Chapter Text
Waking up encased in Alastor’s arms, curled against him back to front, both their legs drawn up tightly against Lucifer’s chest, it was a wonder either of them slept at all. And yet they had.
Alastor’s fingers flexed in his sleep, scraping gently over Lucifer’s bared stomach, just past where his navel would have been, if he’d been born like a human. In its place there was nothing but smooth, unblemished skin that wouldn’t break.
Never in the same soft, vulnerable way a sinner’s would, be it by the hand of a fellow sinner, or angelic weapons. The back of Lucifer’s throat still tasted of burnt coal and a spark of blood that made his mouth tingle all over again.
It was strange how fast things could change and warp themselves to allow the vulnerability of contentment to seep through every available defence. Alastor’s burning hot body curled around his own like a protective shield from the cesspit both of them were forced to call home had his heart soaring to great heights.
Heights it had no reason to soar towards.
The sinner had been amicable toward him for a total of two days at best—the days spent blissfully unconscious not counting—and that was that. They weren’t dating. Or even f*ck buddies. Being so usually meant f*cking in some sense of the word. So, what the f*ck were they?
Cannibals with benefits? No. Had Alastor even realised that consuming his flesh was about the same as eating a berry as a deer? Or an insect as a lizard? Moreso, Lucifer was not a cannibal. Nor particularly into eating other sentient beings.
Whatever! This strange, shockingly intimate relationship forming between him and Alastor defied all known descriptions. Awake Alastor would probably scoff and deny any semblance of a relationship, regardless of its nature. But really, in what other world did the Devil, the Ruler of Hell itself, wake up as one of the most powerful overlord’s living teddy otherwise, if not because of some kind of… bond?
He'd never heard of a deal made with desires as a stipulation coming into effect unless a desire was professed with proper words.
But… his knowledge of deals were mostly on the breaking side, or the theoretical sides. This deal with Alastor was his first one, ever. For all his time in Hell, for every summon, never had he brokered a deal. Not with a Sinner, or with a Hellborn, or with a Human.
The closest he got was when Heaven pressed forward the exterminations, but even that was more of a binding contract, than a deal. At least in his eyes.
Lucifer jerked as a puff of air hit the back of his neck, making every hair on his body stand on end. The sharp tip of Alastor’s nose brushed just past his hairline as the sinner seemed to hold him tighter.
Holding his breath, he noted how heat pooled in his groin, blood redirecting both to his face, and to his groin. A brief glance down confirmed his suspicions—he was getting hard, and fast too. But his gaze didn’t linger there for long. Resting just above his hardening co*ck was Alastor’s hand, the very one Lucifer had bitten. Darkened skin still slightly swollen, the punctures of teeth prominent and scabbed.
It had to hurt, at least Lucifer imagined it did. He’d been cursed with sharp teeth from the moment he woke up, separated from Lilith in the fall, and immediately bitten his lips raw. He knew exactly how sharp the teeth lining his mouth were. The damage they could do.
Flicking through his memories of last night, though most of them were shockingly hazy, he couldn’t recall seeing any pain linger on Alastor’s face. Surprise at being bitten back, sure. Apprehension as to why, absolutely. But pain? Distress? No. None of that.
Without the help of his flesh or blood, it would take days to heal properly. And f*ck him if that didn’t make his blood boil hotter, possessive prowess turning his veins into liquid lust.
And yes, Lucifer was well aware he was a tad possessive, always had been, and eager to defend what he’d marked as his territory. Gently, oh-so gently, he put his hand to rest over Alastor’s—nearly laughing at the difference—retracting his long, sharp claws to run a blunt fingertip across the raised scabs there.
If he couldn’t bite the marks open again, he wanted that hand around his co*ck. And f*ck, from the twitch he received in response, little Luci was definitely in agreement.
There was only one, itty bitty, teeny weenie, yellow polka-dot bikini problem to solve first. Waking Alastor up and hoping he was amicable toward it. Lucifer wasn’t above begging, not with how perpetual his need was for any touch at the moment.
But—waking Alastor up also seemed like a recipe for disaster.
It wasn’t a risk he felt willing to take. Their shower had been nice, as far as he remembered. Warm, long fingers threading through his hair, scratching his scalp until he’d all but melted into his arms, their argument forgotten and buried.
