---

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."

---

Alastor was in his house.

Alastor. Was in. His house!

Vincent shouldn't be freaking out. For a number of reasons.

The first reason was that something much more important and risky had happened. That being the duo had just committed a double homicide.

To any normal person, one homicide would be enough for at least some hyperventilation.

Vincent was far from a normal person. He was an experienced serial killer. Though two at once was a new for him.

The second reason he shouldn't be alarmed was because Alastor and Vincent had known each other for over a year now, and killing together almost as long. The man simply existing in his house shouldn't be that significant in Vincent's mind.

Oh, but it was. Because Alastor was so much more than his killing partner, or 'business partner' as they'd labelled it.

Alastor was a wonder of a man. An absolute charmer, swift with a blade as he was with words. He could down two men with knives then out-dance three with a voice that was like the finest honey, oozing into Vincent's soul every time he opened his mouth.

And now the man with danger radiating from every inch of him was in his house, covered in blood with a small unamused smile.

"There's no saving these clothes. We're burning them. Get changed and put everything currently on your person into a trash bag. I'll take care of them tomorrow."

It had been somewhat of a bloodbath tonight, Vincent thought as he looked down at his clothes. Thankfully since this was planned and carried out downtown, he'd forgone wearing any of his nicer outfits. Now he only had to say goodbye to a simple button-up and an old pair of slacks.

The shoes he was a tad put-out by.

While the murder itself was planned, both of them fleeing to Vincent's house was not. But unfortunately some other crime nearby was carried out less discreetly than theirs leading to the police sirens blaring not but a block away.

It was a bit of a scramble but they managed to get themselves to safety plus both bodies to Vincent's backyard.

"Do you have any change of clothes on you?"

"And where, pray tell, would I be hiding those?"

Fair enough. Stupid question. Alastor didn't have any sort of bag with him.

Vincent's heart fluttered the slightest bit in his chest as an idea came to mind.

"You could... borrow some of mine?"

Alastor in Vincent's clothes... There was a unique closeness something like that signified.

Plus, Vincent was a good bit taller than Alastor. Not drastically, but about 3-4 inches. He also had a broader build which his clothes were custom tailored too.

Seeing a man like Alastor in clothes too big, draping down a bit too long and hugging him a bit too loosely...

Please say yes please say yes please say yes...

"That should work for now given our unplanned detour."

Vincent's slack expression shifted to a smile just this side of casual. He was just glad he managed not to throw his fists in the air and cheer.

"There's cops still around. I should probably stay here tonight and leave in the morning."

Tonight just got even better.

"Yeah! Sure! No-no problem at all!" Vincent cleared his throat to rid himself of his light stammer.

Alastor waking up in the morning wearing Vincent's too big clothes...

"I-I'll go fetch us some clothes. And, uh, feel free to help yourself to a drink." Vincent waved him towards his alcohol cabinet.

"How generous. Did you buy that brand of whiskey I recommended?"

"'Course I did. Top shelf."

Truth was, Vincent didn't like whiskey very much. But he was quite interested in having anything Alastor wanted fully in stock.

"Smart boy." He said in a borderline purr.

Vincent shivered and basically ran to his bedroom to pull out only the best clothes he had.

After practically emptying his wardrobe he found some black silk pajamas he hadn't worn in ages as well as a combination of black slacks and a crimson dress shirt.

He carried the clothes out to the living room where Alastor was sipping his drink with an expectant eyebrow.

"I, uh-, I got you clothes I think you'd like. Real silk! And I got you something red for tomorrow. I know how much you... like red." Wow he sounded stupid. Vincent set the folded clothes down on the coffee table and went to pour himself a drink, a spiced gin, just to give his mouth something else to do other than embarrass him.

It was strange. Alastor wasn't much a fan of sweets in the culinary sense but tended to gravitate towards slightly sweeter alcoholic drinks whereas Vincent was very much the opposite.

"Thank you, Vincent." Alastor finished his whiskey then held up his index finger and twirled it around.

Vincent furrowed his eyebrows, analyzing the gesture as he took a sip.

Then his eyebrows shot up.

"Oh!" He quickly, a bit too quickly, spun around to give Alastor some privacy to change.

His heart started beating quicker in his chest, hearing Alastor unzip his pants, and then drop them to the floor.

Keep it together. He's just changing clothes. It's not like he's some broad stripping for a show. This is a man. There's nothing... exciting about it.

His ears still perked up hearing the shuffling of fabric behind him. Despite his best efforts, his mind supplied him with its best guess for what Alastor looked like at that moment. Bare chest. Slender frame. Those long legs.

He swallowed hard.

"Alright. I'm decent." Alastor said as he shoved his soiled clothes in the garbage bag.

Vincent turned around, trying very hard not to look too eager.

And oh, it was exactly what he was hoping for. The shirt hanging just over his waist and showing part of his collar bone. The pants ankles dragging down to his heels and sitting loosely on his hips....

