AnonEmu Does A Thing

It started, like most of their days, with bickering.

Lucifer sat regally on the sofa in the parlor lounge of the Hazbin Hotel, legs crossed and goblet in hand, exuding calm superiority.

“You’ve gone and scared another client off the premises,” he drawled lazily, not looking up from his wine. “Tell me, was your goal to exorcise them through sheer obnoxiousness, or was it just a happy accident?”

Across the room, Alastor adjusted the dial on his antique microphone, pointed teeth gleaming through his grin. “They were annoying. And slovenly. I did the hotel a favor, you’re welcome.”

“Oh yes,” Lucifer scoffed. “By all means, continue undermining my daughter’s dream with your charming homicidal tendencies.”

The two stared each other down like the air itself had dared to offend them. Charlie had made very specific rules; no bodily harm, no threats of violence, and, most critically, no reality-warping duels inside hotel walls. And yet here they were, toeing every line.

Alastor opened his mouth to respond, but Lucifer cut him off before he could even get a word out.

“You do know what shutting the fuck up is, yes?” Lucifer sipped his wine with an exaggerated sigh.

Alastor tilted his head, grin widening. “Coming from you? One would think your highness would hold some semblance of integrity.”

Lucifer’s eye twitched, eyes red as he jumped to his feet, chest flaring. “You insolent little-“

“Guys.”

Charlie’s voice chimed from down the hall. “Be nice. No violence, remember? I need everyone making an effort to get along here.”

Lucifer plastered on an innocent smile. “Of course, my dear. Just having a spirited discussion with my good friend Al, here.”

Alastor waved, far too innocently, the slight irritated twitch of his eye his only give away. “Just enlightening your father on the joys of radio etiquette.”

Charlie groaned audibly and walked off.

Alastor turned back to Lucifer. “You heard the princess. No violence.”

Lucifer grinned, sucking air through his teeth with a barely withheld sneer.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of hurting you.”

He stood, polished and precise, brushing a speck of dust from his vest. “But Charlie never said anything about shutting you up.”

Before Alastor could react, the world blinked out.

They reappeared in a flash of white light, crackling energy humming against the crimson marble floor of Lucifer’s personal tower suite. The doors slammed shut behind them.

Alastor snarled and spun, his cane raised.

“I will not tolerate-!”

His words died in his throat when celestial restraints burst from thin air, golden cuffs locking around his wrists mid-motion and yanking his arms over his head. He stumbled, thrown off-balance, and his knees hit the floor with a thud. He gasped sharply as he felt cuffs loop around his ankles, keeping them locked to the ground.

“What is the meaning of this!?” he hissed, trying to phase through the bindings, only to find them maddeningly resistant to his usual power.

Lucifer approached, eyes glowing a soft, dangerous red. “A lesson, dear Bambi.”

Alastor bared his fangs, fur bristling, voice crackling. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh I will,” Lucifer purred. “Because it’s adorable. And you have gotten far too comfortable speaking to your king like an equal.”

“If you wish to be treated like royalty perhaps you should act like it.” The overlord spat.

Lucifer didn’t react to the disrespectful retort this time, crouching slowly to come face to face with Alastor’s kneeling form, though it wasn’t by much due to the sheer difference in height between the two.

Alastor met his gaze, unrelenting in the fury that blazed within his eyes.

Lucifer smirked, his face so close to Alastor’s he could almost feel the rageful heat radiating from his face. “You’re not in the position to be talking back, little fawn.”

Lucifer hadn’t intended to touch him, not really.

The plan had been simple: trap the Radio Demon in silence. Lock him in the tower with his own endless thoughts, away from Charlie, away from the staff, away from Lucifer. For once, a few hours of peace in the hotel without that grating, incessant voice chewing through every conversation like static on a wire. He’d let him go…eventually.

Alastor was still on his knees, wrists bound high above his head by golden celestial cuffs that shimmered and pulsed with divine energy. He scowled at the opulent room around him.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your petty little display of dominance,” he spat, “because once I’m free-”

Lucifer sighed dramatically, absentmindedly inspecting his fingernails. “You won’t be. Not for a while.”

He walked a lazy circle around the demon, hands clasped behind his back. “You see, bellhop, the very sound of your voice is like a fork scraping glass. And since Charlie won’t let me maim you…”

He circled back to Alastor’s front now, leaning down again to meet him there, punctuating his words with sharp pokes to Alastor’s chest.

“I’ve—had—enough—of you—talking.”

The last jab landed a little lower than the others, right against Alastor’s sternum, and that was when it happened.

The flinch. It was minuscule, barely a twitch really.

But to Lucifer?

Obvious.

He paused, one brow lifting with interest. Alastor’s face was already tightening, going carefully blank as though to pretend it hadn’t happened at all. But it had. And Lucifer had seen it.

“Well, well…” he mused.

Alastor’s glare sharpened. “What?”

Lucifer said nothing. Just smiled. That infuriating, cocky smile.

Without a word, he stepped behind the kneeling demon, slow and deliberate. Alastor’s posture stiffened.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice now edged with something beyond his rageful snarl, something more raw.

Lucifer didn’t answer. He simply stood behind him, letting the silence stretch long and taut like a string about to snap.

Then- lightly, almost thoughtfully- he placed his fingertips against Alastor’s sides.

Not moving, not prodding, just resting them there. Barely any pressure. Alastor froze.

The tension in his shoulders was immediate. His breath hitched, and he held perfectly still, spine rigid.

A devious grin curled its way along Lucifer’s face. Oh, this was far more effective than expected.

“Is something the matter, Bambi?” he purred near his ear, letting the nickname slither through the air like smoke.

Alastor didn’t answer. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched.

Lucifer didn’t move his hands yet. But the lack of motion was the worst part. Every breath, every micro-shift in Alastor’s body threatened to cause a ghost of a twitch from those poised fingers, and he knew it.

Lucifer’s voice dropped into a whisper. “You flinched.”

“No, I did not,” Alastor muttered, a little too fast.

“Oh, but you did.” Lucifer let his fingers flex the tiniest bit, barely enough to count. But it sent a tremor through the demon’s abdomen.

“You are,” Lucifer started, amused wonder in his voice as he paused between words, “sensitive, I take it?”

Alastor growled low in his throat. “This is juvenile. You-“

“You’re nervous.” Lucifer leaned close, breath brushing Alastor’s ear and causing it to twitch. “Which means this is going to be fun.”

Alastor’s entire body tensed like a coiled spring.

The weight of Lucifer’s fingers hadn’t changed, still feather-light against the overlord’s body.

Lucifer let the silence hang for a few excruciating beats, just breathing steadily behind him, his presence commanding and smug and infuriating. Then, ever so softly, he whispered, “You’re practically vibrating, little buck.”

“I am not,” Alastor snapped through clenched teeth. His tone thickened with effort, voice like glass cracking under strain. “Get your filthy hands off me.”

Lucifer chuckled a deep, indulgent hum that rattled straight down Alastor’s spine.

“Oh, no. No, no, I don’t think I will. I think I’ve just discovered something precious, and I’m not the type to waste an opportunity when it lands in my lap.”

He gave one finger the slightest twitch. Just one.

Alastor inhaled sharply, the sound thin and ragged. He kept his expression hard, but a bead of sweat rolled near his brow.

“This is beneath you,” Alastor hissed. “A cheap trick. You’re the King of Hell, not a petulant schoolgirl—”

“Oho, is that your angle?” Lucifer laughed, slipping a hand down to rest just at the curve of Alastor’s waist. His fingers were splayed lazily, not yet moving. “Trying to shame me out of it? Sweetheart, I’m the devil. Shame isn’t really in my wheelhouse.”

He leaned in close again, and this time, his voice was syrupy with threat. “And Charlie said no violence. But she didn’t say a word about this.”

Alastor turned his head just enough to glare at him, eyes narrow and dark. “You’re delusional.”

Lucifer chuckled in amusement, his breath against the back of Alastor’s neck making his fur prickle with goosebumps. “You really hate my guts, don’t you?”

“Passionately.”

Lucifer clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. “Such a shame. After all the grace I’ve given you.”

Without warning, he let his fingers barely flutter against Alastor’s sides.

Soft, hardly there, but enough to remind the demon how perilously close he was to total humiliation.

Alastor twitched. His whole torso jumped a centimetre forward, restrained only by the cuffs above.

Lucifer chuckled slyly, and in a teasing voice sang, “You’re trembliiiing.”

Alastor growled low in his throat. “Release me. Now.” His voice was raspy, broken and pitched up, and if he listened closely, Lucifer could hear the smile on his lips, which the king of hell found especially interesting. The radio demon was never without a smile, but this was different, to hear it this way through his voice, almost as though it was more raw, real.