The arm shoved beneath his ribs moved suddenly, coming up to slide against Lucifer’s throat, the pads of his fingers stroking past Lucifer’s rapid pulse, vein practically jumping at the touch from the sinner. “I’d ask what you were doing, but I’m not certain I’d want to know.” The sleep-rough edge to Alastor’s voice did nothing good for his arousal.
“I’m not doing anything,” Lucifer denied immediately, following the arm up to his neck with a soft breath. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he amended after a moment, stilling completely, when what he should have done was teleport right out of those arms.
As glittering mist rose from his body, sharp claws dug into his jaw, eliciting a sharp exhale to fall entirely unwillingly past his lips.
“Bold of you to assume I was asleep.” Sharp teeth grazed his shoulder as the sinner spoke, the promise of a bite yet to be delivered. “But, now that I am, where exactly did you think you were going?”
“Uh—” Lucifer closed his eyes briefly, trying desperately not to moan as Alastor’s teeth worried gently at a patch of skin on his shoulder. “Just trying to leave you to sleep while I take care of something. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Or, you could stay right here and tell me what you desire. Is it not a Queen’s job to please the King?” Alastor’s breath tickled warmly across his skin.
He felt dizzy with it all, and entirely too tempted to simply give in and take what was offered—but that was what Alastor wanted. To lean into Lucifer’s agreement of the mock. “I was talking about pieces on a chessboard when I said that, Alastor.”
He didn’t have the guts to remind Alastor they weren’t bound by marital pact, and therefore he still ruled alone.
“Oh, were you? Apologies, it must have slipped my attention.” The hand on Lucifer’s stomach moved, brushing against his skin as it travelled down to stroke at a raised hipbone, thumb pressing into the skin before gently easing a leg over his own, stretching out a little in their cocoon.
Lucifer arched into the sensuous grip both at his throat and his thigh, flesh quivering at the mere sight of that large, red tipped hand against his own pale skin. f*ck—f*ck—f*ck— “Wait!” he gasped, almost regretting it immediately.
Alastor stilled at his back, no, that was perhaps a word too weak. The sinner had gone rigid as a rock, fingers immediately lifting from Lucifer’s skin. “Yes?”
Cursing himself, Lucifer understood perfectly where the sinner came from, likely reminded of everything that had gone wrong the previous day. Still, it was nice to see it helped. “I’m not saying stop, or no, I just want to… do you want to… oh for f*cks sake.” Twisting around to catch a glimpse of Alastor’s face, he asked, forgoing the fear in his gut. “Are you into this?”
Into me—but he kind of had his answer there. But this was different.
“Your reactions intrigue me,” Alastor said softly, watching him from his place at the pillow, hair mussed and ears perked high in alert. “You scent is very different when you’re aroused. A hint of apples, but more of an orchard, than an individual one. I find that intoxicating.”
“But are you—” before Lucifer could even finish the words, a third hand grabbed onto his, guiding it down to the front of Alastor’s silky pjs, where a barely stirring softness lingered. “Oh,” the disappointed sound slipped past before he could contain it. “Sorry!” he squeaked, almost ripping his hand from whatever held him and made to get up.
Not that Alastor would let him. Again.
“Does it turn you off, that my body hasn’t reacted the way you desired?” the sharp, mocking lilt to Alastor’s voice certainly felt like a bucket of cold water over his head.
He flipped the kill switch on the annoyance bubbling in his throat before it could come to fruition, instead, he grabbed Alastor’s hand in return, pressing it back against his throat. “I’m a little disappointed, sure. But that’s not important. If I asked you to get me off, would you do it?”
Warbled beats of static pulsed from Alastor as he lost himself in thought, never quite settling on a single channel. If one listened closely, the opening instrumental to a most soft, time-appropriate song chirped, fighting to be let through by Alastor’s oppressive white noise
“I would,” he agreed after a moment. His other hand, spurred on by the turn in conversation, returned to stroke at Lucifer’s bare thigh.
“Would you derive any enjoyment from it at all?” Lucifer was shaking all over again, leg occasionally jerking as Alastor pinched the soft, unbreakable skin. If his co*ck had flagged at all, it was certainly back to full mast now.