He looked so small in Vincent's clothes. Don't get it wrong, Vincent was in no way fooled. That man could still have his head on a pike in five seconds flat.

That didn't change the fact that he looked borderline adorable.

Nope. Scratch the borderline. It was taking all his effort not to reach out and squeeze the man in his arms.

His head would tuck so nicely under his chin-

"Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to shed those bloody rags of yours?"

Vincent quickly cleared his throat and pretended he wasn't ogling him.

"Oh yeah! Yeah. Right." He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and began to peel it off. He was disappointed but unsurprised that Alastor turned around to avoid watching.

Once the dirtied clothes were in the bag, Vincent realized he hadn't brought out a change for himself. He abruptly excused himself back to his room and found his navy silk pajama set. Once changed, he quickly returned to the living room to see Alastor pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

"I'll bring the bodies back to my house tomorrow. I don't suppose you'd like to assist me with that?" Alastor shot him that smug smirk. He knew Vincent would say yes had he asked him to lift a car. And Vincent was plenty happy to be of use no matter what Alastor requested of him.

"Of course! Besides, tomorrow's Saturday. I don't have any plans or anything."

"I would hope not. Making plans for the day after a kill this risky would be foolish."

"I suppose that's why you're drinking a tad more than usual."

"Why ever not? A successful outing, a free day tomorrow, and a nice bottle of whiskey so generously provided by my business partner. It'd be a shame not to indulge given the circumstances." He downed the rest of his glass and poured another.

"Don't go too fast. Don't want you getting sick on me."

"Vincent, do you honestly take me for a lightweight? I'm more than capable of holding my liquor. You on the other hand..." Alastor's smile was large and mocking as he sipped on his glass.

Vincent snorted. "Oh, please. Do you realize how often you're expected to drink at studio events and still be ready to present at a moment's notice? I could down a gallon of vodka and still deliver the news without a hair out of place."

Alastor's grin was downright devilish. "Then how about you put your money where your mouth is? Drink for drink. First one to fold gives the other five dollars."

Vincent blinked in surprise. Five dollars was almost a day's wages for him.

But he was nothing if not bold.

He poured himself another spiced gin and downed it.

"I accept."

...

Vincent was already regretting everything. He was hunched over the coffee table, one arm resting on the arm of the couch while his free hand swirled a finger around the rim of his latest drink, stalling for time as he was hesitant to consume anymore.

"Whatsa' matter? Givin' up s'soon?" Alastor slurred as he waved around his empty glass.

Vincent didn't know how many it had been. Too much, his mind supplied.

He had quickly found that yes, he did have high alcohol tolerance. But so did Alastor. Which left them drinking more than any two people realistically should.

He was sure that if he kept going one of them would end up in the hospital.

He grumbled something incoherent and reached for his wallet across the coffee table.

"Haha! That's what I thought! Hic!"

Alastor cheered and nearly dropped his glass, readjusting his grip at the last moment before setting it down.

"No one's given me a run for my money in a long time. You're fun to have around." Alastor's words were heavily slurred and remarkably jovial. Vincent had seen him tipsy before, where he was a bit looser and easier to make laugh, but this was a new level.

Who knew the most dangerous man in New Orleans would be a happy drunk?

Vincent barely managed to count out the right amount of money and slide it over to Alastor who didn't even seem to notice. The other man had his head propped up in his hand, elbow resting on the arm of his side of the couch, as he stared at Vincent with a smile much dopier and giddier than usual.

Vincent's face was already flushed from the alcohol, but that didn't stop the heat from spreading under the attention.

"Your ears are red." Alastor commented with a light giggle.

Vincent cringed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh- that only happens when I drink a lot."

Not true. Vincent was an easy blusher, especially around Alastor. With his pale complexion, it shone like a beacon of pink and red every time, often spreading to his ears when he was particularly flustered.

Normally he was an extremely skilled liar, crafting intricate yet perfect stories and alibis on the fly as if second nature.

But with a cloudy boozed-up mind, his words were practically screaming 'liar liar pants on fire'.

"Liar." Alastor reached out and poked Vincent's bottom rib to get his attention.

"AH! Ehehe- hey!" Vincent squeaked and giggled immediately before swatting at the offending hand. He felt dread wash over him as he saw the knowing twinkle in Alastor's eye.

"Oh?"

"Al..."

Alastor leaned towards him with a grin. "Tell me, Vincent. You wouldn't happen to be... ticklish, would you?"

"W-what? No, I, uh- I was, um, startled." The more Vincent stammered and stuttered the more he pulled his arms to his sides to try and protect himself. He wouldn't fool anyone like this and he knew it.

Truth was, Vincent had been dreadfully ticklish all his life. He never seemed to grow out of it like a lot of other men.

When he was a kid his mom tickled him often and he remembered loving it. He had memories, embarrassing in hindsight, of him running to his mom wanting to play 'tickle monster' and making sure to get caught on purpose.

