poking on the happy little nerves. Fuck fuck FUCK he forgot how ticklish he was there! The last of his air was expended with a near glass-shattering shriek before he was able to wheeze some air back into his lungs and start his laughter all over again. His socked feet rapidly kicked and drummed on the bed and the muscles in his arms tensed with an overwhelming need to rush down and protect his sensitive ribs.

"Come now, Vincent, don't keep me waiting!" Alastor's voice sounded remarkably jovial. One look to his expression showed how delighted he was to be tormenting him.

"THII- THIRR- AHA! THIRTEHEHEHEEEEEN! TW- TWEHEHEL- SHIT!"

Right in the middle of 'twelve' Alastor began squeezing his bottom ribs in tandem. His arms, at that point, stopped caring about the challenge against Vincent's wishes and slammed down on Alastor's hands.

His fingers did, in fact, stop their torment, but it was nowhere near a relief.

"Really? So soon? How disappointing. You truly must be horribly sensitive. Well, you know the rules! Arms up, start from fourteen again."

Alastor sounded anything BUT disappointed. He tapped his index finger to Vincent's rib again. The man squeaked remarkably high-pitched before letting out a humiliatingly goofy little giggle that had him flush a light pink.

Alastor's devious little grin quirked to the side to something clearly amused but trying to suppress it.

Vincent plopped his head back and giggled a bit more, feeling equally giddy and dreadful, as he raised his arms above his head once more.

He took a couple deep breaths, trying to calm down and stop laughing before he even got tickled, but every time he tried to focus his mind would remind him blaringly loud that he was about to be tickled to an intense degree once again. His ribs would practically light up and he'd start giggling all over again.

God this was embarrassing. He raised his head a bit to look at his tormentor.

Alastor's grin was wide, bright, wholly amused. His eyes practically twinkled and he was chewing on the side of his lip.

It wasn't funny. It was cute, but not particularly funny.

Didn't stop Vincent from cracking up anyway.

"Pffft- Psh- Pfftahahaha!" He threw his head back and laughed. This was so ridiculous. So silly.

So fucking FUN.

It was exactly what he needed after today.

"I'm nohot eheven doing ahahahanything yohohou- pfft- yohohou dohoholt!"

Alastor held the back of his hand to his mouth, once eye nearly shut as his smile took up more space across his gorgeous face as he chuckled right along with Vincent.

"Ahahal! Ihihit's thehe ahahanticipation!" He half-heartedly defended himself amongst contagious little titters.

"Just start already!" Alastor playfully snapped, no ire or aggression in his voice.

Fuck it, just jump into the deep end!

"FohohourtEEHEHEHEHEEN! ACK! AIEEHEHE! TH-THIRTEEHEHEHEEN! EEE! T-TWEHEHEHEHELVE!"

His poor lower ribs were going to disintegrate at this rate from the maddeningly ticklish poking and prodding. Vincent forced himself to look at Alastor whilst his body commanded him to curl up and close his eyes. He's glad he didn't listen. Alastor was still beaming, now biting his bottom lip, and his shoulders shook with repressed laughs.

For a moment he forget what came before twelve.

And his memory lapse was made worse by Alastor once again switching to a squeezing tactic.

"FUHUCK! IHIH- AHAHA DAHAHAMMIT!"

His arms flinched but he succeeded in not yanking them down.

"SHIT! AIIEHEHE! E-EHEHEHELEHEHEVEN! EEE! TEHEHEHEN!"

Vincent managed to force another deep wheezy breath of air.

"NIHIHINE! EEE! EHEHEHEIGHT!"

If he could stop squeaking like a mouse attempting to sing falsetto that would be fucking fantastic.

But, hey, if it made Alastor look like THAT? Beaming hugely and genuinely and fighting off laughter of his own? Maybe it was worth the humiliation.

"SEHEHEHEVEN!"

"Halfway there! Don't choke now..."

Halfway? It felt like he'd been there for an hour!

Alastor was doing a remarkable job of keeping steady despite Vincent thrashing and wriggling like a fish on a hook.

Alastor's fingers stopped their squeezing and switched to massaging little circles into the bones.

And Vincent was sure he'd perish right then and there because holy fucking shit that tickled so unbelievably bad.

And his monumental squeal absolutely let Alastor know that fact.

"Ohoho! I do remember this technique being awfully effective here..."

For a moment, every muscle in Vincent's body was taut as he cackled with every bit of oxygen he possessed.

Another wheezy gasp, a moment of hyperventilation, and more high-pitched fully body laughter.

Count! Fucking count goddamit!

"SIHIHIHIX! F-FIIIIIIIHIHIHIVE! AHACK! F-FOHOHOHOHOUR!"

Holy shit he might pass out at this rate.

"THREEEEEHEHEHEHEE!"

The circle rubbing stopped, replaced with squeezing with one hand and scribbling on the other.

His arms tensed and dropped... just a couple inches.

Oh, if they had dropped all the way Vincent might've combusted on the spot.

"You're so close..." That sugar sweet voice cooed above him.

"TWOOHOHOHOHO! EE! AIEEE! OHOHOHOHONE!"

The moment Alastor stilled his fingers Vincent's arms rocketed down to his sides, desperately pressing and rubbing against his ribs to rid himself of the phantom sensations still clinging to his tingling nerves.

He gasped, panted for air like a man half-drowned.

"Well. That was a pleasant warm-up!"

Vincent's heart stopped for a moment before he laid slack in defeat. He had said warm-up in the beginning hadn't he?

Alastor chuckled, no doubt amused by his reaction to the reminder.

"Just..." Vincent took another breath. "No more ribs, please?"

He knew making a request to Alastor was about as reliable as asking a bird not to fly, but it was worth a shot.

"Why?" Alastor cocked his head to the side with a cocky grin. "Do you have a specific spot in mind you're wanting me to target?"

He stiffened, his mind supplying him with an immediate answer. Yes. The answer was yes.... but knowing Alastor's desire to torment him... he probably wouldn't go for it. Also it was just really embarrassing to admit that he really really wanted to be tickled in a specific spot...

No. He'll table that for another day. Instead he just opened his mouth like a fish and closed it.