“Yes,” came the warbled, static growl from the sinner, hand creeping toward Lucifer’s crotch at snail speed. “Tell me, do you like this?” the fingers around his throat clenched slightly and while he felt the pressure, it changed nothing for his breathing.
“I’m not… quite ready to uh…” Lucifer waved a hand weakly between them. “Last night was a bit—” God, why did it have to be so hard to formulate his thoughts?
“Hm, so that’s a yes,” Alastor chuckled softly, seemingly accepting his reluctance without question. “Would you hold your breath for me, Lucifer, until I tell you to breathe again?” The hand creeping up his parted thigh just barely brushed past his balls and Lucifer could have sworn that hidden part of himself ached and clenched desperately, slick undoubtedly dripping onto the sinner’s dark red pjs.
“f*ck—” he choked on the curse, slamming his head back onto Alastor’s shoulder hard enough to feel the bone of his collarbone dig into the soft flesh at the bottom of his skull. “Alastor—”
“Yes, or no?” his hands stilled, breathing quietly against his shoulder.
“Yes. Yes, yes yes,” Lucifer chanted, quivering in Alastor’s arms like some kind of virginal offering—or a shaking lamb, which he’d probably find more appealing—and nearly had to force himself not to claw at him. This would be over so quickly, it was embarrassing. Humiliating, even.
And so utterly, devastatingly arousing.
“Then you know what to do, mon cher.”
Obediently, Lucifer filled his lungs to the brim and held it. The gentle press of fingers against his windpipe sold the fantasy just as much, though, being told not to breathe made his head spin badly enough.
Gently, the hand at his thigh moved again, long fingers striking up his stomach once more, then down, touch featherlight against his fluttering muscles. A single claw grazed past the base of his shaft, curving around to touch fleetingly against his balls again.
Lucifer didn’t technically need to breathe, but after so long, it was an entirely normal thing. Being robbed of said normalcy, he was powerless to do anything but arch back, slapping his palms against Alastor’s wandering arm.
“How does it feel, being unable to cry out for me? Do your ears ring, making my voice echo through you as I pleasure you, my King?” Alastor’s lips grazed his flushed cheeks. “Apple trees in full blossom, that will be you in a bit, won’t it?”
Lucifer didn’t know what to do with himself anymore as Alastor stroked slowly up the shaft of his co*ck, the teeth-scabs on his palm a delicious, prickling friction against flushed, sensitive skin. He wanted to hold out, he really did, get his money’s worth of that hand.
It was as if Alastor knew. And knew how to wring him inside out, draining him of everything he had as he softly commanded, “breathe,” as those scabs dragged over the sensitive head, hand squeezing and rubbing quickly.
An ungodly, inhuman polyphonic screech from the deepest pits of his being was wrung out of him as he came, coating Alastor’s fist and his own stomach.
Lucifer lingered in Alastor’s arms until his shivering subsided, afterglow slinking away back from whence it came, delivering immense satisfaction but for a moment. Hells… he had no other words for it. Every nerve in his body was seemingly lit ablaze by the smallest touch from the sinner, whether he wanted to or not.
Feeling Alastor shift lightly against his back, hand hovering above their bodies, messy and wet still, Lucifer had the strange impulse to lick it clean. He refrained, knowing well how that would only escalate the situation and make him hungry all over again. Instead, with the wave of his hand, they were both dry and clean.
Hopefully that meant Alastor hadn’t noticed a thing of what had actually soaked him, and upon finding nothing, wouldn’t comment either. A content hum was the entirety of his reward.
At some point during the night, one of them had opened the canopy, making the world around them centred solely to the two of them and the vast numbers of pillows strewn about the room. Alastor pulled the duvet over both of them and settled back in, clearly not having any plans to get up yet.
“It’s still early,” the sinner announced after a bit, nose burrowing in the juncture between Lucifer’s shoulder and neck, lightly sniffing the skin there. It was an offer to relax there, practically cuddling, after a bout of lovemaking.
Hah! As if. Was Lucifer still going to take his fill of being held in a protective embrace until he ultimately had to face the sour music of his own making amongst Charlie and her friends at breakfast? Yes, absolutely.
Or, at the very least until Alastor pulled away, he’d enjoy every last second.