He hadn't been tickled properly as an adult but wasn't exactly opposed to the idea.

What he WAS opposed to was Alastor finding out just how massive and debilitating this little weakness of his could be.

And worst, hearing his laugh when being tickled.

Vincent's every day laugh was what you'd expect from a business man and a performer. Deep, controlled, casual.

When being tickled, though...

Alastor raised his hand with wiggling fingers and anxiety shot up Vincent's spine.

The paler man started scrambling backwards on the couch, back pressing up against the arm as Alastor slinked towards him. Just the sight of those wiggling fingers, knowing they'd be on him in mere moments, made mirth bubble in his belly that was almost impossible to ignore. His smile grew massive and wobbly and nervous giggles bounced around in his chest looking for an escape. Thanks to his inebriated state, they quickly found one, flooding the air in all their giddy, goofy glory.

Alastor smile was blindingly bright, eyes dancing in excitement and amusement.

"I'm not even touching you yet."

"Y-you're gohohonna!" Vincent's speech was just barely comprehensible. Words were difficult to force out past the giggle fit. He could already feel his worst spots tingling in anticipation.

"Hm. Correct."

As soon as those ten fingers descended on his ribs, Vincent let out the most mortifyingly high-pitched squeal he was pretty sure he'd ever made post-puberty, before positively exploding in laughter.

Oh, he could hear it. The way his laugh quickly cycled between high-pitched and squeaky, and low and goofy, with hiccups, wheezes, and squeals mixed in for flavor.

He was so embarrassed. He had never wanted Alastor to hear this side of him.

He looked up at his tormentor though his hysteria, expecting disdain or condescension.

Instead, Alastor looked mesmerized.

Then, shockingly, something happend to him. His smile twitched. He huffed a few times. He bit his lip as his eyes crinkled...

Then he started laughing.

Vincent could barely hear the sound over his own cacophony, but the sight alone was something he wished he could savor forever.

"Y-Yohohohour laahahahaugh..."

Vincent inwardly winced. Yeah. He was aware of how bad it was.

"Ihihihit's sohoho... i-ihihinfectious! Ahahaha!" Alastor lifted his hands to clutch his middle, letting Vincent catch his breath and try to listen.

Infectious? Alastor was laughing because his laugh was contagious? He liked it?

Vincent stared through tired eyes with a stupid dopey smile.

Alastor's laugh was the same as always, if a little slurred and loud compared to sober Al.

Vincent's partner rarely laughed genuinely. He could tell when it was rehearsed, made to mock, polite, or real. When he did let himself laugh, he usually cut it off or kept it quieter than it clearly wanted to be.

Thank God for alcohol because it let Vincent hear the whole thing, uninterrupted and uncontrolled. He took time to memorize the way his smile was massive and imperfect as opposed to forced one plastered on most of the time. The way his eyes were near closed as mirth overtook him. The way he gripped his torso as if it would help him overcome his laughing fit.

Then, an idea brewed in Vincent's head. A dangerous one. One he would quickly shut down if he had a modicum of logical thinking.

He reached his hands out, fingers resting against Alastor's belly and sides, and began rapidly wiggling his fingers.

The reaction he got was worth any consequences.

Alastor... controlled, refined, perfect Alastor, snorted and jerked backwards, landing on his butt on the other side of the couch with a loud burst of high-pitched laughter.

Vincent was over the fucking moon.

"HA! Looks like I'm not the only one who's ticklish!"

His rush of pride and satisfaction was extinguished in an instant seeing the terrifying determination flickering in Alastor's eyes.

Vincent tucked his head down and pushed himself up against the arm of the couch.

"Uh, I was just messin' around, Al. You know that..."

Alastor didn't even verbally responded. He just pounced, taking the wind out of Vincent's lungs as Alastor landed so he was straddling his stomach.

Vincent didn't have time to think about the suggestiveness of the position before he was absolutely howling in laughter.

Those ten wiggling fingers were back with a vengeance, much faster and much more determined, poking, prodding, and wiggling up against every nerve of his ribs.

"IEEEE- A-AHAHAL! AHA! NOHOHO! ACK! IHIHI'M- HIC- IHIHIHI'M SOHOHOHORRY! EEK- PFFTAHAHAHA!" He glued his arms to his sides but nothing deterred the devastating attack. He threw his head against the arm of couch as massive waves of unrelenting mirth poured from his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut, his grin was face-splitting and aching, his core was spasming from his uncontrollable laughter.

But good God, it felt magnificent.

Sure, his mind was sending signals of panic and escape, causing him to thrash and wiggle like a fish out of water, but those feelings were easily overshadowed.

He hadn't laughed so hard in years. It was incredible. He could feel the endorphins flooding his body and mind as his heart fluttered from the attention and silliness of the situation. Alastor's touch was warm and comforting even if it sent alarm bells in his brain screaming at him about how badly it tickled.

He craved touch. Always had. And now he had Alastor's full attention with his hands all over him, smiling down at him, fighting back a laughing fit of his own.

