Chapter Text
Finally. Some time to himself with no interruptions.
Alastor sits in his favorite armchair beside the fireplace in his room, a thoughtful sigh escaping from him. Half of the Pentagram had nearly been obliterated last week due to Vox’s rash decision making, but at least it had played out in Alastor’s favor in the end. That’s something worth celebrating.
The feeling of his powers back at full capacity is one that leaves him in a much better mood, one where he can enjoy the privacy of his space without Charlie or her snarky partner pestering him. The silence is certainly a welcome change compared to Vox’s constant whining that’s assaulted his ears for weeks.
Despite the comfort of the silence, there is one lingering issue that’s been persistently reminding him of every moment he spent tied up. There’s an ever present ache in his muscles from being forced to sit in the same position for days on end. As if he hasn’t smiled through enough wounds as it is lately.
The stiffness of his shoulders and the ache in his back is hardly the thing that’s bothering him the most, however. It’s his ears.
Vox had started getting far too friendly in the final days before his failure, getting quite handsy and stumbling upon one of Alastor’s closest held secrets: His ears are ticklish.
Of course, Vox had found this hilarious, and spent several days sending Alastor into giggle fits with nothing more than the brush of his claws against the fur. The constant assaults had left his ears involuntarily pinning flat to his skull nearly constantly, which has left the muscles tight from overuse. How ridiculous. Sore ears.
Alastor taps his fingers against the armrest of his chair, eyes narrowing in thought. He had been humiliated day after day while being trapped with Vox, not only with the tickling, but being paraded around like some kind of trophy, dragged along to pathetic mockeries of dates, even forced to attend Vox and Valentino’s… private moments.
Perhaps it’s time to regain some of his dignity at Vox’s expense. It’s the least he deserves, really, the picture box is lucky Alastor hadn’t ripped him apart limb from limb when he had the chance.
There are many options to go about this, but one in particular sticks out in his mind. Inviting Vox over. Not for pleasantries, obviously, but to give him a taste of his own medicine. To make him feel as humiliated as Alastor has felt for weeks on end.
Not to mention, the idea of sending Vox into a fit of giggles sounds not only satisfying, but endlessly entertaining. Surely Vox is every bit as ticklish as Alastor is, if not more so.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Now isn’t the right time to restart his radio show with a new guest, not when things are finally starting to go his way. No use in upsetting the hotel residents and drawing attention to himself. A broadcast is far too noisy.
So how could he lure Vox into total isolation without raising any eyebrows? His eyes trail across the room idly, searching for anything that could spark an idea. Alastor’s room surely isn’t sound proofed enough to-...
Ah. That little piece of paper hanging off of the desk. What a perfect idea.
Alastor pushes himself up and approaches the flyer Charlie had dropped off just last week. He picks it up and reads over the cheerful, colorful handwriting of the Princess:
CAMPING TRIP BONDING EXERCISE!!!
Next weekend, everyone is invited to participate in the Hazbin Hotel Camping Experience!!!
Take a break from the stress of Hell with three FULL days in the wilderness with your favorite residents!
Tents, food, and travel fully provided by yours truly! Take the opportunity to get to know your neighbor and sit around a campfire, make smores, and see sides of the Pentagram you’ve never seen before!!
NO WEAPONS, ILLICIT SUBSTANCES, OR FLAMETHROWERS ALLOWED!! (Sorry Niffty)
Love Your Camp Counselor,
Charlie Morningstar
Alastor’s eyes crinkle with how wide his smile stretches. Oh, that’s perfect. Many of the hotel residents will be gone for an entire weekend, including the Princess herself. It will be quiet, empty, and with absolutely no one to scold him for the screams coming from his room.
Now he just has to wait until the weekend rolls around to send Vox an invitation.
“I don’t care what Velvette told you. You work in my department, under my rules, and you do what I tell you to. Get the fuck out of my office.” Vox waves off the employee with a sneer, slamming the door behind them.
A deep, annoyed sigh comes from his mouth. Here he is, previously the face of VoxTek, the hottest man in Hell, relegated to working as an internal manager. His face is bad for the brand now, they said. So now he’s stuck yelling at lowly employees on a Saturday instead of getting the adoration he deserves.
Vox sits down at his desk, tapping his claws against the wood in an annoyed rhythm. This is all that trashy hotel’s fault. With their little ‘friendship is magic’ and ‘hold hands and sing along’ fucking routine. If it weren’t for them, everything would’ve gone to plan.
Even if he had just killed Alastor, if he had just fired the cannon a second sooner, then maybe he would’ve-
The internal grumbling is cut off as a pool of shadow forms on the floor in front of him. Great. The smug bastard is showing up now? To fuck with him? Piss him off some more? That’s the last thing he needs right now.