Through the partially sheer canopy curtains, the rising morning of Hell seemed so far away, a world away from their little downy hideaway in Lucifer’s apple shaped dome.
They both slumbered for long minutes in silence, and at some point, Alastor’s breath evened out again, the arm tossed over Lucifer’s waist going heavy and lax.
It was nice.
Too nice.
The jarring screech from a mobile—Lucifer’s, obviously—blasted Lust for Life by Iggy Pop, his ringtone for Asmodeus, through the room from just outside the canopy. It was almost surprising the device had survived the ordeal of last night in his back pocket.
“Do answer the blasted thing, cher,” Alastor grumbled, pulling away from him and loosening his hold enough for Lucifer to climb out of the warm cocoon of his body.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, scrambling to get it where he’d tossed it haphazardly onto the nightstand. Nearly dropping it twice in clammy hands, he finally managed to press the infernal thing to his ear. “Y—ellow, Ozzie. Been a while,” he chirped as he settled back, nudging himself close to Alastor once again.
The sinner himself looked greatly annoyed to have such a modern device anywhere near his person—or maybe that was just because he thought that infernal telecaster was listening in—but he remained where he was, the epitome of carefully crafted fake-relaxed.
“I just heard the news, Luci. How are you?” Ozzie’s concern was sweet, if not a tad tragic.
No cheerful ‘Good for you!’, no ‘You sure showed ‘em!’ No… praise. Shame coiled in his gut just from the thought. The Sins didn’t owe him a thing, least of all the job of picking up the pieces of his typically miserable and hard to maintain emotional state.
But yes, having announced he was back, and getting pity instead, was not entirely what he’d thought Ozzie called him for.
“C’mon, Oz,” Lucifer aimed for a cheerful cackle, landing somewhere to the left, at a choked chortle, instead. Distressingly enough, his chest was already starting to tighten, making each breath into his lungs feel like a hardship. “Gimme a break here.”
Had his little display across all Rings truly sounded so pathetic that even the sin of Lust called to hear if he’s boiled himself alive yet?
“Yes, yes, I know,” the sin continued, comforting baritone tunes gentle. Placating. “You’re a boss bitch who don’t need no reassurance. But are you really okay this time?” Aha. Lucifer could just about picture Asmodeus prancing about his quarters—typically he did his musings in the kitchens, for whatever reason—walking back and forth with that ridiculously small robe hanging off his enormous frame like some kind of modesty cloth that barely covered his dick.
The sarcasm was deeply unwelcome. Truly. Especially as Alastor shifted against him, stare burning holes into the side of his head.
Scoffing, Lucifer checked out his blackened claws by habit, staring at their dull gleam without any direct lighting coming from the windows. All it served to do, in the end, was make the band around his finger catch his attention. “Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
Speak of the devil—daylight broke through outside, filling the room beyond the pale canopy in a warm, red light, and eerie reminder of nothing more than the carnage and bloodshed of the streets below… and the temper in his gut he usually sealed in an airtight container in fear of it leaking out like a delicious, smelly kimchi.
The line went silent, and between the static lingering there, and Alastor’s constant hum of static, it was hard to tell if he’d been hung up on or not. Wouldn’t have surprised him in the least if Ozzie decided to say f*ck this, I’m out. He wouldn’t have been the first.
“Do you remember the last time you said you’d step up again? Because I most certainly do, Luci. And I know that she—”
“I’d rather not talk about that, Oz,” Lucifer interrupted quickly. His legs itched to take him somewhere else, where no one would overhear. “This is different.”
Yeah, the last time he’d stepped up, it hadn’t been his first choice either, or something he was remotely prepared for. But Lily had grown tired for carrying the burden for him, shouldering all of Hell all by her lonesome while he wasted away in his workshop, too caught up in the past to give even a flying f*ck about the future. Hell, he couldn’t even see a future, then. Not that he was certain he could now, either.
“Is it? So, you sat down with this Alastor out of your own free will and desire to rule again, without even talking to anyone else? You could have at least let me help you organize something, Lu…” aaand there it was. The infamous whine of Lust.
Lucifer knew it was a cheap tactic, but it worked, every damned time. Or maybe that was just because he was too weak against it.
“We’ve all heard of him, and his…” Asmodeus continued, speaking softly to him through the softly buzzing static.