"Hm..." Alastor hummed with a knowing grin, making a show of contemplation. "Perhaps we can make a little deal. You tell me your worst spot and let me play with it for, oh, sixty seconds, and then I'll target the spot you're so clearly thinking about right now for a couple minutes or so, depending on how much it amuses me."

Oh that was a dangerous deal. Sure, sixty seconds at his worst spot in order to be tickled at his favorite spot sounded great, but that meant Alastor would forever know weakness and it did not at all guarantee he'd ever pay attention to the easier spot ever again.

Though, honestly? Vincent wouldn't admit it out loud, but he loved being tickled so much that he'd be fine with that, as long as Alastor kept touching him and making him laugh.

"Sound fair?" Alastor asked, prodding for an answer to his proposal.

"Not at all," Vincent answered with a tired lopsided grin. "But I accept anyways."

Alastor laughed, amused by his answer. "Understandable. Now, the information?"

Vincent threw his head back and closed his eyes. He couldn't believe he was doing this. "My favorite spot is my sides. My worst spot..." His self-preservation instincts, as miniscule as they were, tried to stop him, but Vincent didn't listen, just like every other time they made themselves known. "My pits."

As he expected, he almost immediately felt the presence of a finger at his underarm. His entire body jolted, his smile immediately flipped to a nervous grin, and his eyes shot open.

A warm dangerous chuckle. "My, my, you weren't kidding. Now, the deal was sixty seconds."

Cold dread doused him head to toe. "Oh, do NOT make me count, PLEASE, Al-"

Alastor laughed loudly. "Oh, alright, fine. I'll keep count in my head. Now keep your arms-"

"Oh, God-!"

He couldn't do this again.

Vincent grabbed his belt buckle and began undoing it. Before Alastor could get any ideas Vincent started explaining himself. "Just, fucking, tie my hands to the headboard with my belt, there's no way on Earth I'm gonna be able to keep them up on my own."

The sound of Alastor's resulting laugh, not the perfect mocking laugh, a huffy giggly laugh born from amusement rather than schadenfreude, made Vincent smile while he slid his belt from the loops of his pants.

He practically slammed his hands against the posts of the headboard with the belt now laid against his chest.

He was grateful now that he had a headboard with posts instead of one solid slab of wood, because that meant the belt could be easily looped through it for simple bindings.

Bindings...

Wait.

Alastor was straddling his waist and now he was binding his wrists to the headboard while staring down at him with those pretty eyes-

Fuck what did he just do? If anyone saw them like this... he wouldn't blame them for thinking they were about to... y'know...!

Thank God he invested in blackout curtains. It was originally to hide any evidence of the whole serial killer thing, but this was also very necessary to hide.

If Vincent had heard of another man doing this he would obviously assume they're a queer but Vincent... he wasn't- it's not like he... Alastor was just a pretty man but normal men can appreciate other men's attractiveness without being queer!

His spiraling thoughts were zapped away by two simultaneous pokes to his underarms. He squealed like a dying squirrel yet again, eliciting an amused chuckle from Alastor.

Honestly? He was welcome for the distraction. The belt was now firmly wrapped around his wrists and keeping them above his head while his nerves were ready and receptive for the delicious torture they were about to receive.

"I'll count to sixty in my head. Are you ready?" Alastor lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers.

The deadly cocktail of freezing cold dread and warm bubbly mirth brewed in his belly as he nodded.

And that cocktail ignited into explosive laughter the moment Alastor began wiggling all ten fingers into hyper-sensitive pits.

"PFFTAAAHAHAHA- AAEEEEEHAHAHA! A-AHAHAHALAHAHAHASTOHOHOHOHOR!" He positively wailed.

His back arched as he threw his head back hard into the mattress, the belt buckle jingled and clinked from the frantic tugging, and his feet were practically stampeding over the blankets behind his tormentor.

His entire frame quaked with each booming laugh and hilarious squeak, leaving him an absolute wreck of laughter and mirth.

Beyond his own cacophony he soon heard Alastor's laugh intertwining with his own.

He wished he could enjoy it more but every cell in his brain could only form one thought:

"IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES! AHAHA- IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES SOHOHO BAHAHAHAD! EEK!"

"Ihihihi cahahahan tehehehell! Yohohou- snrk- yohohou sohohound sohoho hihilahaharious! Ahaha!"

It was somehow familiar, a mirror of that night where they made the deal. Alastor over Vincent, tickling him to pieces, while the two of them laughed their hearts out.

Though, they couldn't blame it on alcohol this time. It was a very deliberate choice from both parties to end up like this.

It was perfectly worth it in Vincent's mind. Sure he was exhausted and occasionally felt like he couldn't breathe, but it paled in comparison to the overwhelming joy and fulfillment of laughing so hard mixed with the companionship and closeness of this activity with his dear business partner.

'Business partner' seemed too flat a label now, didn't it?

Whether it was because Alastor ended the count or because Vincent's laughs were occasionally going silent, he relented. He lifted his hands and placed them on the bed either side of his body.

Every muscle that Vincent possessed went slack immediately. He sank into the mattress, utterly exhausted. His chest rapidly rose and fell with each greedy breath he took.

"Holy shit... any longer and I might've fainted."

Alastor laughed openly once again.

Vincent let out an 'OOPH' as Alastor laid down abruptly, head resting on his arms laid across Vincent's chest, staring him directly in the face with an unusually happy smile.

"Your ears are red again," he snickered.

Vincent looked to the side, partially hiding his face in his shoulder. Yes, sue him, he was a bit hot under the collar. Could you blame him? Alastor was literally laid on top of him with their faces less than 6 inches apart.

Alastor just wasn't a touchy person. He typically flinched away from stuff as simple as a squeeze on the shoulder. It was a point of tension early on in their partnership. Vincent was a touchy kind of guy. It was great for building rapport early with people so he'd kind of adapted it that way, but he also just liked some friendly contact.

So this? THIS? It was completely unexpected in the best possible way.

His eyes darted back to Alastor. Specifically his lips. A similar shade to the rest of his skin but with a gentle tinge of pink. Lightly parted. Rather large and soft looking...

What was he thinking?! No. No! Those were not normal thoughts.

He was just... it was... It just-

Another squeal broke the silence as Alastor slid a finger across his side. His grin was satisfied and content.