But what appears isn’t Alastor himself. It’s one of his freaky little shadow creatures, holding that same irritating smile and equally as infuriating even at 2 feet tall.
Vox’s claws dig into the wood of his desk as he watches the small imp hop on top of his desk, drop off an envelope, and let out a high pitched snicker before fading into a pool of darkness once more. Typical Radio Demon dramatics.
But an envelope? What could this be about?
He snatches the piece of paper like it had personally offended him, immediately digging a claw in and slashing it open. Inside is a handwritten letter from Alastor himself.
Dearest Vincent,
I wish to speak with you. After your attempts to wage war with Heaven, I have found myself… reconsidering our arrangement. I would like to propose we discuss the possibility of a partnership once more.
Stop by my residence at the Hazbin Hotel at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Alastor
Vox stares at the words on the page with widening eyes, reading them again and again to convince himself that they’re actually there. A partnership? That very thing Alastor had laughed in his face about all those decades ago? Surely this is too good to be true. It has to be a trick.
But what if it isn’t? What if he had proved himself enough, had finally proved that he and Alastor would be unstoppable together? What if this is his chance?
This is too good of an opportunity to pass up. Vox pushes himself up from the desk, shoving the letter into his pocket. If Alastor is personally inviting him over, and to his private room no less, this has got to be worthwhile.
Without question, Vox’s form zips into a blue flash of electricity, heading straight to the home of his enemy.
With a crack, Vox’s form materializes into the lobby of the Hazbin. He brings a hand up to adjust his bowtie and glances around for any sign of the annoying Princess, the chatty residents, or a certain Radio Demon waiting for him.
But it’s… quiet. Way quieter than he remembers the last time he was here. There’s nobody even in the lobby, only Vox standing awkwardly in the room. Weird.
Vox takes one final assessing glance around the empty lobby before heading up the staircase. He knows right where Alastor’s room is, of course, he’s had this place monitored since the day he found out his enemy was staying here. He practically has it memorized.
Even the hallways are deathly silent. No chatter from behind closed doors, no distant sounds of shouting from the therapy room, there’s just… nothing. Like not a single other person is in the building. Great. This is definitely a trap.
Or maybe… Maybe Alastor asked everyone to leave. If he is finally taking Vox up on the partnership offer, they’ll be the talk of Pentagram City for years. Clearing out the entire hotel is the exact type of theatrical bullshit Alastor would pull.
Vox arrives in front of Alastor’s door, not even bothering with knocking. He reaches a hand out and pushes the handle, finding it unlocked. With a push of the door, he peeks his head in and searches his eyes over the study and swamp combo he’s only ever seen through a screen.
Alastor stands by his desk as the door swings open, eyes narrowing in sharp amusement. Of course he showed up. How predictable. “Ah, so you did receive my invitation! And you wasted no time in following through.”
“Yeah, yeah, cut to the chase. What’s all this about a partnership? You finally change your mind?” Vox steps into the room with the slightest bit of hesitance, but the hope of repairing the animosity between them keeps his feet moving forward.
The door locks shut behind him.
“Mmm. Something like that.” Alastor steps away from his desk and waves a hand towards the swampy portion of the room. “Come along, this is a far more scenic view for our conversation.”
“Well. I’m glad you’re finally starting to see it my way. Took you long enough.” Vox tugs his sleeves down with a sharp movement, starting to follow the other man into the swampy area with curiously disgusted darts of his eyes.
A literal swamp. It’s bizarre. Kinda gross. Wet. Humid. How does the fucker live like-
Alastor’s hand lands on Vox’s back with a sharp shove right as they near one of the small puddles of water littering the vegetated area.
Vox doesn’t have a chance to catch himself, windmilling his arms uselessly and going down face first in a puddle of cold, murky swamp water. He lands on his hands and knees, soaking parts of his suit and staining the crisp fabric.
THIS is what the prick wanted this whole time?!
“What the hell was that for?” Vox barks, snapping his head up to look at the man who just pushed him into a puddle like a playground bully. He scrambles his way to his feet, water seeping into his skin. It’s cold and makes his pants stick to his knees.
Alastor has been laughing since the moment Vox landed in the water, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t be such a spoil sport! It’s all in the name of entertainment! And I am certainly entertained.”
“Real fucking mature, Alastor.” Vox glares down at the newly formed brown stains on his pants and sleeves, a frustrated growl building in his throat. “You really invited me over to shove me in a puddle?”