Lucifer trailed a finger in a slow, lazy arc just below his ribs, a ghost of a touch. “Say please.”

Alastor’s breath hitched again, another giveaway, another tiny thread of composure unraveling.

“The radio demon does not beg,” he spat.

“No? You sure?” Lucifer crooned. He danced a fingertip in a slow circle around Alastor’s side, just light enough to make the muscle twitch beneath it. “You’ve got that ‘barely holding it together’ vibe. Very overlord-in-distress.”

Alastor flinched again, his face darkening. His lips were pressed tight, like holding back a damful of water behind cracking concrete. His ears twitched. His jaw was clenched so hard it might shatter, and his usual smug grin had abandoned him, something more unrestrained in its place.

“Ticklish little fawn,” Lucifer cooed softly. “All that power, all that pomp. And one well-placed touch and you’re already squirming.” The king stepped around to face alastor again, fingers not leaving their place on his sides.

“I’m not—squirming.” The word sounded like poison on Alastor’s tongue.

Lucifer’s voice dropped again, sweet and dripping with honey. “You’re blushing.”

Alastor turned his head away sharply. “It’s the lighting.”

Lucifer snorted. “Oh, I’m sure it is.”

He let his fingers drift down toward the softest part of Alastor’s belly, stilling them there. Not moving yet, but the threat hung in the air like static before a storm.

“I wonder,” Lucifer murmured, “how long you would last if I really tried. I’ve barely touched you.”

“F-fuck you!” Alastor’s breathing was faster now- still controlled, but uneven. The cuffed position left him completely open, completely vulnerable, and Lucifer hadn’t even begun.

Lucifer smirked. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

And with that, he let his thumbs give the barest stroke along the curve of Alastor’s ribs- soft, slow, and so light it almost shouldn’t have registered aside from the pressure of his nails against the delicate bones.

But it did.

Alastor made a sound- half gasp, half growl. His back arched a fraction of an inch before he stiffened up again, pressing his knees into the marble floor, as if grounding himself would help somehow.

Lucifer’s grin was positively devious. “So, not ticklish, hmm?”

“Go to hell.”

“I built it.”

Lucifer didn’t relent.

His fingers, still dancing just over Alastor’s clothes, pressed with a growing boldness now; softly stroking at his sides, lightly tapping along his ribs, and occasionally letting his thumbs draw slow, lazy circles against the soft fabric of his waistcoat. Nothing direct, nothing skin-on-skin. But it didn’t matter. Alastor was already feeling the effects deep in his gut.

And Lucifer knew it.

“You’re doing wonderfully, by the way,” he said smoothly, as though praising a child for good behavior. “Your composure is truly impressive. I would’ve cracked already, if I were a lesser king.”

Alastor’s jaw clenched tighter, nearly aching. His fists were still tight, shoulders locked, but the cracks were starting to show. His breath was just a touch too fast. His spine arched just slightly away from Lucifer’s hand every time he grazed too close to a sensitive spot. And most delicious of all: his silence was growing tense, strained.

Lucifer’s smirk sharpened.

“Still haven’t answered my question. ” he sang, his fingers now skimming along Alastor’s lower ribs with deliberate precision. “You’re holding up so well. But I do wonder… if you’re not ticklish, why is your heart pounding like a trapped rabbit’s?”

“I am not—” Alastor snapped, before catching himself, grinding his teeth together and looking away with fury burning in his eyes.

Lucifer only chuckled. “Ah. So we’re continuing with denial.”

He moved behind Alastor again, slow and purposeful, fingers never leaving him. One hand rested gently at his waist, the other now tracing the soft spaces between his ribs, testing pressure and rhythm like a pianist searching for the right key. Alastor barely suppressed a jolt when Lucifer hit a particularly vulnerable angle, just beneath the edge of his ribcage, where the fabric of his vest was thinner, less structured.

“I think we’re getting close to something interesting,” Lucifer murmured, pulling his hands away. “But maybe I’m being too polite. Perhaps your pride needs a firmer push.” With that, Alastor’s coat and vest vanished, leaving his dress shirt as the only remaining barrier.

Alastor snarled, eyes blazing. “You think this will win you anything?”

“I’m not trying to win,” Lucifer replied easily, stepping forward. “I’m just reminding you of your place.”

He placed both hands firmly on Alastor’s sides now, fingers splayed across his ribs through his shirt. He gave a slow, experimental squeeze, pressing deeper than all his previous touches had.

Alastor jolted like he’d been electrocuted.

Lucifer’s grin widened, pupils blown like a shark sensing blood.

“Well now. That was a reaction.”

“You will regret this,” Alastor growled, voice ragged around the edge, pitched higher than it was just moments ago.

Lucifer only tilted his head, amused. “Eh, maybe. But I’ll enjoy it first.”

With wicked patience, Lucifer began to explore Alastor’s ribs again in earnest- light prodding, circular rubs, sudden jabs- all still over the shirt, but expertly placed. It was maddening. Every touch seemed to find a pressure point Alastor didn’t know he had. His whole torso was tense, back slightly arched, head turned away in desperate concentration.

But Lucifer didn’t need to see his face to know he was losing control.

He could feel it. The twitching. The trembling. He leaned in again, his voice velvety with taunt.

“You know what I love about this?” he whispered near Alastor’s ear. “You still think you have the upper hand. You’re still pretending you can handle me.”

Alastor didn’t respond.

Because if he did, he might laugh.

Lucifer smirked.

“Let’s ruin that little fantasy.”

With a casual snap of his fingers, Alastor’s dress shirt vanished in a puff of golden smoke, like the coat before it, leaving behind the soft curve of furred skin and faint, fawn-like spotting that began where the fur darkened on his sides, curling around to his back. Lucifer took a moment, just a moment, to appreciate the sight. If the radio demon felt exposed before, it was nothing quite like this.

“Adorable,” Lucifer cooed with venomous delight. “No wonder you keep this hidden. All those pointy teeth, that smug grin- and underneath it all, you’re just a sweet little forest creature.”

Alastor snarled, cheeks now burning a dark red. “Would you just shut up-”

Lucifer didn’t even wait for him to finish.

He placed his fingers gently on either side of Alastor’s now-exposed ribs, just the pads of his thumbs, resting right on the soft, vulnerable dip under the lowest rib. He didn’t move them. Just stayed there. Still.

Alastor stiffened as much as he could, wide, furious eyes and an internal storm of panic.

Lucifer leaned in, savoring the moment.

“I could break you with two fingers right now.”

Alastor remained silent, but his lips trembled. His jaw clenched tighter than ever, and a soft, involuntary twitch rippled down his side as Lucifer applied the faintest pressure. Still not moving. Not yet. And the worst part was, Alastor wanted to laugh. Laughter was begging, pleading with his body for release. But he couldn’t. He could not stomach the thought of Lucifer’s satisfaction, the humiliation.

Lucifer smiled.

“I wonder… how long you’ll last, now that there’s nothing between us.”

A deep, ragged inhale from Alastor fuelled the fire further within Lucifer.

And as he began to trace a circle, just one, around the bare fur of Alastor’s side-

The Radio Demon bit his lip, the corners of his mouth twitching further upwards.

Lucifer didn’t move fast.

He didn’t need to.

His fingers skimmed across the short, velvet-soft fur along Alastor’s bare ribs with maddening patience—just enough pressure to keep the nerves lit up like wires beneath the skin. He didn’t tickle, not exactly. It was worse than that. It was anticipation, dragged out into something more unbearable, and Alastor found himself wishing the king would just get it over with instead of holding him here in this uncertainty.

“Still holding strong?” Lucifer asked sweetly, his tone smooth, smug and silky.

Alastor didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

His lips were pursed so tightly they were nearly white. His whole body was trembling in his restraints, like a violin string pulled taut. His soft fur bristled, his chest rising and falling in uneven, shallow gasps.

Lucifer tilted his head. “Hm. No comeback? I was almost starting to enjoy our little debates.”

Still no answer.

But when Lucifer’s thumb gently stroked under the edge of his ribcage, just once, the edge of his nail gently scraping the lowest rib, Alastor gave a sudden, helpless hiccup of breath.

Lucifer grinned, slow and wide.

“There it is.”

Alastor immediately growled, low and foreboding, forcing his expression back to a mask of fury. But Lucifer had caught it. That moment. And he was not going to let it go.

Lucifer lightly fluttered his fingers for just a beat against Alastor’s side. Breath caught in Alastor’s throat.

A little stammer. A harsh, involuntary huff of air through his nose.

Lucifer’s grin widened to something absolutely devious. “Sorry, what was that?”

Alastor glared at the ground, fuming, his mouth still clamped shut. His cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, his ears pressed tight to his skull in humiliation.