"This was your requested spot, wasn't it?" He asked so innocently with an expression that was anything but.

Oh Lord help him, he could not be tickled there while Alastor stared at him like this...

Alastor rested his chin directly on Vincent's chest while his hands went to work gently skittering fingers up and down his sides.

Vincent didn't even notice the whimper he let out as he melted into the mattress. The pathetic little sound was quickly eaten up by a steady stream of high-pitched giggling as his eyelids fluttered.

Alastor blinked at him in surprise. "You seem to really enjoy this." His tone held no judgement, only curiosity.

Vincent nodded lazily and lolled his head to the side. his brain practically melting out his ears.

"Fascinating." He purred softly. As far as Vincent could tell in his less-than-alert state, Alastor didn't seem to be plotting, simply absorbing what was happening. "What's it like?"

"Ihihihit tihihickles..." Vincent huffed out a few more small fits of relaxed giggles. "Feeheheheels good."

Alastor didn't respond. He simply watched with an easy smile.

Vincent was fine with that. His head was in the clouds. He couldn't remember a time he was this happy. It wasn't just because of the tickles, though that was a factor.

It was Alastor. A man he admired so deeply and wholly, a man so capable and cruel, a man so dangerous and unpredictable... laying here with him. On TOP of him. Those eyes, that smile, that laugh... All of it here. With him.

This whole thing at first seemed to be solely so he could torture, cause as much pain and discomfort as possible.

But that wasn't what was happening. Alastor never treated victims like this. Giving into pleading, asking them questions, watching with such soft and curious eyes.

Vincent would have more luck guessing how many blades of grass on the planet than what was going on in Alastor's head at any given moment.

But right here. Right now?

This wasn't sadism. It was something else.

Vincent knew what he hoped it was.

Care. Friendship. Endearment. All things Vincent felt about him but was sure weren't reciprocated.

Whatever the Hell was going through that man's head... Vincent appreciated it and wanted to savor it.

Alastor's fingers danced lazily over his sides. The touch was gentle and careless, simply a mindless motion with all his focus on Vincent's reactions.

More giggles and squeaks poured from his slack expression, shaded lightly pink and positively glowing in satisfaction and peace.

Leaving his little place in the clouds was gradual rather than abrupt. He hardly noticed the lack of touch until Alastor was already shifting to leave the bed.

"Well, I found that delightfully rejuvenating." He said as he stretched. "As I'm sure you did as well."

"Mm? We done?" Vincent firmly blinked his eyes to quickly get his head back on his shoulders.

"I assume you do want dinner do you not?"

"Uh- yeah? I was just gonna heat up some soup-"

"Ugh. You eat like an animal." Alastor quickly leaned over Vincent to undo his belt and tossed it onto his stomach. "I've noticed you keep your kitchen bare of anything with flavor. If I'm going to keep coming over here that needs to change. Put your belt back on. You're driving us to the grocery store so I can tell you exactly what to buy and keep stocked."

Vincent snickered. There's the bossy Alastor he remembered. He sat up resting on his elbows with a relaxed smile, still a tad hazy.

"I'm not exactly a chef, Al, so I'm not sure-"

He was cut off AGAIN while Alastor briskly walked out of the room. Vincent quickly hopped off the bed and followed as he slid his belt back into place and buckled it.

"I'll teach you how to cook eventually. For now, I just want to have actual ingredients to work with if things get sticky out there again. I had to cook scrambled eggs with salt and pepper and nothing else. That was an insult."

"The eggs were great, Al! Better than what I can make."

Alastor turned to him like he had grown a second head.

"You thought barely seasoned scrambled eggs were great? And they were BETTER than what you can make?"

"Yeah, like I said, I'm not a chef."

A firm smack to the back of the head. "That's not chef level, you dimwit!"

"Ow." Vincent answered simply. Then he blinked and smiled. "Wait. You said you wanna teach me?"

Alastor grumbled as he started putting his shoes on, which Vincent immediately copied with his own. "I'm not going to have my associate eating like a stray dog unable to provide himself with even a basic meal. If I was able to teach you how to cut up a body I'm sure I can teach you how to cook gumbo." He adjusted his shirt, looked to Vincent's belt, then met his eyes. "Now. Car. You're going to eat actual food tonight."

"How could I say no to that gracious offer?" He chuckled and held the front door open.

"You can't." He answered simply.

The V Tower is typically a place of corporate chaos, employees running down the halls to file paperwork on time, making appointments, and attending meetings where nothing actually gets done. In the late evening, however, after most of the lower level employees have left the building, there’s a silence that sits comfortably across the halls. The only exception is the sound of amused laughter drifting out from Vox’s office door, the Media Demon lingering despite the late hour.

It’s been weeks since Vox had captured his long term rival, Alastor, and after weeks of bickering with one another, a strange sort of familiarity has started to sit in the air between the two overlords this evening. Maybe it’s just the liquor warming their veins, but the 70 year long animosity between them feels nearly absent.

The bottle of Sazerac sits nearly empty, surrounded by the two who have generously been pouring themselves glass after glass. Vox’s composed CEO persona was one of the first things to go after the third drink. Gone is the stiff posture and smug grin, instead, Vox is slumped back in his office chair, feet lazily kicked up on the office desk.

The typically imposing overlord lets out a sharp bark of genuine laughter that would have horrified him if he were sober, wholeheartedly amused by the story he’s recounting to the Radio Demon sitting across from him. “And then - hah! - and then I cut the brakes! The look on her face was priceless!” Vox wheezes, a wide, genuine smile playing across his lips that makes him look almost like the man Alastor had actually tolerated nearly a century ago.

Across from him, Alastor sits comfortably in the same office chair he’s been stuck in for weeks, though he’s finally managed to convince the other overlord to remove the cables binding him. Not that the restraints were particularly bothersome to him in the first place, but the freedom to move his limbs is a welcome change he isn’t willing to question.

The sharp and lethal grin that normally sits across his lips is replaced by something loose and lazy, his posture melting into the leather beneath him. Even his eyes are slightly unfocused, vision blurred and fuzzy around the edges. “That’s a rather cruel move, even for you, Vox,” he hums, the tone making it clear that he means it as a compliment.