“Dietary restrictions?” Lucifer cleared his throat pointedly. “We have an agreement, don’t worry about it.”
Honestly, it was a lot more worrisome that the sin of Lust was trying to get on his case for indulging in a spot of… well. Okay, so maybe it was a tad of a left turn for him. Or a straight up swerve into absolute insanity. The memory of Alastor’s blood crackling on his tongue like a live wire made his whole body tingle pleasantly.
Ozzie sighed heavily on the other side, ever playing the mother hen. “I’m just worried about you. Hell’s changed a lot since you last reminded them of things. If you truly mean to step up, you know what that means.”
“I’m not an imbecile, Asmodeus,” Lucifer snapped, hellfire making his mouth taste like warm coal and while he knew it was an unjust reaction, he couldn’t quite stem it before it bloomed.
He was the King of Hell, then as now. This whole wretched place they found themselves in had been made for him, to contain his sins and force him to live with the consequences of his choices. God’s favourite playthings… tainted forever, when all he’d wanted was for everyone was the will to choose. To dream.
“I never meant to insinuate that, I just remember how little you enjoy being in public. Even with Li—her, you never enjoyed yourself.”
Each word, each memory coming along with it felt like neon signs stabbed into his person, broadcasting every weak part of him.
Recluse. Hermit. Awkward. Klutz. Depressed. Paranoid. Fake. Clown. Useless. Negligent. Neurotic. Buzzkill.
The list went on.
A claw tapped gently at his skin. Barely resisting the urge to smack it away, he ignored it, choosing to burn with his own thoughts. When it happened once more, the press into his skin significantly harder, he looked down at Alastor’s sleep mussed self.
Brilliant, alert ruby orbs stared back at him, as if reminding Lucifer of his presence. Comforting without interrupting. A gentle reminder of promises, however spat in anger they had been at the time.
One thing had certainly changed since last time.
“Uh, can I… tell you something? If you promise not to share it with another being, of any nature or status?” Lucifer drew his bottom lip between his teeth as he waited, worrying the skin gently. Phone to his ear, his gaze lingered on Alastor’s face. Just a word, no, just a noise of discontentment and he’d take the words back and make Ozzie forget he’d ever mentioned anything.
His only answer was a relaxed, close-lipped smile. Deceptively neutral. Impossible to decipher.
“Of course, Lu. You know it stays between us.” The familiar sincerity crashed and burned on the ground like a badly contained traffic accident at the sound of something thumping in the background, and a distinctively alive voice yelping out a quiet ‘I’m okay!’. Asmodeus’ awkward, snorting laughter sounded a moment later. “Sorry about that. Now go.”
Beside him, a quiet laughing track filled with applause filled the air, as Alastor’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. Of course he was having fun with this. As if it hadn’t been his f*cking ass on the line for a moment too.
“So, I…” Lucifer cringed, unable to go on. How was he even supposed to put whatever between him and Alastor into wording?
What was it the sinner always said? Always keep them guessing? Something to that effect. Or was that only about smiles? Ugh. It was entirely too early in the morning for this much thinking.
Sure, the Heart of Hell was long gone, but the Queen remained strong and sure. Arrogant and co*cksure, that was for certain. Yeah, Alastor would eat him alive if he said that. And not in a fun way.
Then, Ozzie offered the perfect opportunity on a silver platter as he asked, tentatively across the line, “did you meet someone new?”
“I did, actually!” Lucifer was happy to agree to that, because it was true. “Someone uniquely blessed with both charisma and cunning. So, you know, I’m not entirely alone this time.”
Alastor pinched him again, brows raised high on his forehead, cheeks strangely pink. Lucifer wilfully ignored him—and his stupid, kissable face.
“Oh, now you have to bring them with you when you visit again, sometime this century, I hope. The club could certainly use some of your showmanship again. And I’d love for you to meet my new partner as well.” Ozzie sounded positively giddy.
And Lucifer was more than happy to take the change of topic.
Lucifer tried his best, always his best, to get along with the other sins. Typically, it was difficult either because he was a fellow sin, or because he wasn’t one all the same. “I heard about the whole debacle with Mammon. He causing you two trouble?”