Lucifer leaned closer, voice a whisper against his neck. “Was that a giggle, Bambi?”

Alastor jerked at the nickname—an instant, furious flinch that made his sides tense—and Lucifer took advantage, letting both hands slide firmly around his bare ribs and squeeze, just once, quick and sharp.

“hh-hf —!”

Alastor’s head snapped down, still biting hard on his lip.

Too late.

Lucifer heard it. Felt it.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Another squeeze. This time slower, fingers digging gently between each rib.

Alastor gave a wheezy gasp and a stuttered, “d-don’t—!” before falling silent again, muscles shaking with effort.

“Don’t what?” Lucifer purred.

Alastor growled, low in his throat. Though, to Lucifer, it would be described as much closer to a desperate whine.

“I wonder,” Lucifer murmured, trailing two fingers in a lazy figure-eight over Alastor’s sides, “how much longer you can keep that in. This act. This is very… dignified of you.”

Alastor clenched his teeth again , his entire body rigid with effort. His ribs twitched beneath Lucifer’s fingers, responding involuntarily to the maddening softness of the touch.

He could feel the heat in his face rising sharply—his blush spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and down the back of his neck like wildfire. He knew he must look ridiculous. His nose crinkled. His jaw was locked tight. His tail was twitching erratically behind him in barely-contained panic.

Not here. Not in front of him.

“I know you’re not laughing,” Lucifer continued smoothly, brushing a fingertip along the lower swell of Alastor’s side, where the fur was softer—embarrassingly reactive, “but you’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

He was.

Alastor hated how right he was.

Alastor scowled, his teeth bared now, but his face—oh, his face was burning. He was glowing red all the way down his chest, the blush utterly betraying him. His body was twitching in tiny spasms, no matter how still he tried to remain.

He was falling apart.

“hh-he—!”

Lucifer laughed triumphantly. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

Alastor gave a wheezy gasp, teeth still gritted.

“D-don’t—!” His voice cracked.

The muscles in his kneeling legs were trembling, and despite the red-hot rage in his chest, he couldn’t stop the shudder that tore through him.

Lucifer chuckled, wicked and sweet. “Oh come on, just let it out. You know you want to.”

His thumbs brushed gentle, fluttering circles just under his ribcage—soft and agonizing . It was unbearable.

A soft, high-pitched titter escaped before Alastor could clamp down on it.

No. No no no—

His heart slammed against his ribs, horrified. He could feel the laughter rising, pressing up into his throat like it was boiling over. His blush deepened—how was that even possible? He was sizzling.

Lucifer looked positively gleeful. “Oh. Oh. That’s precious.”

“Stop—” Alastor tried, but it came out strangled.

His entire body was shaking with the effort to remain composed. He was a breath away from collapse. His pride screamed. He was the one who broke others. He did not get reduced to a trembling, twitching mess.

Lucifer let him sit in that silence—hovering, poised, watching.

“You’re trying so hard not to laugh,” he murmured. “You’ve got that whole overlord reputation to protect. But here you are. Quivering like a scared fawn, ears pinned back, blushing so sweetly.”

Alastor snarled through his teeth again. His ears were so flat now they nearly disappeared into his hair.

His mind was spinning so fast, he was completely unprepared for Lucifer’s next move.

Both hands dove under Alastor’s arms from behind, latching onto his ribs, squeezing and vibrating fingertips in deep, wicked pressure.

Alastor broke.

“—p-Phfff—! N-Nohohoho—!”

No, he exploded.

Squeaky, frantic giggles burst out of him like a dam breaking.

He folded forward in the restraints, shoulders trembling violently as the laughter overwhelmed him.

“Pffhehehehehe—aAHAHA–! NO! HA–h-hold on–! You basta–AHAHA!”

Lucifer howled with joy.

“There it is! I can’t believe you thought you’d ever be able to hold out on me.”

Alastor was wrecked. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t think. His mind was a haze of horror and helplessness.

His chest burned. His face was on fire. His laugh spiraled upward into frantic, hiccupy bursts, broken and wild and nothing like the composed, elegant, terrifying image he clung to.

He hated it.

He hated how good it felt to let go.

Suddenly, lucifer was in front of him again, not wanting to miss another moment of Alastor’s wild smile. The demon was always smiling, but this was different. It was so…untethered. His hands slid lower.

Alastor knew, with the last thread of dignity he had left, that he was completely at the King’s mercy.

Lucifer’s grin widened when his fingers reached their final destination—the center of Alastor’s torment.

That soft, vulnerable, absurdly sensitive belly.

“Ohhh,” he purred, watching Alastor flinch even before he made contact. “Now what do we have here…”

Alastor tensed all over, teeth gritted through the giggles still tumbling out of him in helpless waves. “D-Dohohon’t—HAH!—y-you wouldn’t—!”

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully, scanning Alastor’s kneeling form. The way he had resolved to going slack in his restraints, head flopped forward in a last ditch effort to hide his flushed face. The trembling pale fur along his belly and sides—quivering, drawn tight with nerves, absolutely begging for attention.

“Hmm,” Lucifer murmured, cocking his head. “You didn’t say ‘can’t.’ You said wouldn’t. What a funny choice of words.”

Alastor’s eyes blew wide. “D-Don’t you dare—”

Lucifer gently wiggled his fingers just above the exposed skin, slowly bringing them closer to their destination. Alastor nearly stopped breathing altogether, whiny giggles tumbling from his lips, shoulders tight, every single nerve in his body screaming at him to brace.

“You’re already laughing,” Lucifer observed softly. “And I haven’t even touched your belly yet. What’s got you so nervous, little deer?”

He waited.

Waited.

Alastor made the mistake of shifting—just an inch—and Lucifer pounced.

Ten fingers descended like lightning, scribbling up and down the plush fur of Alastor’s stomach in erratic, devastating zigzags. He didn’t give him a moment to recover—each flick and scritch was purposefully uneven, unpredictable, keeping Alastor’s nerves overloaded and confused.

“NAHAHAHAHA—! LUHUHUHUHUCIFER—!!”

“Oh yes,” Lucifer breathed, positively delighted. “There it is. There’s the sound I wanted to hear.”

Alastor lost it.

He thrashed in his restraints, but they held firm, his knees trembling against the floor. His body shook with overstimulation, laughter pouring from him in high-pitched bursts, interrupted only by gasps and the occasional shriek when Lucifer zeroed in on a particularly brutal spot just above his hips.

“G-Get your h-haHAHANDS—! OFF—AHAHA—YOU SADISTIC—!!”

“Ah ah,” Lucifer scolded, brushing his thumbs in slow, lazy spirals around the shallow dip of Alastor’s bellybutton. “Charlie said no hurting each other, remember? This isn’t hurting. This is… correcting.”

“Y-YOU’RE DEAD—AHAHAHAHA!!—DEAD WHEN I GET OUT OF—!!”

Lucifer just clicked his tongue, his smile growing somehow even more smug.

“Oh? Is that a threat? I wouldn’t do that if I were your position right now.”

Alastor wheezed, red-faced and blinking back tears, laughter breaking into desperate little hiccups. Lucifer gave him a moment—just a moment—his fingers still resting wickedly over his belly. Alastor drew in three ragged, giggly breaths.

And then he dug in again, this time with rapid, focused scribbles across his lowest ribs, and Alastor squealed.

A high, undignified sound ripped from his throat as he threw his head back, laughter spilling out uncontained, pure and raw and broken.

“NOHOHOHO—STOHOP—THAHAHAT’S—THAHAHAT’S NOT F-FAIR—!!”

“Oh sweetheart,” Lucifer crooned, his voice practically a purr. “You thought this was ever going to be fair?”

He leaned down, lips nearly brushing Alastor’s ear.

“You ticklish little thing. If anyone finds out about this—well. I’m sure your reputation will never recover.”

Alastor hiccuped. “I—I’ll—I’ll rip yoHOHOU l-limb from liHIHIHIMB—!!”

Lucifer gave his ribs one last, devilishly calculated bout of pinches, fingers zeroing in on the soft flesh between them.

Alastor’s laugh shot up an octave, wild and unrestrained, as he sagged entirely in the binds, all his fight gone, reduced to nothing more than a flushed, breathless, giggling mess.

Lucifer finally relented.

His fingers stilled, drifting lightly off the trembling curve of Alastor’s belly, admiring his handiwork. The deer demon nothing like his usual composed image before—ears drooped, hair disheveled, fur tousled, cheeks cherry-red, chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. Lucifer chose to ignore the warmth that spread within his chest at the way Alastor smiled, bright and wide, so different from the one he normally wore.

And—most satisfying of all—he was silent.