Vox’s eyes fall onto the other overlord, his expression softening into something dangerously close to sincere and the liquor loosening his lips. “See? This is what I mean. It’s just like old times. I… I actually missed this. The talking. Not the- not the rest of it.” One of his hands waves vaguely, the movement loose and clumsy. The comfortable warmth sitting in the pit of his stomach can’t fully be attributed to the alcohol, he’s actually finding himself deeply enjoying the company of the Radio Demon.

Alastor pauses, the glass hanging halfway to his lips where he was about to indulge in another sip. His red eyes lock onto Vox’s, not offering an immediate scathing insult or biting jab. Instead, his head tilts to the side as he examines the dopey grin on the other overlord’s face. He doesn’t exactly agree, but he doesn’t feel the immediate need to disagree either.

But the silence is something that Alastor is unwilling to let Vox think about too long.

“My, my, how terribly sentimental of you! Quite unbecoming for the Media Overlord himself.” The deer demon’s claws tap idly against the arms of his chair, eager to shift the conversation away from anything regarding their past. Talking about his enemy’s feelings is the last thing he wants to spend his time doing.

A thought enters his mind, something he had accidentally learned decades ago during one of their routine evenings out at the bar. An accidental brush of the hand too close to Vox’s ribs had sent the other overlord flinching away like a startled cat, a piece of information that Alastor has never quite forgotten about. 

And to his mind, fuzzy with alcohol and a desire for a sharp change in topic, it sounds like the perfect time to make use of that little weakness.

Alastor pushes himself up from the chair with a steadiness that would never give away how many glasses he’s actually had, planting his hands behind his back comfortably and taking a few steps closer to where Vox lounges in his chair. “Tell me, old pal, are you still as sensitive as you used to be?” A sharp grin lingers on his face as one of his hands drifts down to Vox’s ribs, the tips of his claws just barely grazing the other overlord’s side.

Vox reacts immediately.

His entire body tenses and he jerks back an inch, even the light graze sending alarm bells ringing in his head. “He-hey! Don’t touch me, you smug prick.” Vox tries to find the commanding tone he typically employs, though it’s heavily softened by the liquor and the surprise of the other man’s fingers. 

The reaction is exactly what Alastor was looking for, his ears perking right up in interest. An amused chuckle rumbles from his throat as he follows Vox’s jerk backwards, his hand drifting right back in. “Oh? And whyever not, hm?” This time, Alastor doesn’t settle for a simple graze of the claws, instead launching a full-on tickling attack on the other man’s sides.

Alastor’s claws scritch-scritch-scritch against the fabric of Vox’s suit, starting at his lowest rib before starting to move up his torso, finding the skin just below his gills. He leans into the other man’s space, trapping him in the chair with nothing more than his hands and his presence.

Vox bites down on his tongue to try to stop the laughter he can feel bubbling up in his chest. The feeling of the Radio Demon’s claws is horribly, maddeningly ticklish, a weakness that not even Valentino knows about. Despite his attempts to hold his breath, a chuckle starts to break free when Alastor finds that sensitive spot just below his gills. “G-get off of me- you- you- pfffft-”

His hands shoot up to try to find Alastor’s wrists and shove them away, but the overwhelming sensation combined with his current state is making it very difficult for his hands to hit the mark. Vox ends up swiping at the air and barely grazing Alastor’s wrists, doing effectively nothing to dislodge the other overlord as more and more undignified noises start bubbling up in his throat.

Alastor’s grin sharpens at the sound of the laughter breaking through, fully invested in this game now. His free hand shoots up to go for Vox’s hip, one hand with four claws skittering in circles near his gills, and the other wiggling up and down against the bone of his hip. “What’s the matter, Vincent? Don’t tell me you’re ticklish." The word drips with sadistic cruelty as it slides off his tongue, easily dodging Vox’s weak attempts to displace his hands.

“Sh- hahaHA! Shuhahahat up!” The Media Demon’s laughter can no longer be held back with the addition of another hand, laughter starting to spill from his throat. His knees lift to try to curl up and protect his hip and his ribs, looking nothing like the imposing overlord he pretends to be.

A dark chuckle escapes from Alastor as well, fully amused by the sight of his enemy breaking down into helpless laughter. “Oh my, so bossy for a man currently falling apart!” His claws make a sharp turn then, both hands shooting right up to the spot beneath Vox’s arms and scritch-scritching there in relentless wiggles of his claws. “What a delightful little weakness. Perhaps I should use this whenever you start your incessant whining.” The Radio Demon is having far too much fun, his ears tilted forward to catch every sputtered word and laugh coming from the other man.

Vox lets out a sharp gasp as his armpits are suddenly attacked, a short-lived sound of shock that quickly dissolves into loud, barking laughter. His eyes squeeze shut with the force of it, his legs helplessly kicking out. “Wha-hahaHA! No- No no no- I cahahant!” The Media Demon’s arms clamp down uselessly over his chest in a desperate bid to stop the ticklish sparks shooting through his body, though it does nothing but trap Alastor’s claws there.

“What was that? You can’t?” Alastor mimics with a faux sympathetic grin, tilting his head as if considering his plea. His fingers never stop, easily pushing Vox’s arms up to continue the zig-zagging motion of his claws into his underarms. “That’s a shame. I find this rather entertaining.” Absolutely no intent to stop lingers in his tone, fully intent on seeing his rival crumble into tears from the sheer force of his laughter.

However, Alastor’s plan is cut short as one of Vox’s helpless kicks results in a foot jabbed straight into Alastor’s ribs.

The Radio Demon is briefly shoved back from the force of the kick, wind knocked out of him with surprise. His hands are dislodged, leaving Vox panting as he tries to catch his breath and regain some sense of composure. Alastor lets out a judgemental “hmph” and brushes down the sides of his suit with his hands, looking down at the mess of an overlord in front of him. “Well. That was rather rude.” 

Vox slumps down in his chair as he takes deep breaths, his eyes snapping open in shock at the events of the past few minutes. One of his weaknesses has been exploited, he looks like a mess, and Alastor voluntarily touched him. To torture him, yes, but the thought remains, leaving a part of him almost hoping that he does it again.

But no. Best not to let Alastor see such a ridiculous thought.