Mammon, though, the sin of Greed. Yeah, needless to say, Pride and Greed didn’t always see eye to eye, and not just because Lucifer chose a small form, and Mammon wanted to look like a proper imposing motherf*cker on a good day.
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Ozzie replied, suddenly quieter, almost hushed.
Right. The partner was the circus imp who had been Mammon’s most recent… yeah. Delving too deeply into whatever Mammon chose to do with his time always left Lucifer with a splitting headache and a need to fish out a bottle of sherry.
“Anything you need help with?” Lucifer asked hesitantly.
When Alastor poked him a third time, Lucifer stared at him. “What is it deer?” The half-annoyed, half-fond pet name hadn’t been entirely voluntary.
In lieu of an incriminating answer, Alastor rolled his eyes and pulled the canopy curtains aside, poking at the clock waiting there on the nightstand.
Oooooh, f*ck. They were both officially, very late to breakfast.
“No, no, I got it covered,” Ozzie’s reply only registered vaguely.
“Great, great. You’ll let me know if that changes, yeah?” he asked, entirely too distracted as Alastor rose from the bed, snapping away his night clothes to walk entirely nude across the room. Lucifer snapped open the canopy curtains with a sharp burst of wind, watching the delicate, lean curves of the sinner’s body with sharp interest.
Especially, the full, uninterrupted view of that delicate tail shielding most of his ass. The soft-looking appendage gave a small wag, a little wink almost, as Lucifer continued to stare. “Look. I’m late for breakfast with Charlie. You just choose a date for a visit whenever’s convenient for you and I’ll try to convince my… the person I’m seeing… to come along.”
Whatever agreement Ozzie uttered next was entirely lost on Lucifer as he watched Alastor stretch long as he was, random joints popping obscenely. And the small fawn spots scattered across his ass, hips and upper thighs from the back made Lucifer long to bend him over a table, or just lay him out on the bed and—
“I wonder,” Alastor drawled, tearing him from his thoughts, turning suddenly to saunter over to the bed. This time, Lucifer most f*cking certainly looked at his co*ck. Hanging heavy and soft between his legs, teasing him with its existence. “What exactly will you entice me with for this?”
GOD. The amount of deranged, stupid things he would do for Alastor. He’d lost it entirely as he sighed breathlessly at the sight of him. “Anything you want, Alastor.”
He watched, helpless to keep a quiet keen in as the sinner leaned over him, the perfect mimic of last time. The very picture of sultry, Alastor grinned at him, lids low, eyes glowing. Heat pooled in Lucifer’s gut immediately. Every angelic and infernal cell in his body seemed to yearn equally for his touch.
So embarrassing.
“Anything?” Alastor licked his lips slowly, pink tongue dragging obscenely across the rows of sharp teeth, grin filled with wicked promises that Lucifer was certain would alarm anyone else. “You’ll forgive me if I need a moment to think, hm?”
“Of course,” Lucifer breathed immediately; cheeks tinged with gold.
“And don’t worry your pretty little head, I promise it won’t contain dismemberment,” Alastor pinched his cheek before righting. As he did, he snapped his clothes on, staff ready in hand with a delicate twirl.
The indignant snort bursting from Lucifer’s nose was less of a testament to Alastor’s humour, than it was proof he’d woken up in some strange idea of Hell where Alastor was even moderately friendly, almost flirty in his own odd way. Even if it was at his expense.
Little head. Ugh! Enough with the height jokes!
“Yeah, okay,” Lucifer laughed softly, silently mourning the loss of skin to marvel at, “get out of here,” he added, attempting to gather the last of his wits before having to brave everyone’s faces in the kitchen.
“And you say we sinners have no manners, sire,” Alastor tutted with a broad grin. “Very well. As his majesty commands.” With a little bow, he melted into the shadows.
It was only after he left that Lucifer realized the sinner had in fact called him pretty. Well, his head, but that counted as the same thing! Definitely.
So, to breakfast. For the second time in as many days, Lucifer practically tip-toed his way through the halls as he made his way to the kitchen. This time, not for the lack of wanting to slam into Alastor—he was quite on board with that—but after dinner yesterday… yeesh.
A very bad call on his part, that much was certain. His slam at Angel at the bar first hadn’t helped either, only to then interrupt Charlie, burning imprints into the table. Sheesh. For being as old as he was, he certainly didn’t very in control of himself anymore.