"I hope this will teach you not to start fights you cannot win." Alastor managed to speak clearly but the wobble in his voice and grin made it obvious he was fighting tooth and nail not to crack up again.

One of Alastor's prodding fingers found a terribly sensitive spot along his floating rib, forcing out two impossibly high-pitched squeaks.

Apparently that was the last straw needed for Alastor to break into laughter right alongside him again.

"Y-Yohohohou're lihihike ahaha humahahan sq-squeheheaky tohohoy!" He laughed brightly before focusing his attack on his two bottom ribs, thoroughly massaging the bones.

Yet another shriek sounding like a chipmunk on helium, making Alastor laugh harder as Vincent absolutely lost it.

"AIIIIIIEEE! FUHUCK- AHAHACK! HIC! IHIHIH- EEHEHE- IHIHI CAHAHAN'T! NOHOHOHAHAHA!" Vincent let out a long wheeze as his body curled up as much as it could before he exploded back into hysterics, kicking his feet and jerking side to side beneath Alastor's weight.

Above him, Alastor's expression turned curious... like he was analyzing something... dissecting a problem.

Then the tickles stopped. His hands stilled, just resting on his ribs.

Vincent's tittering did not stop as quick. In fact, it took about a solid minute of panting and squeaking to get himself back under control.

Embarrassed and dazed, he looked up at Al shyly.

"Most people would have fought back by now. Insulted, even threatened the person to cease their attack. Or even just yelled the word 'stop'." Alastor cocked his head to the side with an intrigued grin. "You've done none of that."

Vincent swallowed and dread pooled in his belly.

It was bad enough Alastor now knew how pathetically ticklish he was and heard his ridiculous laugh. He could not let him know he enjoyed, or God forbid, craved this kind of play. He was an up and coming entertainer, practically the face of an entire channel, a savvy businessman, a goddamn serial killer!

How humiliating it'd be to be caught like this. Being tickled to hysterics and loving every second.

Vincent tried to wipe the goofy grin off his face but the consistent presence of Alastor's fingers on his ribs made that impossible. His gaze wandered to the side, trying to avoid eye contact as if it would protect his reputation.

"I... Um, well... I'm drunk. I just, uh... didn't think about it."

He knew that lie wouldn't fool even a child but at this point he was just avoiding admitting it.

A squeeze at his bottom ribs made him squeal and bark out a quick stream of laughs.

"You cannot fool me Vincent. Admit it." Alastor leaned down so they were nearly nose to nose before purring in a low voice. "You love it when I tickle you."

It felt like Vincent's heart leapt into the sky before shooting back into his chest and bouncing around in there, pitter-pattering in a way that left him tingling all over.

Vincent's gaze shot to the ceiling and he bit his cheek to keep from giggling nervously.

Another squeeze at his ribs broke that immediately, sending him into a seemingly never-ending fit of high-pitched giggles both from nerves and from tickles. His eyes met Alastor's to see that the other's grin took on that genuine wobbly quality again. He clearly did regard Vincent's laugh as highly contagious.

Alastor sat back and cleared his throat, hands removed leaving Vincent to breathe evenly for even a brief moment.

"That's too bad. Because I had a proposition for you." His eyebrow was raised with a knowing smirk. It was obvious bait but Vincent's impulsive curiosity didn't care.

"W-What kind?"

"Tickling you to hysterics is satisfying some of my sadistic urges. There are times we're between kills or need to lie low for a while. You," Alastor poked a finger to the tip of Vincent's flushed nose. "can help me out during those times."

Vincent blinked. He was proposing... Vincent offer himself up to be tickled out of his mind when Alastor had pent-up aggression between kills?

An excited thrill zipped up his spinal cord and flooded his body.

Alastor, antsy and frustrated, with his hands all over Vincent on a regular basis, making him laugh, giving him his full attention...

Fuck. Yes.

...But he couldn't just say that!

Vincent cleared his throat and looked to the side. "W-What do I get out of it?"

5 fingers drummed a quick 2-second rhythm across his ribs, making him squeak like a mouse and burst into a small giggle fit. Alastor's eyes softened the slightest bit.

"You get the honor, the privilege, of being tickled by me."

Fuck he was so screwed.

Vincent took a breath. "I guess... if it helps you keep your aggression under wraps when we don't have a target... I can help you out."

Clearly not the exact answer Alastor was looking for, his eyes were narrowed. "How selfless of you. You must be so generous... offering yourself up to be tickled, especially given how horribly sensitive you are."

Two pokes to his ribs. A squeal and a hiccup in return.

"Especially this little spot right here." He rubbed little circles in his bottom ribs and Vincent descended back into helpless peals of laughter. He twisted and turned and drummed his feet on the couch as that one little tickle spot was abused to Hell and back.

Alastor abruptly laid himself atop of Vincent, his head buried in his shoulder as his fingers resumed their earlier torture up and down his ribcage.