Vox sits up, hand going to his bowtie to straighten it from the crooked position it had ended up in from his squirming. He clears his throat, searching for nonchalance that he doesn’t feel. “You deserved it. You’re lucky I didn’t decide to shock you instead.” Now that there’s a small bit of distance between them, Vox’s mind starts drifting to revenge. Is Alastor ticklish? Vox has never tried to tickle him, but now the thought is at the forefront of his mind.

With a more confident movement, he pushes himself up from the office chair and steps right into Alastor’s space, a grin starting to pull at the corners of his lips. “Maybe I should put you back in the cables after a stunt like that. I can’t have you… Distracting me.” The thought of Alastor restrained, only able to sit and take it as Vox maps out *his* ticklish spots is deeply enticing, already weaving plans into his mind.

Alastor’s eyes narrow at that tone in Vox’s voice, catching the smirk sitting on the other overlord’s lips that only speaks of future disaster. The sound of his static rises before he forces it back to a quieter hum, attempting to appear unaffected by whatever idea Vox is churning up in his head. “Perhaps you should retire for the evening. It is rather late, isn’t it?” 

He strolls back over to the office chair designated for him, sitting down in it as if he has no concerns about the thought of the return of the restraints. The idea of Vox’s hands on him sends an unpleasant tingle up his body, and he has no interest in being reduced to a laughing mess by the other man’s hands. In an attempt to spin attention away from him, he adds, “Unless, of course, you’d prefer I broadcast how pathetically ticklish you are to the entirety of the Pride Ring. Now that sounds like worthwhile entertainment!”

Vox immediately stiffens at the jab, the thought of his weakness being projected to the entirety of Hell stopping any cruel ideas that were slipping into his mind. He has a war to lead, and the thought of rallies full of demons approaching and attempting to tickle him sounds like a nightmare. “Fine.” Vox huffs, leaning a hand against his desk and maintaining the space Alastor had set. “But if you pull that shit again, I’m not giving you another chance.”

---

Alastor had woken up at his usual time. His body clock was consistent and precise like that. Though, for a moment, he was terrified, not recognizing the location he woke up in. A bed much too large with shiny silk sheets colored a deep navy blue.

Then it all rushed back to him.

All of it.

His face immediately flooded with heat recalling his embarrassing actions. Tickling Vincent unprompted like that? Had he no tact?

Then, slipping up and accidentally letting Vincent tickle him, outing his sensitives just like that?

Alastor had been determined to keep the secret to his grave, that being that he was horribly ticklish. His maman used to play with him all the time, using that little weakness of his to make him laugh.

He adored it as a child, but refused to be seen as weak and childish as an adult.

But that was now out the window with his business partner having seen, and worse, heard him like that.

Even as a kid he had that little quirk with his laugh when being tickled. As soon as his mind seemed to register a ticklish sensation making him laugh... he would snort. A lot. His maman would tease him, occasionally calling him 'piglet'. He hadn't minded it then, but it was greatly embarrassing now.

After their little tussle and Vincent falling asleep, Alastor needed somewhere for himself to rest. Knowing Vincent was originally going to be in his bed and Alastor on the couch, he just acted like they had switched and spent the night in his bed, not exactly wanting to share the small couch space with the large snoring man.

Once he was awake and had shaken off that clingy feeling of embarrassment, he changed into his provided day clothes and went to Vincent's kitchen to whip up some breakfast. Thankfully, the man had some eggs he could use. With the kitchen not containing much else, simple scrambled eggs with salt and pepper would have to do. Nowhere near his usual culinary standards, but it got the job done.

Honestly, if Alastor was ever going to stay over here again the man needed actual ingredients.

Since Alastor was nothing if not generous, he made enough food for Vincent when he woke up as well. He allocated more eggs for his business partner since he was not only larger in stature but had an appetite to match.

Vincent was very diligent with the building of his muscle mass. He went to the gym multiple times a week and had a work out regiment at home. He had explained that it was important to him for multiple reasons, both being capable as a killer but also having a more attractive figure for television.

Alastor could most definitely appreciate its usefulness in the field. It was one of the reasons he had first agreed to teaming up with him. Alastor was skillful, quick, and accurate, but that alone could not carry two dead bodies at once across the bayou.

Don't get him wrong, Alastor was not weak in the slightest. He'd done just fine downing men twice his size before Vincent entered his life.

But why would a shepherd deny his pack mule?

Memories of the previous night danced through his head. Echoes of the Vincent's laughter rung in his head.

He smile quirked upwards just a tick.

Vincent's laugh being tickled was genuinely like nothing else he'd heard before. Infectious was truly the best way to describe it. It was so silly and hilarious to listen to. It was bright and jovial. Hearing it made something fluttery and warm rise in his belly, spreading to his chest and lungs and making him laugh right along.

The feeling of laughter... Alastor hadn't embraced it in a long time.

He did laugh, of course, at times. But it was always measured and filtered so as not to make a scene or to seem undignified.

Last night he truly let himself go, most of that could be attributed to the alcohol, but it was so deeply fulfilling.

'You're never fully dressed without a smile!' he'd say. It was a sentiment he held close and lived up to at every moment.

'Laughter is the best medicine' others would say. Two sides of the same coin in a way, declaring that joy and displaying it was an important part of life.

If laughter truly was medicine then it undoubtedly healed something in him last night. The rush from it almost matched the colossal amount of booze in his system.

He wasn't certain if Vincent's contagious laugh would get him back to that state sober, though.

You know what would?

Alastor blinked at the heat in his cheeks and shook his head.

Absolutely not. He would never allow anyone, especially Vincent, to see him like that again.

No. He wouldn't.

However, tickling Vincent again was undeniably appealing. And he had framed it as a deal for his sadistic tendencies.

It wasn't play. It wasn't childish!

It was torment. Alastor could do torment...

His brain couldn't help but remind him of what others would say if they were to know. Two men making an agreement... for tickling? For Alastor to tickle Vincent to tears and most likely laugh and giggle right along with him?

That didn't seem the preferred activity of a terrifying killer.

It seemed like the past time of an ridiculous child.

Alastor growled and put more effort into breaking apart the chunks of scrambled eggs in the pan.

Enough. He was over thinking things. Vincent had agreed. This was purely torment for his own selfish desires. He was still Alastor. He was still feared.