An apology was in order, to everyone! If they would speak with him. He’d heard the stories one night, about Charlie’s song when Sir Pentious had still been around. A song all about saying sorry, and getting your foot back in the door of another’s good graces.
He’d need all the song numbers he could get for this. Maybe a fully fledged musical. Both to make things up to Charlie, and to Angel.
Strangely enough, his empty hands felt wrong. Bringing gifts as apologies had always been his thing, and what he should have done yesterday. Instead, he landed himself back as the active ruler in hell, with a… queen? Consort? Lover? A knight?
Actually, could he knight Alastor? Promote him in any sort of sense, lest he chose to make him the official King’s consort, or worse yet, the actual Queen? For a sinner hailing from the roaring 20s, having an effeminate title might not be popular. He’d have to ask. At some point.
Lucifer halted to a stop midway down the grand staircase, hand resting gently on the gilded handrail. Eyes glued to the wide, patterned carpet glued to the massive stairs, he traced every visible thread, in colours of gold and red.
Had he actually just considered proposing to Alastor? After a meagre twenty-f*cking-four hours as…something? No. No, nuh-hu! Nope. Not happening!
Could he get away with making a clone of himself and let it beat him up? Probably not if he wanted to appear less like a deranged loon, and more like someone worthy of the throne, and worthy of being a father.
No, it would be fine. And if it wasn’t fine, it wasn’t over. He could fix it. He could fix himself, at least in front of other people. As a ruler, he had to sex the examples, right? No time like the present!
Lucifer entered the kitchen by foot, adjusting the lapel of his usual attire—which, was it not a tad too clowny for a King?—and put a smile on his face. “Good morning!” he chirped enthusiastically as the chatter immediately died down in the room.
A quiet, barely audible greeting wafted his way, stale as a day-old carcass left on the streets of Pentagram City, too putrid even for the worst of cannibals to bother with. Only Alastor looked at him properly, toothy smile easy as he glanced to the empty seat beside himself, and the steaming cup waiting.
Charlie peeked slightly at him, partially hidden beneath her bangs, just the way she often would as a child, when she’d been scolded. He gave her a soft smile, pouring all his love into it.
Now, or never. Now, or never. Now—Lucifer inhaled softly and cleared his throat. “So, I know dinner got a little tense—”
A chair scraped audibly, cutting him off. Angel had risen, but gotten no further. Looking at the spider-demon’s tall frame, he could see the quivers in him, all the way to the tips of his ears, and in the way his lower arms were clenched tightly around his middle.
Fear.
Not an uncommon reaction to his presence, especially not when he exerted his temper, a small gap in the container before he could sink it again. The Sins were rarely afraid of him, but they showed respect. Charlie, he hoped, knew he’d never hurt her. Lucifer would rather tear all six wings from his back, thanks.
But Angel? That was too much, too soon for a sinner who’d spent most of his time in hell being trampled by others. Suffering under a vicious master with an unpredictable attitude and prone to violent outbursts. Guilt settled over him like a weighed blanket.
Lucifer wanted to reach out, console the damage he’d done, but held back. Coming at him from behind would likely just make things worse. Stuck at a stalemate, Angel Dust hadn’t moved either. It didn’t even look like the sinner was breathing.
“Sire, your coffee is getting cold.” Alastor broke the silence, the very epitome of ease where he sat, all teeth and grace. And yet, the small barely-there pinch of his brows spoke to the contrary.
“Oh, right. Thank you.” As he made his way over, he noticed Husk tracking him with his eyes, and how resolutely Angel stared into the table, practically burning new imprints in the damned thing.
‘Did I do that?’ The question lingered on his tongue, unspoken for now, as he watched the way Angel seemed to morph before him, putting his own bright, uncaring persona on full display, shielding the pain and the hurt he obviously hid inside.
The very moment Lucifer sank fully into the plush chair beside Alastor’s, Angel swung his head up with a shaky exhale and seemingly popped a pair of sunglasses over his eyes out of nowhere. “Forgot I have an early shoot.” He murmured to no one in particular, but at second glance, one of Angel’s hands had been in the bartender’s beneath the table.