Vincent was once again lost to hysterics, and now unable to wiggle around with the weight of his business partner on top of him.

He assumed that was the point of this odd, but incredibly satisfying position, until he felt it. Alastor was laughing into his shoulder. He did this to mask his reactions to Vincent's contagious laughter.

They must've looked so ridiculous. Vincent on his back on the couch, Alastor laid on top of him, face buried in his shoulder as his hands busied themselves tickling the living daylights out of the man beneath him, both cackling like madmen.

After a long period of comfortable shared mirth, Alastor's hands began both squeezing and scribbling at his floating ribs.

"EEEHE- NOHO- AHA- AHAL NOHOT THAHAT! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE! EEK!"

His abdominal muscles were spasming painfully and his lungs wheezed and ached after just a short moment of the treatment.

"IHI CAHAHAN'T! S-STOHOP! MEHEHERCY! PLEHEHEHEASE!"

To his surprise, the hands immediately stopped. Vincent filled his lungs with air as quickly as possible and went boneless on the couch, head flopped back against the arm.

His smile was still steady, especially feeling Alastor still tittering into his shoulder.

They stayed there for a while, long after Alastor's mirth finally went silent and Vincent's breathing evened out. Two dazed, giddy, very very drunk men on the couch together.

Vincent wanted to savor it even longer but, damn. A crap ton of alcohol mixed with laughing yourself until your stomach ached...? He was wiped.

His eyes blinked. Slower and slower. He mumbled something even he couldn't decipher, then sleep overtook him in an instant.

...

When he woke in the morning he was on the couch with a blanket over him, Alastor already in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

Vox should've expected this. He really should've.

A month ago Valentino had come to his office with a proposition. Not unusual in an of itself, except it was a business proposition instead of another pitch of what to add to their already adventurous bedroom.

Apparently tickle porn had been on the rise and the porn demon had some ideas on tech products they could both sell and feature in movies. Vox had to admit it was a wise business venture. Voxtech already had a good foothold in sex toy production and toys for tickling was a niche but lucrative market.

So he had agreed, met with engineers and designers, and gotten three new products in production.

And now here Valentino was with a black bag containing all the prototypes meant for testing. In their bedroom. With a sadistic look on his face.

"Come on amorcito. You love when I make you laugh. And now you'll be doing it for pleasure and for profit. What could be better?"

Vox flushed at the audible reminder of his little interest. Yes, okay? He liked being tickled. He was just grateful he had one of the most accepting and least judgmental sinners in all of Hell for a partner.

"Those things are meant for bug testers and quality control. Not the CEO."

"We don't even know if any of those slugs actually like being tickled. Who better to test it on than someone I know is going to love every second of it?"

Vox grimaced. Val just loved to embarrass him didn't he?

Val seemed to notice his hesitation.

"Baby, it'll be fun, I promise. I helped with the design and who knows this better than me? I direct tickle kink videos all the time and happen to share a bedroom with one of the biggest tickle fanatics in Pride."

"S-Stop saying that!" Vox sputtered, face bright cyan.

Valentino chuckled. "Getting embarrassed already? You know you want to play with them. Now get on the bed. Clothes off." The moth demon ran a finger down Vox's neck and purred. "You're about to laugh until you can't remember your own name."

His whole body was wracked by a noticeable shiver, clearly amusing Val.

"Fucking... fine!" Vox stormed angrily to the bed. At least, that's what it looked like. He wasn't fooling Val. Vox was as eager as he was. It was evident in how quickly and shakily he shucked off all his clothes aside from underwear. He cringed when he was reminded he was wearing his dorky shark boxers today, not having expected anything where they'd be revealed. Val snickered when he saw them, adding to Vox's embarrassment.

The media overlord already knew what the products were. He signed off on the damn things. And he was a mix of excited and nervous.

Val got to work tying the blessed ropes already attached to the bed posts around Vox's wrists and ankles. With someone as powerful as Vox, blessed restraints were needed so he didn't accidentally fry Valentino when they were getting particularly heated.

Or when Vox was laughing too hard.

Once he was firmly tied down, unable to move much at all, anxiety curled in his gut. He was in for one Hell of an evening.

Valentino dug through the bag and pulled out one of the prototypes.

"I'm thinking belt first."

Vox took a deep breath. "Y-yeah, sure."

Val sauntered over and wrapped the belt around Vox's stomach, clicking it into place and powering it on. "So nervous, baby. Just relax and let papito take care of you."

He was nervous. These products were designed for fetishists who were willing to spend hundreds on products made for tickling. They were going to want things that were effective. Intense. All three had settings that went from tolerable to nightmarish.

And this was Val they were talking about. He'd want to go to the highest setting no matter what.

Plus, since they were technically bug testing, going through all settings was pretty much a necessity.

Val waved the little remote in his hand, the one connecting to the thick metallic belt sitting snugly around Vox's midriff.

"Since I'm so nice and gentle, I'll start with level one."