For a moment he focused his thoughts on the sizzling of the pan. The flickering of the flames beneath it.

Then his ear twitched, picking up the sounds of shifting fabric from the living room.

Vincent was awake.

The larger man sheepishly shuffled into the kitchen, still wearing his pajamas with a rather drowsy look in his eyes. He adjusted his askew glasses as he met Alastor's gaze.

If Alastor were a sentimental man, he might've called Vincent's groggy and bashful appearance... cute.

But he wasn't. So he didn't.

"Hangover's not as bad as I was expecting." Vincent said he headed further into the kitchen, halting just about a foot away from Alastor as he peered into the pan.

"That is surprising considering you're the one who threw in the towel with our little bet. I'll keep the five dollars safe and sound."

Vincent snickered. "Yeah, yeah, you earned it." Vincent stretched his tense back, leaning backwards with a groan.

His shirt rode up, exposing a bit of his bare belly.

Alastor's eyes locked onto it.

When Vincent sighed and returned to his usual posture, he instantly noticed Alastor's focus. He gave a lopsided smile and spoke hesitantly.

"You thinking about last night?"

Alastor cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the pan. He busied himself with sprinkling salt and pepper on the cooked chunks of egg. "Hard not to."

"I, uh... I'm still okay with, y-you know... the deal we made."

Alastor blinked and looked at Vincent again. He was flushed and fighting a smile unsuccessfully.

Vincent must truly love it if he was bringing it up sober just to assure he was intending on following through.

"Hm. With how you brought it up it almost sounds like you're asking me to tickle you." Alastor grinned with mocking eyes. "Is that what you're wanting?"

"What?!" Vincent sputtered, his shoulders up to his ears which were quickly turning red. "No! I-I just mean, like, I'm... following through. It's for your sake, of course. I don't back out of our deals and you seemed like you really enjoyed it."

Alastor pulled out two plates and started scraping the eggs onto them.

"I have an added stipulation to our deal I hope would be common sense." Alastor said as he carried the plates to the kitchen table. Vincent grabbed some silverware and followed him, putting the forks down while listening intently.

Once they were sat with their plates in front of them, Alastor continued. "This exchange of ours should be private, obviously. Not a single soul outside this room should know our little activities."

Vincent snorted. "Of course, Al. Are you kidding? I can't even imagine what my coworkers would think. Probably that I'm some sexually deviant queer or something."

"I'm glad we're on the same page." Alastor took a bite of his eggs. Not great, but he did the best with what he had. Vincent was seriously lacking anything with flavor in his kitchen.

"So... are we going to transport the bodies once we're done eating?"

Alastor was thankful the conversation moved on naturally towards something easier to talk about... like homicide.

They took longer than necessary to finish breakfast, their banter familiar and entertaining, before making their way to the yard and preparing to move the bodies into Vincent's car for an easy transport across town.

The pair lived in separate houses about a 20 minute drive from the other, though if one were to cut through the bayou on foot, walking would only be a 15 minute journey. That was only true though if one was familiar with the bayou enough to navigate it quickly. Alastor was a natural while Vincent was still learning. Driving in a car was easier, and also more subtle during the daylight. However, Vincent was not a stranger to lugging multiple bodies through the bayou in the dark with nothing but a flashlight and muscle memory.

Once the corpses were safely at Alastor's home, the two separated for the time being. They had a kill scheduled for the coming Friday, just a week after the last one. They were timing them relatively close, meaning they'd need to lay low longer afterwards. The target was an amateur thrill seeker who'd been slinking into the bayou each night, getting a little too close for either of their likings. He also was a waiter at a whites only restaurant who went out his way to harass those of color, even those just walking by outside. Young, unimportant, reckless, and stupid. Easy kill.

Too easy.

...

Vincent was a decisive man. When he wanted, he took. When was caught off guard, he regained his footing and struck with precision.

But tonight, he froze.

The man was armed. He shouldn't have been. It didn't make sense. But he was.

Vincent stared down the barrel as ice cold fear doused him from head to toe, freezing him in place. He had never hesitated like this before, but he was so surprised it was as if his base instincts took over.

Alastor snarled his name and then he felt an impact to his left.

Alastor tackled him just as the man pulled the trigger. The bullet flew into the tree trunk behind him.

Alastor' momentum sent Vincent to the ground, but he kept going, sliding into a nearby ditch.

The impact, and the knowledge of Alastor now most likely hurt, finally kicked his brain back into gear. He grabbed a nearby branch and charged forward, keeping low, before swinging it into the man's outstretched arm, bending it backwards and launching the gun from his hand. In a motion more typical from him, smooth and lightning-quick, he snatched the gun from the ground, aimed, and shot. Point blank between the eyes.

The man went limp on the ground.

Vincent took a breath. A deep one. As adrenaline pounded through his veins.

Alastor.

Vincent turned towards the ditch and slid down on his heels.

Alastor was on his hands and knees looking a mix between furious and relieved. His shirt was torn and slightly bloody and his leg looked banged up but other than that he seemed fine.

Partially choked up and breathing heavily, he spoke."Thank God you're-"

"Is he dead?" Alastor cut him off with such stern decisiveness Vincent clamped his mouth shut immediately.

He swallowed. "Yes."

"Good..." Alastor sighed a deep breath before shooting an absolutely murderous look.

Vincent held his arms up, gun still in hand. "I know! I know! I froze! I'm sorry."

"You're lucky you redeemed yourself otherwise I'd shoot you myself for being dead weight." Alastor looked back at his leg and wiggled his foot a bit before wincing. "Thanks to your idiocy, I've injured my calf. I can't walk through the bayou."

"Is that your only injury?"

Alastor nodded, still looking at the damage. "Besides some scrapes on my torso, yes."

"Good." He handed the gun for Alastor to hold who took it confusedly.

"What are you-" Alastor was cut off when Vincent hooked his arms beneath his back and knees and easily scooped him up.

"I'll come back for the body later. I'll get you to my place. I have first aid supplies there. You can rest on my couch for however long it takes you to heal."

Vincent turned and started running without another word.

Alastor blinked in surprise. Sure he'd seen him transport bodies before, but feeling how truly effortless it was for Vincent to carry him was honestly rather impressive, though Alastor was quite light for a man.