“Not so chatty now, are we?” Lucifer said, mock-gently, brushing a thumb over Alastor’s shoulder like he was petting something fragile. “You should thank me. You’ve been begging for someone to knock you off that high horse since the day you arrived.”

Alastor didn’t speak.

Couldn’t speak.

Just glared, panting, still trembling from the aftermath. Still giggling.

Lucifer stepped back, smug and slow, and let the bindings begin to fade.

“You’ll be free in 10 minutes,” he said casually. “I’m off to enjoy the silence now. Do let me know when you’re ready to behave.”

He paused in the doorway, glancing back with one last smirk.

“And don’t worry, Bambi…your secret’s safe with me.”

He winked.

The fact that the only person who ever tickled him in a way that made him feel safe was his mother - his dead, long gone, wonderful mother - was probably the biggest part of it, though he buried it deep down. It was easier to blame everything else. Easier to pretend it couldn’t be fun in the right circumstances.

Shane never tickled him. Not on purpose, anyway. Ilya had discovered his sensitivity early on, tucked between roaming hands and moans laced with a laugh which could mean anything, really, had Ilya not slowly gotten to know every inch of that body. He knew to steer clear of Shane’s feet, to use more pressure on his inner thighs, to not nuzzle into his neck for too long. He wondered if he showed him the same consideration, or if Ilya had just gotten so good at reigning in his reactions that he had no idea.

He had been tickled by him though, accidentally, when he grabbed his knees to adjust himself, or dug his fingers into Ilya’s sides when something felt good. Innocent actions. Certainly not ticklish enough for Ilya to laugh, though he did remember himself twitching in surprise. If Shane had noticed, he never brought it up. Most importantly he never used it against him.

Ilya tried not to use it against him either, only it became harder once they got closer, once they were boyfriends, and their life was littered with playfulness and domesticity and not just sex. Wrestling Shane to the bed with a deeply ingrained instinct to jam his fingers into his ribs. He was already laughing. Already relaxed and happy and trusting him fully. And the trust was the reason he didn’t. Was the reason he simply pinned his arms to the side and leaned down to kiss him. Mornings of wrapping his arms around his waist in the kitchen, with the sudden urge to curl his fingers over his belly just to make him giggle and squirm into him. A moment of safety, which Ilya could ruin in the disguise of play.

That morning was different. Shane was sprawled out on the bed, sleepy after Ilya had gone down on him twice, and each time he made a sudden movement Shane would twitch and laugh, untouched and yet.

“What is it?” Ilya finally asked, relishing in that smile. All giddiness. All because of him.

Shane pushed his hand away, even though he still hadn’t touched him. “Tickles.”

“What?”

A blush was coloring his cheeks, but Shane wasn’t clinging onto denial or pretence. “I feel really ticklish right now, so I keep thinking you’ll tickle me.”

“I have never tickled you.” Ilya crossed his arms to show he was keeping them to himself. “Wait, how do you feel ticklish?”

Shane shrugged. “Extra sensitive. Giggly. Tired. Safe. I don’t know.”

“Safe?”

He averted his gaze. “I mean, yeah.”

“But you keep thinking I will tickle you?”

He shrugged again.

“So in that case you don’t feel safe.”

“But I do.”

Ilya wet his lips. “Explain.”

“I mean, it’s fun, right? And I trust you would stop when I needed you to.” He was bright red now, but he spoke in earnest.

Ilya hummed.

Another part of why he didn’t like being tickled: it was almost always done without his consent. Ilya didn’t like not giving his consent. Didn’t like that people thought they could just take and take in the guise of fun.

He tilted his head at Shane. Maybe not everyone thought the same way as him. “Do you want me to tickle you?”

Shane let out a strangled laugh. “That sounds stupid when you put it like that.”

“I won’t do it unless you want me to.” Ilya didn’t mean to tease, but he did enjoy the way Shane’s embarrassment shifted form and turned into something sweet. Something shy.

He reached out slowly and allowed himself to touch now, cradling Shane’s cheek in the palm of his hand. He leaned into the touch and said, “We’ve never had any tickle fights.”

Ilya shifted. “We haven’t.”

“Why is that?”

He didn’t have to explain to him that much of their relationship had been a constant tiptoeing of lines they were afraid to cross, and once they did, a quick retreat. For much too long it had been that, until suddenly it wasn’t. It was true that most people would be eager to explore the other side, and it wasn’t that they were afraid, not more than they had to be.

But Ilya didn’t know how to approach this. How something this silly could be so serious to him. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“You could’ve found out.”

“Would you have wanted me to? On my own, I mean?”

“It’s weird to have to tell you about it.”

“Hmm, I lied, actually. I knew about it.”

Shane’s head snapped to the side. “Wait, you did?”

“Yes. For a long time.” He grinned at Shane’s look. “What can I say? I am a gentleman.”

“Ilya,” he whined, giving his chest a light slap. “Why would you not have taken advantage of that?”

Ilya laughed. “It really sounds like you want me to tickle you, Hollander.”

“Don’t Hollander me, Rozanov.”

“You think you can provoke it out of me, huh?”

“That’s usually how it works.”

“I need you to ask for it.” He moved his hand from his cheek to his jaw. “I need you to tell me you will enjoy it, or at the least not mind me doing it.”

Shane’s breath caught. “Why?”

“Because-” He stroked his chin with his thumb. “-I do not want to do something to you that you don’t want me to do.”

“Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“Of course.”

“Most people don’t want to be tickled.”

“Are you most people?”

He exhaled slowly. “Some people think it’s fun.”

“And are you some people?” He smiled at him, attempting to keep it light, but Shane looked away anyway. It was cute. It was so cute Ilya nearly crossed his own boundary then and there.

“I don’t know,” he finally mumbled. “It’s been years, and it’s never been like this.”

“Like how?”

“With someone I love. Like this.”

Ilya’s heart was about to burst out of his chest.

He leaned in to press his lips to Shane’s temple. “I love you too much to do something you don’t want me to do. I am not trying to be difficult.”

Shane’s gaze softened. “I know you’re not.”

“And I don’t mean to embarrass you when I tell you I need you to ask for it.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Though I do enjoy your blush.”

“Ilya.”

Ilya hummed as he stroked Shane’s cheek with his knuckles. “Tell me.”

“I’m- not sure I would like it, but- I mean, I would like us to be like that, you know?”

“I know.”

“So.” He seemed to brace himself. Ilya found it unbearably adorable. “Could you tickle me? Please?”

Ilya grabbed his wrist. “Say it again.”

“Ilya-”

“Okay, okay.” He laughed at his impatience. “I need you to tell me when to stop, okay?”

“Jesus Christ-”

“Say ‘hockey’, okay?”

“Yes, yes, fine, hockey it is. Now can you get on with it? I hate the anticipation.”

Ilya grinned. “You love the anticipation,” and he pounced, before Shane had time to protest. Neither of them really expected it, that Ilya would straddle him, that he would take his task so seriously. He wasn’t being merciless about it, though. He didn’t pin Shane’s hands, or dig his fingers into spots that would make him twitch with laughter, twitch and jerk and lose control of his limbs. He kept it light, which, when he thought about it, which he would, many times, probably drove Shane all the more crazy.

“Wahahait,” was all he managed to say at first, a constant begging for Ilya to cut it out, to leave him alone, to stop taking advantage of his sensitivity like this. Only Ilya knew his protests didn’t mean anything, at the very least weren’t a proper call for this to end. He cradled the consent in his bare hands, holding it close as he listened to Shane’s begging, listened to him slowly falling apart without feeling like a monster for it.

“You’re so-” He wasn’t even sure what he meant to say, only knew that Shane’s laughter, which was filling the room almost entirely now, made him feel both excited and strangely powerful for being allowed this. “-fucking cute.”

“Shut up!” Shane spat back, but he had his head thrown back, his hands constantly chasing Ilya’s which skirted over his torso, side, rib, armpit, neck, and back. A chase which could drive anyone mad, but was still simply- fun. For them both.

“I didn’t know you would be so easy to break,” he said, treading somewhat unknown water. But he liked riling Shane up, and Shane and his biting mouth always enjoyed the challenge of having to deal with him.

He all but growled now, all giggly giddiness from before enveloped in something else, something determined. He dug his feet into the mattress and Ilya realized belatedly that he was trying to buck him off, that he was probably aiming to turn the tables, and while that didn’t mean he wanted this to stop, because the safe word was still nowhere near his tongue, it did mean Shane enjoyed the idea of this being mutual. Of this being bodily and competitive, and Ilya wasn’t certain if he wanted that. Ilya was about to ruin a perfectly good consensual thing because he hadn’t thought to bring himself into the equation.