Click.

The belt buzzed to life, vibrating gently but erratically.

Vox's face quickly contorted into a huge goofy grin. He held off for a few seconds before he snorted and erupted into silly-sounding giggles.

"Theeere we go. Laugh it out for me." Val cooed.

The products were thoroughly researched and went through many iterations. They needed to be impossible to get used to so the tickling didn't lessen. They needed to have different types of ticklish sensations. And they needed to be effective even to those on the lower end of the ticklishness scale.

It took the engineers a lot of time to make an automatic machine that moved and buzzed unpredictably, but only the best for Voxtech consumers.

God, Vox wasn't even that ticklish on his stomach and level one already broke him.

On one hand, that meant the product was performing well.

On the other hand, the other products would probably send him to his second grave.

"You have the cutest damn laugh when you're tickled, Voxxy. I'll never get tired of hearing it."

Another layer of embarrassment to this whole thing. He'd spent years training out his natural laugh to something more intimidating. Something more becoming of a cult leader and tech CEO.

His actual laugh, the one he only let loose when he really lost it and couldn't stop, was just downright goofy. He got teased about it constantly when he was first getting into the entertainment industry when he was alive.

It was constantly switching between squeaky and throaty, sounding boyish and unrefined, and worst of all-

"Ohoho, there's those snorts I was waiting to hear."

"V-Vahahal- SNRK- Ihihihehehe- SNRK! Ihihihi sweheheahahar! SNRK!"

Val and only Val got to hear this laugh of his. If anyone else did he'd fry them to death with electricity before they could store the memory.

"Level two coming uuuup~"

"Nohoho no no no- AIEHEHE! Ohohoho GOHOHOD!"

He remembered reading about these features for the first time and shivering.

Soft brushes stored inside the belt came down and began brushing over the skin to combine with the buzzing. The entire belt began brushing, his stomach, his sides, his lower back, everywhere the belt touched was buzzing and brushed.

And the belt was carefully centered, the Voxtech emblem over the center of the stomach, because from that section came a circular brush that quickly buzzed in circles around the navel.

Vox was properly thrashing now, his entire stomach buzzing to life with ticklish agony.

"Definitely seems effective to me. How bad is it? Tell me."

Val's teases were not helping. He was surprised he could even make them out over the roar of his laughter.

"If you tell me, I'll give you a break before going up to level 3." Val sang teasingly.

Level three was the final level, a fact that both comforted and horrified Vox.

"Ihihihit's BAHAHAD! Ihihit's sohoho- SNRK! SOHOHO BAHAHAD! EHE!"

"I can tell. On a scale of one to ten-"

"IHI- ACK! EHEHEIGHT! SNRK! IHIHIT'S AN EHEHEIGHT!"

"If this is how you react to an 8 I can't wait to see a 10."

True to Val's word, he turned off the belt to give him a break, allowing him a moment to catch his breath.

"I think we've got a hit on our hands, here. What do you think?"

"It's definitely," Vox took a deep breath. "doing its job."

"I'll say. I know for a fact your little tummy isn't your worst spot yet you looked like you were losing your mind. It's not even the highest setting! Oh, amorcito, I don't think you're ready for how tonight's going to go."

Vox agreed whole-heartedly. Why oh why did Voxtech have to design such amazing products?

"I think that's enough of a break, don't you?" Val waved the remote in the air with a grin.

Vox looked up at Val with a wince and the moth broke into a fit of laughter.

"Hahaha oh my God! The look on your face! Priceless!"

"Shut up Val!" Vox snarled.

Val's grin grew smug and taunting, his eyes narrow. "Is that anyway to talk to papito?"

He clicked the remote.

Vox honest to God shrieked before throwing his head back into the mattress absolutely cackling.

The highest setting was everything from before but now with little plastic bumps rapidly poking and prodding into the skin.

Harsh buzzing, soft brushing, speedy poking. It covered all the bases. And dear Satan did it tickle like the dickens.

"I'm so keeping one of these. I don't even have to touch you to make you lose your mind! I could just lock you into one, walk into another room, press a button and make you scream laugh!"

"VAHAHAL- OHOHOH FUHUHUCK! SNRK! IHIHI- SNRK! P-PLEHEHEHEASE!"

"Are you going to apologize-"

"IHIHI'M SOHOHO- SNRK! IHIHI'M SOHOHORRY! SHIHIT- SNRK!"

Click.

The belt turned off.

Val was cackling off to the side.

"Holy shit, I've never been able to break you this fast. These tools are the best idea I've ever had."

Vox panted and gasped for air, twitching and squirming with the leftover phantom tickles.

"Get- ghh- this damn thing off of me."

"Fine, fine. But only because we have two more to go."

Val got to work unclicking the belt and putting it back in the bag while Vox took the short break to recover and prepare himself for what was next.

Of the three products, he knew the belt was going to be the easiest to endure.

So what fresh Hell was he about to experience now?