He made it through the wilderness in record time, making it through the backdoor of his house and placing Alastor gently on the couch.

"Lemme get some stuff real quick." He rushed to his bedroom almost immediately.

Alastor tested his calf again, flexing his ankle. From his best guess, it seemed he tore the muscle. Not the end of the world but those took quite a bit to heal and it was going to inhibit his walking during that time.

He sighed and sank his head onto the arm of the couch. Great.

He didn't like to depend on others but Vincent owed him. A lot. This wasn't so much 'depending' as it was cashing in on a life debt.

Vincent returned shortly dressed in clean clothes, arms full of items.

He sat down a bottle of whiskey, a very familiar bottle. "For the pain and just to take the edge off. Here's a clean change of clothes, as well. I've also got a first aid kit, some pillows, and a blanket."

As he listed the items he set them down in the surrounding area.

Vincent suddenly flushed and coughed into his hand. "Do you, uh, need help changing?"

"I'll manage." Alastor said sternly. Vincent inhaled sharply and turned around. From this angle Alastor could see his ears turning red again.

It took longer than it usually would as he had to carefully avoid flexing his calf muscle, but he managed to sort himself out in time. With his top off he was able to seem some shallow wounds on his torso, mostly a few lightly bleeding scratches on his side. Nothing much to worry over. Unbothered, he slid the pajama top on. Again, the clothes were a bit big for him, but he wasn't picky.

Once he signaled he was done Vincent quickly poured him a drink and handed it to him. Surprisingly, he also poured himself some. A rather large one. Vincent wasn't typically a whiskey fan but perhaps he just needed something to clam his anxiety.

After his drink he busied himself with the first aid kit. Alastor quickly downed his glass, more to curb his annoyance than his pain level.

"Do you know what all your injuries are?" Vincent asked, still looking through the kit.

"Torn calf muscle and some lacerations on my side. All manageable."

"Alright well I can't do much about the tear but we can at least disinfect the cuts." Vincent pulled out some hydrogen peroxide and cotton pads. "You're, uh... gonna have to lift up your shirt."

There was that flush again. Honestly, Vincent could sometimes be more prudish than Alastor...

Alastor set his drink on the coffee table and did so, lifting the thin pajama shirt and revealing his torso from his ribs downwards.

"..."

"Well?" Alastor asked impatiently after Vincent had been staring for an intensely long time doing nothing. He startled suddenly, his ears red once again.

Alastor's smile quirked up. He found his ears flushing to be unreasonably cute.

Cute? He meant intriguing. Intriguing was the correct word.

One time he looked so flustered he seemed ready to explode. His ears were red as cherries along with the rest of his face. The hue complimented his mismatched eyes quite well. Green, blue, and red.

"Might sting a bit." Vincent warned. Alastor rolled his eyes. He should know by now that Alastor had world-class pain tolerance.

Vincent lightly placed his free hand on Alastor's stomach while the one with the pad closed in.

Alastor flinched quite noticeably. His stomach tensed and he bit his cheek.

"Al? You alright?" Vincent was confused. Alastor was usually supernaturally resistant to any kind of pain and he flinched just with the pad coming close.

"I'm fine." Came a strained response.

"Uh... okay. Just tell me if you need me to stop." Vincent touched the pad down to the scratches. It stung, of course, but that was entirely more manageable from what actually had him flinching.

Alastor allowed himself to relax a bit, slowly unclenching his stomach and breathing evenly.

"Lemme get this blood real quick."

Ah. The dried blood spread across his torso. Vincent gently pressed the soft fuzzy cotton pad to his stomach and began wiping.

Alastor's eyes shot open. His entire torso tensed. He slammed a hand over his rapidly widening grin.

His stomach started jerking. He squeezed his eyes shut and his shoulders shook.

Vincent was absolutely dumbfounded.

For about 3 seconds.

"Ohhhh." Vincent snickered and smiled amusedly, stilling the cotton pad. "I forgot you're ticklish here."

Alastor's eyes narrowed and he growled.

Vincent chuckled and held his hands up. "Relax, Al, jeez! You already know I'm ticklish. No shame."

Alastor seemed to get less pissed at that. Vincent wore a lopsided grin.

"Is this your worst spot?"

"Why on Earth would I volunteer that information?" Alastor lifted his hand from his mouth to speak in a rather annoyed tone.

"I mean. It seems pretty bad. And if it's not, that just means you have an even worse spot somewhere else I'll find eventually."

Alastor huffed with what could only be described as a pout. "Yes. It is." He cocked an eyebrow. "What about you? Are your ribs your worst spot?"

He seemed to choke on his spit again and clear his throat, his smile shifting to something more bashful. "I, uh- well... no, it isn't."

Alastor's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really?"

Vincent chuckled. "Yeah. I've always been too ticklish for my own good."

"So where is your worst spot?"

With a playful grin Vincent effortlessly fired back. "Why on Earth would I volunteer that information?"

Alastor hummed and tilted his head with a teasing smile. "Guess I'll just have to find it for myself, then."

Vincent's reactive giggle was embarrassingly goofy sounding, reflecting the rush of giddy shyness it caused.

He held the cotton pad back to Alastor's midriff, causing it to tense. Vincent successfully held back a giggle at that. It felt good not to be the only ticklish one on the team.

Once he continued gently wiping off the blood Alastor slammed both hands over his mouth as he tried desperately to suppress his laughter. His eyes were screwed shut as his shoulders and stomach shook with each silenced guffaw.

Vincent meanwhile looked at him as if he were the embodiment of beauty itself. He'd never seen Alastor like this before. It made his heart soar.

As the cotton pad danced over his torso, Vincent couldn't help but admire his belly. The skin was soft and smooth and bounced with every giggle. It was kind of squishy too. Not because of fat, but due to lack of muscle. Just a bunch of delicate organs and a layer of highly ticklish skin to protect them. He watched it quiver with each snicker and titter wearing a happy lovesick smile.

He just wished Al would stop suppressing the laughs and just let them out. He was DYING to hear them.

His wiping of the blood got less precise as he started wandering his brushing to map out all of Alastor's most sensitive spots.

And... There! Alastor's entire body jolted violently when he hit that little spot right there. Just below his bellybutton.