Only when he found himself hesitating and Shane had the perfect opportunity to turn this around, he still remained glued to his back, knees which he had pulled up to Ilya’s sides relaxing, visibly forcing himself to take this with nothing but his shielding hands. Ilya realized it then. That Shane would never do something to him which he hadn’t consented to. That this meant as much to Shane as it did to him.

God knew how Ilya didn’t cry right there and then.

He leaned down and wrapped his arms around him, taking in his surprised exhale and relishing in how he started squirming the minute he realized that Ilya was still tickling him even now. Fingers curling over his upper ribs, with Shane trapped between him and the bed and giggling into his neck, which tickled him a bit and he found that he didn’t care. He was safe here.

“You’re so ticklish,” he mumbled into Shane’s hair, which had Shane slapping his back and laughingly telling him to shut up. “What? Is true. You cannot deny it.”

“You don’t have to be so mean about it,” he said, whining when Ilya hit a particularly bad spot. “Fuck, this tickles so much, Ilya, get off.”

“Hmm, do you really want me to?”

“I- ah! I need you to allow me to squirm.”

Ilya sat up reluctantly. “Fine. Thank you for telling me. I can continue, yes?”

Shane covered his face with his hands. “Yes, god, please continue.”

“Can I tickle your knees?”

“This is gonna be the death of me- yes, you can tickle my knees.”

“Good. I think they will be very bad.”

“I will kick you.”

“Ah, maybe, but as long as you don’t say hockey I will continue.” He poked his belly. “Until we are both satisfied.”

“Domestic life is so weird,” Shane said, very obviously trying to redirect his embarrassment.

Ilya decided to bite. “This can’t be normal domestic life, though, can it?”

“Maybe not.”

“We’re so much less boring. Even you.”

“Oh, ha ha, please tickle me so I will laugh.”

In the beginning, Alastor couldn't STAND Lucifer Morningstar.

Now, this hardly came as a surprise to anyone that knew him. The king was known for his attention-seeking tendencies, constantly shoving himself into others' business (especially when said business regarded his precious daughter). From day one, the man had been a thorn in Alastor's side, yet another hurdle he needed to face to claw his way to the top. But then, the unthinkable had happened...

They had developed a fondness for one another.

It was hardly intentional, of course. The two were constantly at each other's throats, making jeering comments, one-upping each other in the pettiest of ways. It was, as Angel had so gracefully put it, a "dick-measuring content."

And yet, as time went on, the mood had slowly shifted. Words once filled with detest morphed into mere annoyance, then amusement, then FONDNESS. It was mortifying, to say the least, when the reality finally set in. When the two came to the conclusion that, like it or not, they had become FRIENDS over the last several months.

This, of course, sent both demon spiraling into denial. Avoiding one another like the plague, refusing to even mention each other by name, lest one of those pesky little smiles tug at their lips (or, in Alastor's case, one beyond his control). For a month, it was near impossible to get them in the same room.

But, as expected, this didn't last. It seemed that, without the other in their lives, both men grew exceedingly bored (it most CERTAINLY wasn't because they missed each other; what a concept). By the time the month was out, they were butting heads once again, albeit far less aggressively than before.

Soon, the bickering morphed into heated discussions on literature, which instrument was superior, which drink was best. This, in turn, lead to late nights at the bar, cheeks flushed and well-past the point of mere tipsiness.

When they finally sealed the deal with that first drunken kiss, Angel happily accepted his payment from Husk, and things had felt a little lighter around the hotel ever since.

That being said, there were still plenty of things about the Morningstar that infuriated Alastor, even after they became paramours (the radio host refused to used the word boyfriends; it felt far too casual and modern for his tastes). The king's tidiness, for example, or lack thereof, or how Lucifer tended to cut him off mid-sentence when he got too excited.

The most annoying of all, however, was the way the blonde absolutely REFUSED to just ASK for the things he wanted.

'That would be too simple, I suppose. He just has to make things as difficult as possible.' Alastor thought, ear flicking in irritation as he listened to yet another melodramatic sigh from Lucifer, loud and obnoxious and screaming for attention.

The radio host had been trying to get through his paperwork for the better part of an hour, dozens of pages scattering his desk in need of careful reading, signing and/or mailing. But between the constant stream of noises, questions, pokes, and prods, his focus had become completely fried.

No, all his brain could focus on now was the little pest draping himself across the back of Alastor's chair.

Suddenly, the room went dead silent. Alastor’s pen paused mid-signature, ears perking up. He felt the weight on the back of his chair shifting ever so slightly, and his smile widened ever so slightly. Ah, had his majesty finally grown bored by his lack of reaction?

Another sigh, long, theatrical, and entirely too close to his ear.

His eye twitched.

“Lucifer.” Alastor began pleasantly, voice crackling with the familiar sound of static. "Are you experiencing respiratory distress? Should I summon a physician? A priest? A muzzle?”

The king gasped softly. “Wow, concern! I’m touched.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “You are testing me today, a decision I would not deem wise.”

Lucifer shifted once more, arms now draped over the back of the chair, chin resting on the other's shoulder. “I don’t know what you mean.” He replied, forked tongue sticking out as he poked Alastor's rib, earning a small flinch.

The radio host set the pen down with a slow, exaggerated care. The lights of the study flickered, dimming slightly before returning to their warm, comforting glow.

“Lucifer Morningstar.”

“Yes, darling?”

The pet name was sweet. Too sweet.

Alastor turned his head slowly, smile now sharp and immaculate. “What, precisely, do you think you are doing?”

Lucifer blinked at him, his grin half-nervous, half-mischievous. “Uhuhum...existing?”

“Incorrect.” The shadows behind the desk coiled lazily. Deliberate, vaguely threatening in their movements. A warning. “You have sighed nineteen times in the last half hour. You have interrupted me thrice. You have poked my cheek for times." His eyes narrowed slightly.

Lucifer had the decency to look almost sheepish. “I have no idea what you’re getting at.” He said airily, though his wings gave a small, betraying twitch.

Alastor stood.

Lucifer barely had time to squeak before hands found his shoulders, spinning him around. The fallen seraphim stared owlishly up at the taller man, back now pressed against the desk as Alastor loomed comfortably between his legs.

That ever-present grin widened.

“You truly expect me to believe you’re simply…loitering?” Alastor raised a brow, gazing down at his prey like a cat appraising a corner mouse.

“I can loiter if I want to!” Lucifer huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m the king.”

“Mm, yes. What a convincing argument." The redhead rolled his eyes, clearly not buying the king's words for a second. Alastor slowly brought a hand up, claws hovering near Lucifer’s side, not yet touching.

The fallen seraphim inhaled sharply, flinching ever so slightly.

Ah, there it was.

Alastor barked out a laugh. "Oh, your majesty. This really is too much, even for you!" He crowed.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Still wanting to be stubborn, was he? Alastor had a swift remedy for that. "Oh? Then you won’t mind if I resume my paperwork and leave you to your dramatic brooding?” He made a show of stepping back, movements deliberately slow, taunting.

Lucifer grabbed his sleeve instantly.

Silence.

Slowly, Alastor looked down at the hand clutching him, grin oozing with amusement. “Care to revise your previous statement?”

The blonde hesitated. "No...” Lucifer mumbled, averting his gaze.

Alastor leaned in again, pushing into the other's space until their foreheads nearly touched. His voice dropped to a warm murmur. “You are the ruler of Hell. The Morningstar. The Lightbringer.” His grin was borderline feral. “And yet you cannot manage three simple words.”

Lucifer flushed faintly, cheeks turning a lovely shade of gold.

Alastor’s fingers ghosted over his side, still not touching, just hovering close enough to make him shiver. "Come now, we both know you can do it. Just three little words, and you can have exactly what you're so desperate for." His words were so smooth, like silk, scarily convincing.

They landed perfectly.

Lucifer’s wings flared in embarrassment, a look of indignation gracing his features. “I am not desperate!” He huffed, blush darkening as he glared up at the sinner.

“No?” Alastor’s claws lightly traced the air just above his ribs. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t react if I...”

Contact. A brief, quick scribble across the bones, so light it barely registered. But oh, how it did the trick.

Lucifer jolted with a sharp inhale, a giggly squeak tumbling out before he could stop it. "E-Ehehehehehehehek! Wahahait!"

Alastor withdrew instantly, another moment of silence following.

Lucifer stared up at him, a look of embarrassment and betrayal plastered to his face. “Y-Yohohohohohou cahahan't just-"

Alastor clasped his hands behind his back. “Oh dear. Was that what you desired? If only you would use your words, I would know whether or not I should continue...”

“You ABSOLUTELY know, you cruel bastard! Come on, you can't just do something like that and-"

“Do I?” Alastor head tilted. “How could I know, if you do not tell me?”