"Since the collar's super similar to the belt, let's mix it up and use the claws next."

God, the claws.

The claws were actually modelled after Vox's own. Val had the idea from one of the rare times Vox actually tickled him back.

They were dulled a bit so as not to risk actual physical harm, though still pointy enough to tickle like crazy.

But the true feature that set them apart was the shocking feature.

Vox had discovered he could release little bits of static discharge across Val's skin that tickled even more, leaving him an absolute wreck.

So, using their claw-cap technology mixed with small batteries and some electric wiring, simply tapping two claws together would release a bit of electricity meant to stimulate nerves.

Now to test if they did the job correctly.

Vox had never been on the receiving end of one of his ticklish shocks, and it looked like this was his chance.

Val properly attached all 16 claws and turned around with a downright dangerous look in his eyes.

"You ready?"

To his mortification, Vox fucking whimpered.

It made Val's eyes twinkle with satisfaction.

Val approached and straddled Vox's hips as he held up all 4 hands. He tapped his claws together and Vox could hear the static buzzing.

He swallowed.

The moth slowly lowered his hands. Two hands at his underarms. Two at his ribs just above his gills.

He didn't make an immediate move. Just resting his hands there.

Vox's breathing was shaky and shallow, terrified to move or breathe too deeply to make those shocks happen before he was ready.

There was silence.

Then?

"Tickle tickle tickle~"

All 16 digits quickly came to life poking and fluttering and skittering at their selected spots.

Vox's back arched as he absolutely howled in laughter, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Then each hand tapped the index and middle claws together, sending out little zaps of electricity.

"AHAA! IHIEEE! NOHO- AHA! SNRK! PFFTAHA!"

Val sputtered into a laughing fit of his own. "You just squealed like a little girl! I didn't even know your voice could reach that high, oh my God!"

Each hand took on a different technique. Spider, clawing, fluttering, poking, each letting out sporadic shocks to the skin.

Vox's body seemed to be looking to contort itself while its nerves were abused. Massive fits of goofy laughter, snorts, shrieks, and squeals filled the room wall-to-wall as Val went to town with his new toy.

"And how bad would you say this one is? On a scale of-"

"TEHEHEN! SNRK! TENTENTENTEHEHEHEN! AIIE! SNRK!"

"Good to know." Val chuckled then spoke much lower. "That collar's going to kill you."

It had been less than 2 minutes before Vox breathlessly screamed out. "YEHE- SNRK! YEHEHELLOW!"

"Pfft, alright you big tickle-baby." Val removed his hands rather reluctantly and Vox went boneless into the mattress as he gasped for air.

"You had enough of these for now?" Val wiggled his claws and Vox trembled, making Val laugh in amusement.

"I've had enough of those for a lifetime." Vox said breathlessly.

Val continued to speak while he left the bed to return the claws to the bag. "Now you know how I felt when you did those little shocks on me."

"That's not a fair comparison, you're not as-" Vox cut himself off but Val's amused chuckle told him he knew what he was going to say.

"I'm not as ticklish as you? Baby, I'm pretty sure no one in all of Hell is as ticklish as you."

Vox scoffed and turned his head, trying to hide his glowing cyan blush.

"Last tool. I'm really excited about this one." Val turned back from the bag with it in his hand.

"Not the collar." Vox sighed.

"Oh, yes, the collar." Val laughed evilly.

He approached and began wrapping the tool around his neck. Just his fingers grazing the flesh made Vox squeak and snicker.

He could already feel his neck buzzing with anticipation. He'd always been crazy ticklish there. Even just the pitch of this product in the board room made anxiety shoot up his spine, imagining the inescapable unbearable ticklish sensations wrapped around the hyper-sensitive area.

Once it was clicked into place, Vox swallowed nervously, feeling the hard case and soft interior move against his throat as he did so.

"So we should just start from level three right?"

"NO!"

The immediate knee-jerk response sounded so genuinely panicked and desperate that Val doubled over in laughter at his expense.

"Ugh, you bastard." Vox threw his head back into the mattress again, mentally preparing himself.

"Relax. I'm not that mean. I'm not interested in killing you, you poor ticklish thing." Val wiggled his finger into a little pocket of fat between Vox's ribs, making him snort and giggle helplessly.

"Vahahahal, SNRK! Quhihihit ihihit!"

"You look so adorable like this. You're gonna look even cuter once we turn this thing on."

Val wasted no more time. He retracted his hand and clicked the remote.

Just like the belt, the first setting was an erratic buzzing of the collar.

But unlike the belt wrapped around his belly, Vox's neck was a highly ticklish area.

He snorted loud enough to feel it all the way down his throat and erupted into high-pitched hysterical giggling.

"SNRRRK! AHEE- GOHOD- FuhuhuhuHUHUHUCK! SNRK! PFFFTehehehAHAHA! SHIHIT THAHAT TIHIHICKLES!"

His hands desperately pulled and tugged from their position, wanting nothing more than to grab and yank the collar off.