“Oh, no, no, you have it all wrong!” Alastor gets one last, good look at the mess of his rival, before turning to walk deeper into the swamp. “I do have something I wish to discuss with you. That was simply for a much needed laugh.”
Vox knows he should turn around and walk out the door right now. But the curiosity makes his feet start moving before his rational thoughts can catch up. “Whatever. Just make it quick. You’ve wasted enough of my time already. And you’re buying me a new suit.”
“Don’t pretend you aren’t exactly where you want to be.” Alastor throws a smirk over his shoulder as the two approach a cluster of trees deep within the confines of his room.
Vox can’t quite bring himself to disagree with the jab. He stops walking alongside Alastor, crossing his arms over his chest with impatience. “Well? What’s all this about?”
Alastor plants his hands behind his back comfortably, looking far too pleased with himself. He can’t wait to see the look on Vox’s face. “You see, Vox…”
The ground suddenly shifts beneath their feet.
A pair of shadowy tentacles rip from the ground and wind around Vox’s arms and legs, jerking him backwards until his back slams against a tree and forces the air from his lungs.
Alastor calmly follows. “You truly were quite a terrible host. Why, the entire time I was holed up at your little establishment, you never once offered me a pleasant conversation! Only your incessant whining.”
“Oh, boohoo, save it for someone who cares. I don’t give a shit if you were bored.” Vox takes a breath and prepares to fire off a shot of his electricity, but… a thought stops him. His suit is still covered in swamp water. If he uses his electrical powers, all he’ll do is electrocute himself and short circuit.
…That’s why Alastor shoved him. The fucking bastard.
“Oh, that’s hardly my only complaint!” Alastor taps his claws together behind his back, the hiss of irritation rising from the static in his chest. “You have quite the problem with keeping your hands to yourself. A terrible habit, really.”
“It’s not my problem you’re all weird about being touched. It’s not even that big of a deal.” Vox tugs on the shadows coiled around his arms and legs, but he’s held tightly to the tree. It’s unlikely he’s getting out of this anytime soon.
Alastor’s eyes narrow in annoyance, his ears flicking back briefly before righting themselves once more. Still painful. “And that is exactly what I mean.” He takes a few steps closer to the bound demon, the pleasure of being in control filling him with glee. “So we’re going to play a little game. One you might remember.”
“Uh huh. Forgive me if I’m not exactly enthusiastic about playing your stupid little games.” Vox rolls his eyes, giving another useless tugs against the tendrils holding him. What could he be talking about, anyway?
“While I was politely biding my time in your office, you made the particularly irritating decision to turn to… juvenile tactics.” Alastor’s ears twitch painfully at the memory, encroaching on Vox’s personal space with another step forward. “I must say, it’s been quite a while since someone tried to tickle me. A unique approach, I suppose.”
Vox stills and goes silent.
Oh. That’s what this is about. And if he’s bringing this up now-
“Ah, that got your attention, didn’t it?” Alastor tilts his head and brings a hand up to hover near Vox’s side. “Tell me, Vincent, are you ticklish?”
Vox attempts to jerk away from the approaching set of claws, but the restraints hold him stiffly against the trunk. “Fuck off, Alastor. I’m not in the mood for-”
“Where to start, I wonder? There’s so many options!” Alastor shifts his hovering claws from the ribs, moving up the air to linger near Vox’s underarms without touching. “This is usually a particularly sensitive area, isn’t it?”
“You’re wasting your time. I’m not even… sensitive like that.” Vox can feel a cyan blush starting to rise up onto his face. This is so fucking stupid. He’s about to get tickled by his worst enemy. And yet, there’s a small part of him that doesn’t… hate the idea.
“For some reason, I doubt that.” Alastor’s hand shifts once again, hand hovering in front of his stomach. He wiggles his fingers in the air without touching him, cooing, “What about here? A ticklish tummy, perhaps?”
Vox’s muscles twitch, his eyes locked onto the claws hovering inches from his skin. “Sh-shut up. This is stupid.” Despite his complaints, there’s a warmth starting to fill his chest. The idea of Alastor touching him, tickling him, is starting to sound more exciting than irritating. He’s starting to want him to do it.
“Stupid or not, this is really the least you deserve.” Alastor then jerks both of his hands straight for Vox’s underarms, hovering inches away without making contact.
Vox flinches when the claws nearly land, only to teasingly hover inches away. Come on, fucking do it already-
“Aha! And you claimed not to be ticklish. But look at you, flinching the moment I get close.” Alastor is having the time of his life already, and he hasn’t even touched him yet, but that's about to change. “Let’s find out just how ticklish an overlord can be.”