Lucifer’s face felt like it was on fire. He squirmed where he sat, fingers gripping the edge of the desk, nearly leaving claw-marks in the dark wood.

“If you want something from me, your majesty…you will ask for it properly.”

Lucifer opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. He looked like a fish out of water, gaping in utter disbelief.

“I...that's humiliating, I'm not doing it!" He finally stammered out.

“Is it” Alastor hummed. “You had no qualms pestering me like a needy hatchling. How is asking for what you desire like an adult any worse?"

“I am NOT needy!"

Alastor’s hand drifted just close enough to make Lucifer’s breath hitch again, yellow eyes locked onto those claws, unable to look away. “Then prove it. Walk away.” The radio host challenged.

Lucifer didn’t move. Instead, his fingers curled into Alastor’s coat, tugging him closer. The king of Hell swallowed thickly, looking at those claws, the wall, ANYWHERE but Alastor's face.

“Alastor...”

The radio demon waited patiently.

“Could you…” Lucifer’s wings tucked in tight, voice cracking as he finally forced those dreaded words past his lips. “Would you…t-tickle me?”

Alastor blinked, then snorted. “Oh, that was pitiful.”

Lucifer groaned, head thrown back dramatically as he released Alastor's coat to cover his burning face. “I hate you.”

“You adore me.”

“Father in Heaven, Al, just...please? Please.”

The word was barely audible.

Alastor’s grin softened, not mockery now, but satisfaction. “There it is.” He leaned in close, lips brushing Lucifer’s ear. “Good boy.”

And then, he struck.

Ten nimble fingers were immediately dancing along Lucifer’s ribs, squeezing at his sides with a practiced precision.

The blonde shrieked, laughter bursting free in bright, unrestrained peals. "Ohohohoho shihihihihihit! Ahahahahahahalastor!" Lucifer cried out, curling forwards as his hands instinctively latched onto Alastor's arms. Not pushing him away, not fighting back, just holding on for dear life.

“See? Wasn't that much easier than all your incessant pestering?" Alastor chuckled, fingers scribbling up the ribcage before raking back down, stopping to scratch just above the stomach. “You get precisely what you wanted this way.”

Lucifer dissolved into another fit helpless laughter, wings flapping wildly, tail knocking over a stack of neatly organized paperwork. "Yohohou're awful! Nehehehahahahaha! Snnnrk!"

Alastor would deny the fondness in his expression until the day he double-died, would brush off anyone who claimed he enjoyed the seraphim's provocations as much as Lucifer enjoyed his punishments. But to anyone with a functioning pair of eyes, the truth was clear to see.

"Now, how about we give those hips some attention, hm?"

Shane grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. “I don’t remember anyone knocking into you.”

“Not hurt, Hollander. Sore.”

“Oh.”

Ilya placed a finger on Shane’s throat. “Didn’t warm up enough.” His grin was lethal. “I guess I was as impatient as you are.”

“I always warm up.”

“Not in bed.”

“Oh.” He felt his face grow hot. It always surprised him that Ilya could make him blush. “Wait, shut up.”

Ilya laughed and let himself be pulled down to the bed, where he immediately took over the gears as was their custom. 

Much later, when night had fully engulfed the room, Shane said, “I have a massage gun.”

Ilya hummed somewhere above him. “Are you threatening me?”

Shane slapped his stomach lightly. “For your sore leg. Where does it hurt?”

He saw the outline of Ilya’s face in the darkness. “Thigh. Front and back. Mostly back. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you want help using it.” He heaved himself off the bed and tried not to linger on the whine that escaped from Ilya. “It’s in my closet. Wait here.”

Ilya was still curled up when Shane returned and seemed to not appreciate the light being turned on. “Flip over.”

“Is this your way of asking for another round?”

“I’m trying to help you, you asshole. Get on your stomach.”

Ilya grumbled something in Russian and turned over slowly, giving Shane full access to the back of his thigh. He was still very much naked and Shane did his best to behave as he kneeled over him. “Is it your right leg?”

“Yes.”

Shane placed his hand on it. “Around here?”

“Higher.”

“Rozanov.”

“Is true.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and could’ve sworn he heard Ilya laugh. Asshole. He turned on the massage gun. “Okay, tell me if it hurts too much.”

Whatever sound Ilya made was drowned out by the massage gun and- whatever other sound Ilya made which replaced it. Shane was too busy navigating the gun to pay him any mind, knowing he was dramatic and tired and pretending he was fine, but it became harder to ignore him when he started thrashing beneath him.

“Hey, hey,” he said, pulling the gun away. “Be still, you drama queen.”

“You are drama queen,” Ilya bit back, craning his neck to look back at him. “Get off, I don’t like it.”

“It’s not about liking, Rozanov. You need some rehab.”

“I need sleep and a blowjob.”

Shane huffed out a laugh. “You can get that afterward, you know. If you ask nicely.”

“Oh, as if you wouldn’t beg me for it- dohon’t!”

Shane had pressed the massage gun into his thigh again, but Ilya’s reaction made him withdraw it quickly. “What? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Ilya seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth. “Put that thing away.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Oh, he thinks he’s funny.” Ilya tried to roll over, but Shane was still very much straddling his legs.

“Hold on for like five minutes, it will help, I promise.”

“No- no! Hollander, I will-” But whatever else he was about to say was overpowered by the massage gun and his laughter, which had Shane absolutely mesmerized until he realized why he was laughing.

“Oh my god, you’re ticklish.”

“Hollander.” Ilya reached back blindly to knock the gun away. “Enough.”

“I didn’t know you were ticklish,” he said, allowing him to turn over onto his back.

“Stop looking so happy about it,” he growled. “I am not.”

“That’s not what I just saw.”

“You hit a nerve.”

“Right, right.” Shane pointed the massage gun at him, which was still on. “So if I massaged the front of your thigh it wouldn’t bother you?”

Ilya clenched his jaw. “No.”

Shane let out a laugh. “So may I?”

It was strangely fun watching him have a silent battle with himself, which was only really visible through the way he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Yes.”

Shane was expecting it now. The twitch and the laugh, the way he did everything to keep his body still as the massage gun was pressing into his muscle. He had to admit it was endearing. He had to admit he felt strangely proud that, despite pretending not to, Ilya was allowing him to see this.

A spasm went through his body and he reached out, grabbing Shane’s arm and pulling him down, and Shane turned the massage gun off and laughed into his his chest as he waited for him to calm down. “So,” he said, dragging the word out. “A little ticklish?”

He growled, which was both hot and terrifying. “You are a dead man, Hollander.”

“U-uh well if you mean this isn’t a real treat then-” he murmured when Thorin dragged him to where he was sitting, and he wrapped him tenderly in his arms.

“This treat,” Thorin said, and he kissed Bilbo’s lips. 

“And this,” Thorin whispered, kissing his cheek.

“This, and this,” he said, getting carried away as he kissed Bilbo’s neck and ear. A cute giggle could be heard from the flustered hobbit.

“Thohorin! I ahaham not for e-eating! We’ve got all this!” Bilbo squeaked, but Thorin only tightened his embrace and when Bilbo tried to pull himself free, he held his sides tightly and accidentally tickled him. 

“Hah! Thorin!” Bilbo whined, jumping slightly. Thorin smirked. 

“Yes, dear?” he taunted, and he tickled him again, this time on purpose.

“Thohoorin hahaha! Nohoho!” Bilbo managed to turn around in his embrace, but Thorin pulled him back and attacked him from behind, his quick and nimble fingers scribbling all over Bilbo’s stomach and sides. 

“It tihiickles Thohorin! T-the food wihill gehehet cohohold!” Bilbo cried, but Thorin simply kissed his head from behind and took in the pleasant scent of his curly hair. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of Bilbo’s belly and he had to hold back a silly giggle of his own when Bilbo flailed his arms hysterically.

“Hahahah! I gihihive! Thorin plehehease!” he laughed. Thorin smiled. He should apologize to Bilbo for such a random tickle attack right before dinner. Instead he finally stopped the playful tickling and he hugged him tight.

“That was a lovely treat,” Thorin teased in Bilbo’s ear. 

“Now, let’s enjoy our meal,” he said, and he patted Bilbo’s butt teasingly before finally releasing him. Completely flustered and blushing like crazy, Bilbo moved back towards his seat and he eyed him shyly.

“Y-you, that really wasn’t necessary but, well,” he said nervously, and he swallowed. 

“Funny,” Alastor muses from his chair, “how some demons think they’ve won just because they’ve got you cornered.” Even with his arms bound, he speaks with the air of someone stretching them behind his head, leaning back, oozing confidence.  