"I can tell it tickles! Snorting like a little pig and giggling like a little kid. Oh, you're so adorable like this!" Val leaned down and began peppering kisses over Vox's screen. He could barely pay attention to it because the tickling was taking 99% of his attention.

This level of tickling was just on this side of bearable. Maddening and distracting but he was still able to enjoy surrendering himself to the feeling of uncontrollable laughter.

He wasn't sure how much time passed of him giggling and shrieking. Enough time for Val to get bored because he heard a click and felt the brushes come to life.

The ones brushing the sides of his throat were absolute murder.

Vox screamed in ticklish agony and laughed hard enough to shake his body with each sound.

His entire neck was tingling maddeningly and driving him absolutely insane.

He could barely stand it. It was torture.

But there was one more setting. And Vox was not going to be a quitter. At least not until he reached the final setting.

"Your screaming's actually going to damage my hearing at this rate." Val chuckled to himself. He wasn't even sure Vox could hear him in this state. He looked manic.

Vox did not respond in anything other than booming laughter.

Knowing his endurance was probably running out, Val made the decision to kick it to the highest setting before he ran out of steam.

The poking was added to the brushing and the buzzing and Vox was certain he was going to die from laughter.

"AIIIEE! IHI- GOHOHOD! SNRK! FUHUCK- HOHOHOLY SHIHIHIT! STAHAHAHAP!"

Vox thrashed and fought with everything he had as tears flung off his rapidly writhing screen.

Holy fucking shit it tickled! He wanted to be strong but DEAR SATAN HE COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!

"REHEHED! REDREDREDREHEHEHEHED!"

With the shriek of their safeword Val raised his hands and clicked the remote.

Click.

....Click.

Clickclickclickclick.

"Oh shit."

"REHEHED! VAHAHAL, PLEHEHEASE!"

"Uhh... Well, it IS a prototype. I think something broke. It won't turn off."

The sheer panic that wracked Vox's frame was like no other.

"GEHEHET IHIHIT- SNRRRK- OHOHOFF!"

Val grabbed the collar. It was tight and firm so he couldn't worm his fingers underneath it. He yanked as much as he could but it slid out of his grip, not budging an inch.

Vox's brain was a whirlwind. Part of him was surrendering to the idea he'll just be stuck with unbearable neck tickling for the rest of his afterlife and he should just get used to it. Another part of him was ready to fight tooth and nail but with limited brain power had no idea how to escape.

"Hold on, can you short it out?" Val pitched.

Past peals of cacophonous laughter Vox was able to spit out. "TH-THEHEHE BIHIHINDS! SNRK! GOHOHOD- GEHEHET THEHEHEM OHOHOFF!"

Val quickly started untying the blessed ropes to give Vox access to his powers again.

Once his hands were free they shot to the collar and began clawing at it and yanking at it.

It did not budge.

He wouldn't have his powers fully until all 4 ropes were undone.

In the time Val took to untie the last two ropes Vox's mind was fuzzy and staticky, filled with not much more than anxiety and uncontrollable full-body laughter.

The moment he felt his power return to him, he sent massive amounts of voltage through his hands to the damned collar.

With one last shriek of laughter, all the bulbs in the room blew out, and the collar finally turned off.

All that was heard was Vox's leftover shaky laughs and breathing as he twitched and trembled on the bed.

"You okay, amorcito?"

Vox coughed a bit and caught his breath for a few more seconds before answering extremely hoarsely.

"Yeah. Just... tired."

"Well, looks like we found a bug to report to QA. Can you get the collar off so we can put it back?"

Vox reached for the collar and tugged.

Wouldn't come off.

It was short-circuited and not powered on, but that meant the locking mechanism wouldn't release. Now that was a design flaw if Vox had ever seen one.

"God... fucking dammit." Vox sighed.

"Looks like we'll have to take you to engineering so they can cut it off."

Vox's face flushed. That means all the nerds in the warehouse were going to see that he had allowed himself to be put in the tickle collar.

Vox puts his hands over his screen and groaned rather pitifully.

"Why meeeeee."

"Don't be so dramatic," Val scoffed with a raised eyebrow and sly smile. "And don't pretend you didn't have fun."

"That was torture." Vox fired back, voice still gravelly and sore.

"Okay, maybe the last part when you couldn't get it off. But you could've called red much sooner, even when you were screaming at level 2! Voxxy, don't lie to me. You loved the belt, and the claws, and even the collar up to level 2. Once we get the bugs worked out I'm keeping one of each of them on hand for when you're clearly craving a good laugh."

Vox's screen was once again a bright glowing cyan behind his claws. He let out a long dramatic sigh then sat up.

"Fine. I'll teleport us through the cameras to engineering. But we're never messing with prototypes again."

Vox wrapped an arm firmly around Val's waist to prepare them both for the teleport.

"Fine, fine, you have my word, tickle-baby."

"Don't call me that."