He removed the pad and immediately brought all 5 fingers to lightly dance over the area, eyes locked onto Al's face to soak up his reaction.

And, OH, he couldn't have asked for anything better!

Alastor's eyes shot open in alarm, his grin grew massive, and he exploded into a hysterical laughing fit.

A laughing fit absolutely FILLED with delightful little snorts.

His hands tried to cover it up but it was all for naught. Vincent heard every little squeak, squeal, cackle, and most importantly, snort.

He stared at him with eyes wide as saucers before breaking out a blindly bright smile.

Oh this was the cutest thing he’d ever seen hands down. Screw puppies or kittens or newborn babies. Alastor blushing, hiding part of his face, absolutely snorting up a storm in a helpless fit of laughter cause his tummy was just too ticklish?

Vincent was sure his heart was going to explode. It was the most adorable damn sound he’d ever heard. And Alastor, the cocky deadly Alastor, was SHY about it?

Vincent took a moment to thank whatever higher power blessed him with this tonight. If he developed amnesia tomorrow he hoped this would be the last memory to go.

Alastor finally tore his hands away from covering his face to grab Vincent's tickling hand and shove it away. He quickly panted to recover his breath and Vincent just sat back and enjoyed the uninterrupted view of his face. His complexion generally made it harder to tell if he was flushed or not but when he was really flustered there was no hiding it. His whole face was a deep crimson and his smile was still wobbly and genuine.

"Your laugh..." Vincent chuckled to himself. Before he could continue, Alastor looked defensive.

"I'm well aware of how undignified it is Vincent. You're the one who decided to forcefully draw it out of me."

"Undigni-? Alastor that was cutest damned laugh I've ever heard."

They both blinked at each other.

Fuck, maybe he shouldn't have used the word 'cute'.

Alastor shifted his jaw and picked up his whiskey glass, empty, but it seemed he just needed something to do and look at.

"'humiliating' is a better word for it, I fear." Alastor's tone was flippant, but seemed to be disguising some insecurity.

Vincent softened his expression before reaching for the whiskey bottle and pouring Al another drink.

"I always thought my uncontrolled laugh to be ugly and annoying." He said as he poured. Al's eyes met his. "You called it infectious."

Alastor's smile met his eyes. "You called mine cute."

Vincent chuckled and placed the bottle back on the table. "What a pair we are. Serial killers. Entertainers. Horribly ticklish with unique laughs."

Alastor chuckled as he sipped his drink.

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Both enjoy being tickled."

Alastor nearly spat his drink onto the couch. He grunted and forcefully swallowed his mouthful. "Excuse me?"

Vincent's grin was massive. "You liked it. You know I like it. And I could tell you did. Covering your face instead of fighting back at all? Only removing my hand when you were embarrassed about your little snorts..."

Oh, Alastor's face was BURNING.

"Come on, you can admit it. I just did."

Alastor tightened his gaze and slammed down his whiskey glass. "I will admit no such thing."

Vincent looked delighted to hear that.

"Oh no, seems I didn't get all the blood!" He spoke in an overexaggerated fake tone before lightly dancing all ten fingers over his belly, carefully avoiding his scratches.

Alastor burst into hysterics, snorting repeatedly as he lost it.

"VIHI- SNRK- IHIHINCENT! SNRK! IHIHI SWEHEHEAR! SNRK!"

"Admit iiiiiit~ You like being tiiiiickled~" Vincent sang teasingly. Oh, he was loving how ticklish his tummy was. His touch was so light but Alastor was losing his mind. Plus, he could feel the quaking of his belly with every booming laugh and adorable snort.

Then, slightly tipsy and impulsive, he pulled a move he never would have before tonight.

He leaned down, pressed his lips to Alastor's belly, and blew a raspberry over his navel.

And Alastor. Shrieked.

"PFFTAHA- SNRK! AHAHAHA! VIHIHAHAHA! SNRK!"

Vincent felt his head be harshly shoved away which he allowed.

Alastor panted, his expression slightly pained. Vincent's amusement turned to worry.

"Calf muscle is still torn. That was... intense. I couldn't help but thrash."

Ah. He kicked his legs and upset his torn muscle.

"Just... not now. We have to allow the muscle to heal."

Oh... Ohohoho... Vincent was not letting that slip up go.

"Not now?" He asked with a shit-eating grin.

Alastor blinked confusedly then his calming red flush renewed as bright as ever.

"I- I didn't-"

"You said 'not now'. Meaning you're okay with it happening again." Vincent lightly danced five fingers up and down his belly, gentler and slower so as not to cause any more uncontrolled thrashing. "You like being tickled~"

Alastor broke into laughter again, still littered with snorts but not as intense as before. His hands latched onto Vincent's wrist but barely made any effort to push him away.

"Come on, Al. Just admit it! There's no shame! It's just us two and you already know I like it. If you admit it, I promise I'll go pickup breakfast from the cafe you like tomorrow." Yeah he had to resort to bargaining but come on. He HAD to hear him admit it!

After about twenty more adorable seconds of snorts and cackling, he finally gave in.

"Ohohohokay! Snrk! OHOKAY! Fihihine! Ihihihi- SNRK! Ihihihi ehehehenjoy ihihit! Snrk!"

Vincent giggled to himself, so utterly adoring and enamored. He let his index finger remain to just lightly trace shapes all over his belly, which Vincent was quickly learning he never wanted to take his hands off of.

It kept Al in a state of light high-pitched tittering with just an occasional snort or two.

"Ihihi ehehexpect aha- snrk! Ahaha fuhuhull sprehehead tohohomorrow." He giggled incessantly.

Vincent rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. Quiche, croissants, the whole shebang." Then his smile turned an equal mix of fond and teasing. His tickling finger relented as he moved his hand to brush some hair that had fallen in Alastor's face. "And I'll be here to tickle you as much as you want until you get better. And beyond then."

If Vincent didn't know any better, he would've pinned Alastor's returned smile as... bashful. But as quick as he registered it, it was gone, replaced with the more typical mischievous one.

"When I'm better you can expect comeuppance for this little attack here." Alastor reached forward slightly to tweak Vincent's rib, making him squeak at a hilariously high pitch. Alastor chuckled amusedly. "I still have to find your worst spot."