The screen across from him flickers with anger. “I don’t think I’ve won – I know I have.” 

“Mmm,” says Alastor, gaze sliding to one side, brows raised. 

Somehow, using no words appears to annoy Vox more than if he’d come up with an insult. Electricity crackles with his irritation, and he stands from his chair, glowering across the room at his captive. “Maybe you need a demonstration. Maybe I should--”  

Alastor’s grin widens as Vox’s voice cuts out mid-threat. The pause is just long enough for him to pivot in his chair and give himself a push with his feet, sliding the chair backwards, just out of reach of the hand that swipes at him.  

Vox’s face erupts with pixellated fury, and his form contorts for a split-second before he materialises inches behind Alastor, fingers crackling with errant voltage as he makes a grab for Alastor’s shoulder. The radio demon twists away with a delighted shriek, but he’s not fast enough – Vox's thumb just grazes the delicate junction between neck and collarbone, and the resulting squirm nearly has his chair tipping over.  

“Aha!” Vox cries out in triumph. “Ohhh, someone’s ticklish.” 

Alastor’s breathing hitches, half-laugh, half-gasp, as Vox’s fingers dart down and skate over his ribs, sending sparks of sensation glittering through him. He arches away, but Vox’s other hand clamps down on his waist, pinning him between them.  

“Nowww then,” Vox croons, leaning in. “What was that about some demons, again?” 

Alastor opens his mouth to retort, but another shock from Vox’s fingertips has him choking out a laugh instead. His laughter dissolves into wheezing giggles as those fingers spider-walk up his sides, each touch sending jolts of electricity dancing across his skin. “S-stop – ah! - You’re cheating with th-those damn shocks!” he gasps, toes curling in his shoes as Vox finds that spot just under his ribs that makes him jerk. 

“Cheating?” Vox grins, leaning in. “No, no, I think you’ll find this is called winning! What were you expecting? All your taunting... you didn’t think I’d put you in your place?” 

Alastor’s voice comes out in a wrecked, hiccupping giggle as Vox’s thumbs dug into the hollows of his hips, sending him thrashing against his bonds. “I- ah!! - I thought you’d be slower, you g-glorified toaster!” he manages to gasp before he cuts himself off again with a shriek as Vox’s fingers skitter up his ribs again. He manages to get a foot on the floor with enough leverage to give his chair a firm push away from Vox again, who darts after him like lightning. 

One hand clamps down on the back of his chair. Vox spins his chair around as he yanks it back towards him and leans down, laugh buzzing against the back of Alastor’s neck, the electrical current humming louder. Alastor twists, trying to put some distance between his ears and the ticklish buzz of static before it occurs to Vox to target them. 

His breathing hitches again as Vox reaches down to squeeze at his thigh, the voltage dialled down to a teasing thrum that makes his muscles twitch involuntarily. “You’re- ahaha!! - you’re enjoying this too much,” he accuses, voice cracking as Vox’s thumb digs into his thigh just enough to make him jerk. “Admit it, you’ve- n-no! - you’ve been dying to get your claws on me like this!” 

Vox’s screen flickers with a smug glow, his fingers never stopping their relentless assault as Alastor squirms in his chair. “Oh, absolutely,” he admits, voice thick with smug delight. “A chance to put you in your place? I thought I’d done that already, but apparently not! So kind of you to let me know you wanted another lesson!” 

Alastor’s breath comes in ragged, uneven bursts, his entire body trembling with the aftershocks of laughter and lingering electricity. His upper arms are still bound to the elbow, leaving only his forearms free, hands just able to reach Vox’s but not able to stop them. His fingers scrabble uselessly against Vox’s forearm, claws leaving faint scratches in the fabric of his sleeve. 

“Look at you,” Vox croons. “Weren’t you listening earlier? You can try to squirm and struggle and it wouldn’t do a thing!” 

Alastor growls through his grin, twisting again and trying to use his foot to push his chair away again, but this time, Vox is quicker, and stops him before he even gets out of reach.  

“Well, if you still haven’t managed to learn... perhaps we’ll take it a step further!” Abruptly, Vox sets one foot on the base of the chair and tips the whole thing over. Alastor, still tied to it, ends up on his back, still in the seated position, his legs in the air. To make matters worse, Vox sits down right beside him on the floor, that infuriatingly smug grin pointed down at Alastor, and he begins to walk his fingertips up from Alastor’s stomach, over his ribs, poking and nudging and tickling all the way while Alastor scrunches his nose and tries not to giggle, up his neck, and finally up into his hair to find his ears.  

Alastor twitches in alarm and jerks his head away, a giggle already halfway out of his mouth, but there’s really nowhere to go. “No!” Vox’s hand follows, and his fingertips start to tickle. Alastor begins to squirm anew, shaking his head, turning it from side to side, laughter bordering on hysterical now as he squirms in his strange position and starts to kick his legs a little too. “S-stop! Vox!” he protests, and to his absolute horror, a bleat escapes. 

Vox’s fingers still, just for a second, while he registers what he just heard. “Was that...?” 

“No.” 

“It was.” 

“No.” 

“It was! Ha! Oh, fuck! The radio demon bleats!” 

Alastor doesn’t get a chance to deny it before his ears are being tickled again and he’s dissolving into giggles, a boneless heap being played like an instrument. He’s not even sure how long passes before Vox asks, “have you learned your lesson yet?” 

He gasps, pants, wheezes, trying to catch his breath, and he doesn’t reply. 

Vox was ecstatic when they said they would give him back his body. Pshhh- he knew they'd come round eventually! Ok, so things hadn't gone as planned with the heaven takeover (the details escaped him now) but there was still plenty to be done, and his plans were far from over! He just needed to wait for the right opportunity to come his way. He was glad his counterparts could finally see that again, and trust him to take them there!

Vel and Val had been giving him the cold shoulder for a few weeks now since the "glitch" (their news channel was calling it an 'accident', so he didn't know why they were calling it different - although he did remember the doomsday machine having some issues, which he was forced to remedy himself). Being keyed-in as he was, he understood they'd be a little mad - he knew he'd probably been a bit preoccupied in the weeks preceeding the big event, and they might be suffering a lack of his attention. He also knew he'd gotten a little out of hand on the day - but really, what did they expect?! Taking over heaven was no mean feat! At least he was giving it his all - they just liked commitment. In fact, the problem was probably because of their failure to commit! So if anything, they should be seeking his forgiveness for ruining everything! But he was sure he could find his way to forgive them, once they came to their senses again. And that's what appeared to be happening, now they were finally returning his body privileges - being a head the last few weeks had been hard.

"See you soon, papito," Val had grinned down seductively at him just before he was powered down for the procedure, a rare show of attention from the moth who had been much more distant since the failed coup. Vox had rolled his eyes at the term, never having stopped to learn the meaning but knowing it always made him feel diminutive - and without even a body, that was just something he could not tolerate at the moment. As his vision faded off, the last thing he saw was Val's scowl.

He knew the procedure wasn't too complicated - after all, he'd replaced his head before - but he did know it was much more comfortable to have it done unconscious, so despite the general atmosphere, he'd allowed his two associates to organise it for him. Besides, they'd been rather insistent. Perhaps they still cared for him more than he thought. The work would be slightly complicated by the fact that his body - particularly where the wires and arteries had been so uncermoniously ripped apart - would be in need of some repairs, but it wouldn't be too long, and then he would be restored to his full glory again.

---

Some time later, he felt himself lying in bed. Felt..? He could feel the softness of the covers lying over his skin - his skin! He tried to shift, just to feel some more of it, but his system was still catching up with him. With a lot of effort, he managed to move his arms from side to side slightly, enjoying the light fabric rubbing on him. He smiled and let out a satisfied little hum.

"Feel good, papi?"

Vox's eyes flew open with a gasp, landing immediately on Val, lounging back in a comfortable chair by his bedside. His eyes caught movement further back in his room near the window, where Vel was amusing herself, twirling in his own chair, nose to her phone.

"Uh... yeah," he ignored the humour in Val's comment, managing to lift himself back onto his arms to sit upright against the softly glowing headboard. "God it- it's so good to have this body back!"

He looked down at his arms, turning them over to inspect them fully; down his chest, grinning at the sight of his own muscles and planes (despite being a little out of shape from the lack of use of a few weeks), and then - he lifted the cover slightly to peek underneath the waistband of his shorts. He let out a little sigh of relief as his shoulders dropped, letting the cover fall back down.

"Happy?" Val prodded again.

"Yeheah!" Vox chortled with glee, now exploring all of it voraciously, running his fingers - his fingers! - over it, revelling in the command and response between himself and himself, wiggling his clicker-like toes and feet, flexing his ankles, knees, hips in turn, working up through all his joints, stretching them out-

"Yeah, yeah, it's fucking brilliant," Velvette interrupted his joy, suddenly having appeared beside them both. "You got your body back, but it's gonna come with some ground rules."

"Huh?" Vox looked up, "wut?" His confusion twisted into a stroke of annoyance.

"Ground rules? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about ground rules, Vox. You went fucking batshit back there, and you are not doing it again. You need a leash." Velvette clapped angrily, placing a hand on her hip.

"A l- what the fuck?! I don't need fucking rules! Who do you think I am?!" Vox felt the heat rising to his face.

"Yes you do." Val interjected with a frown, his arms crossed.

Vox stared for a moment, eyes wild, his recently re-attached body tense as if it might do something in the next moment.

He threw the covers off and jumped out of bed, storming past the two of them, still in his shark-print boxers.

"Whatever! I don't need this, you can't tell me what to do-" he sent some cables out to gather up some clothes and things, but nothing happened. He looked down at his own hands accusingly. "What the fuck?!"

"Looking for these?"

Glancing up quickly, he saw Velvette smirking at him, holding up a short bundle of black wires.

"Hey! Why have you got those?! Give them back!" He cleared the distance between them in a few large steps and lunged towards her, knowing he could get them back easily with his far-greater height, only just in time for her to throw the cables cleanly into Val's waiting hands.

Vox growled and approached the bigger demon without hesitation.

Val snickered as he passed the cables from hand to hand, using his extra limbs to keep Vox back.

"-fucking- VAL!!" Vox struggled, desperate to use his cables to grab the other and manoeuvre him where he needed him to be, but there they were, right in his annoying, tall, fiddlesome, bastard hand-

"Come on, Voxxie!" Val purred, smiling more all the time. "You're just a little off!" And he took the cables into one of his top set of hands, holding it far above his head, and far far above Vox's reach, adding insult by pushing one of his lower hands down onto Vox's face until he was almost horizontal, preventing him from being able to claw his way up like he was desperately trying to do.

Vel interrupted Val's giggling more seriously. "You're not having them, fuck-for-brains! I'm not joking, Vox - you were fucking insane, and we need to know you're not going to do anything like that - ever - again."

Vox threw himself off of Val, standing a few paces back and staring at them both with a wild, almost pained expression.

"You know what, fine! If you don't trust me, if you don't want me t- then just- fine-" He had completely turned his back, hiding the beginnings of salty drops that welled up in the corners of his eyes, uninvited, the ones he swore to himself would never touch his face again, storming towards the door to go god knows where, when an awful sensation gently but unignorably wracked his body, from top to bottom. He froze, convulsing on the spot, quickly doubling over. It only lasted a moment, disappearing almost as soon as it started, but not before an almighty yelp slipped out of him.

Good god.

"We didn't say we didn't want you, dick-brains. But yeah, the trust is a problem."

"That's why we installed this thing!" Val said hopefully.

Vox had been struggling to listen, instead remaining doubled over, breathing hard and looking terror-stricken, but at Val's words his head whipped up.

"What thing?!"

"This!" Vel said with a scowl, tapping her phone. Immediately the sensation was back, rippling through him in jitters. He felt like he was vibrating from the inside out. The sensation was everywhere: on his skin, and under it. He was bent over again, hugging around his stomach at the god-awful feeling, and this time it wasn't stopping.

"Sorry to have to do this, Vee, but we need to know you're not gonna go off the rails again. We want you with us, but we need to know you're with us, not-" She was interrupted by another strained noise from him.

"Hng- stohop!" He dragged out, but there was a strange brightness to his voice.

"Hm?" Both Vel and Val looked over immediately, to where their partner, friend, was hunched over, trembling.

Val noticed the look on his face, and said incredulously, "Are you... laughing?"

"Hn- hngg- nohoho!" Vox growled, but he couldn't keep the wide, strained grin off his face now. "J-juhust- turn it ohoff!"

Valentino's openly blank look slowly slid into a sly smile. "Oh, baby- I knew you were sensitive, but not like this." He did nothing to disguise the delight from his voice as he cooed.

"He what-?! He's- it's tickling him?" Vel sounded miffed, until she locked eyes with Valentino. They suddenly shared a dangerous look.

Vox, from his tricky position, observed this exchange. "Nnnnahah! Nonono- hah!" T-tuhurn it ohohoff!!" He tried to sound commanding but it came out laced with giggles.

"Oh sure, Voxxie." Val looked at him hungrily. "Just as soon as you show us you can be good~!"

Vox squeaked incredulously.

"Yeah," Vel said with an air like an idea was dawning, "how about we give you the full tour of this new feature we got you? It was supposed to taze you, but this is even better!"

By now Vox had fallen to his knees, hugging himself around his middle as if that would somehow remove the gentle tickling going on all over him. He had tensed himself as much as he could against the feeling, whining and tittering around his groans and attempts to reason with his treacherous teammates.

"Ohohoh!" Vel giggled, all giddy. "This is only level two!"

"W-WHAHAT?!" Vox piped up, staring at her with wide eyes from the floor. "THEHEHERE'S LEHEVELS?!"

She grinned. "Yep. Five! Wanna see number three?"

"N-noho!" Vox was losing that commanding tone. "V-Vehel! Th- thihis isn't fahahair!"

"Fair?!" Her eyes narrowed at him. "What wasn't fair was that fiasco at the takeover! Your little glitch almost got us killed! Oh this is more than fair!" And with a practised look of aloofness, she hit the button.

Vox arched. He squealed into full giggles, unable to stop himself with the newly assertive tremors working their way through him, more present than the gentle tingles of before - he wished he could go back to that.

"Vehehel, Vehehel!!" He giggled boyishly. "Ssstop itttt! Rihight- nohohohoooow!"

"Mi amor, you are down bad," Valentino looked at his squirming partner with concern.

"This is your problem, Vee! You think you can go around telling everyone what to do! Well check your notifications babe, because you can't! We're not taking it anymore!" Vel argued with the man slowly coming apart on the floor before her.

Whether Vox had heard her and meant to respond was unclear, as all he seemed able to do at this moment was curl his arms round himself and roll around the floor in a laughing fit.

"You hear me, prick?!" She approached, leaning over him to get his attention, but his eyes were screwed shut, lost in a world of his own ticklish torment. When she started poking him in his midriff, however, she got a better reaction, as he squiggled around like a little fish, his giggles becoming panicked, and his eyes opened to meet hers.

"Do - you - hear - me?" She punctuated all her words with more pokes, expertly finding unprotected spots wherever he tried to go. Despite her rage she was smiling beside herself.

Words failing, he shook his head obstinately.

"Oh you-!" She growled, and started poking more rapidly with both hands, wherever she could reach.

"I wouldn't make her any madder, Voxxie~" Valentino sang from afar, watching appraisingly at this new discovery, and the professional in him inwardly wondering if there would ever be an opportunity to test it in the bedroom.

Vox squealed loudly at the words and something in his demeanour shifted. He started nodding his head to rapidly.

"Okahahay okay okayahay- I hear- I hear- I hehehehehear!!!"

"Hah!" Velvette remarked, withdrawing. "That's better! It's a start anyway."

Vox continued giggling and writhing for a moment, the 'tazer's' sensations still keeping him busy, until Val spoke up again.

"Move over, Dolly, it's my turn."

Velvette stepped to the side with a smug lookwhile Val approached, looking for all the world like he wanted to eat the writhing man on the ground.

Brain finally catching up, Vox's eyes popped open, and when he saw Val looming over, he somehow managed despite everything to clumsily kick his legs out, pushing himself messily backwards a few inches, throwing a hand out sporadically at intervals as if it would somehow keep the other away, though he was unable to keep it off his sides for long.

"V- VAHAhahahAAAL!!" He begged, chopping between brighter giggles and full-belly laughs. He looked up with eyes that pleaded with Val, pulling on Valentino's heartstrings.

But he was nothing if not devious.

Val smiled wide before scooping him up in his grand arms and walking him back towards the bed.

"Oh come on, babe. We're only doing this to help you~" He babytalked. "We're gonna help you to stop and enjoy what we've built! You know... let someone else be in charge..." He chuckled at the way Vox's laughter-garbled protests intensified at the suggestion, knowing full-well this would be an agonising learning curve for his long-time 'partner'.

"Oh come on, Voxxie! You wouldn't deny me after you let Velvette have a turn!" And he dumped him ceremoniously on the covers, watching him bounce from the height.

"I WOHOHOULD!! I WOHOULD!!" Vox was nodding frantically, his face taking a delightful cyan around the centre.

Ignoring the response, Val descended, four arms falling down like a bad omen. "Let's see how ticklish our little ruler really is~"

---