“Angel.” Husk tried reaching for him, grouchy face uncharacteristically overtaken with something akin to grief.
Much like his animal sin, the spider practically leaped out of the way, sneering as he held his arms close to his body. “Jeez, get off my case. S’not like we’re married or somethin’.” With parted words coated in venom, Angel beelined for the door.
The loud, resounding slam as it clicked harshly into place further cemented for Lucifer how far beyond f*cked he was where the sinner was concerned.
The pale, sparsely decorated kitchen filled with uncomfortable silence, oppressively daring one of them to be the first one to break it.
To absolutely no one’s surprise, that daring, brave soul was Alastor, who sat his empty cup down with a soft clink. “Oh dear,” he said, voice holding the same warmth as Mammon had for any toes he stepped on.
“Zip it!” The two little words seemed to force themselves out of Husk’s throat before he could even think to stop himself. Static noise rose around them, increasing to a point where even Lucifer wanted to cover his ears.
The feline immediately shrunk back in his seat at the noise, though, in the bright light, an eerie green chair was just barely becoming visible. Those great, big ears were pinned back against Husk’s head as he turned his face to the table.
It was hardly anything, really, against Lucifer’s own outburst at dinner, but the effect still hit home. Especially when, across the table, Charlie stared at Alastor with an air of stern disappointment coiling around her sure as her demonic power. A kernel of pride settled in his gut, blooming silently.
He wished he had any reason to tell Alastor off himself, but not even he was that blind to hypocrisy. Instead, he picked up the coffee Alastor—he hoped—had prepared for him, taking a long, noisy slurp. Heat flooded his face as everyone’s eyes turned to him.
The good dose of caffeine hit him like a truck, invigorating his sluggish limbs, brightening the colours of the world he saw. He felt positively perky. “Charlie,” he addressed her first, snapping those familiar eyes back to himself, “about yesterday, I’m truly sorry. I was out of line, both in speaking to you that way, and doing so at dinner.” Inhaling deeply, he locked eyes with her shining ones. Voice holding steady, Lucifer stared at his grown daughter, a child he’s failed in so many ways. That ended now, with the promise he made her. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Charlie whispered shakily, hand coming up to rub at her wet, sleep-mussed eyes. “I already forgave you, because… I was out of line too. Clearly, you already had a plan,” as her sadness grew into barely contained glee, she clasped her hands together. “I heard the broadcast—who didn’t! And I’m so, so excited! My two ‘dads’, working together.” She practically vibrated with glee where she sat, nearly shaking the table.
“Uh. When you say your two dads,” Lucifer choked lightly around the words, pointing up at Alastor’s equally rigid frame, “working together… you mean?”
“Your comeback tour! I mean, you are going to visit the rings and make your presence known like you used to, right? At least eventually, right?”
Lucifer grimaced lightly for a hot second before attempting to pull it into a smile once again. “I spoke with Ozzie before coming down for breakfast, that’s why I was late—and I am going there for a visit… to be announced, whenever he has time, naturally.”
Announcing his plans aloud as such felt like an entirely foreign concept. But he did it, and he swallowed the large lemon that was his pride in doing so.
“So exciting,” Charlie laughed, seemingly brightening the entire room with her mood. “Are you… staying or are you going back to the Palace?” Eyes identical to his own watched him, apprehension carefully concealed in them.
Beside him, Alastor had gone entirely rigid as he watched them with an air of feigned disinterest. It was odd, in a way, but already his mind had started setting up a timeline. Before Alastor, and After Alastor, they were labelled and carefully hung across the expanse in his mind.
“Going back to the Palace as it is… I can’t do that,” he admitted; to Charlie, to Alastor, and to himself. “Too many memories of the past there. Besides, I still want to see more of what you’re planning here, duckling. I’m not going to be that easy to get rid of.
Well, that was anticlimactic. Part of him had expected confetti to randomly burst from some kind of hidden pocket dimension. Just as well it didn’t.
Charlie bit her lip as she watched him, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. “If I could maybe… offer an idea? It’s nothing huge! Just… I don’t want you to go too far away again, Dad.”
The sadness thrumming just behind her words hit him like a punch to the gut. For all her positivity, she still was his little girl, afraid someone, or something was going to separate them once more. Just like so many times before. “Of course, sweetie. What’s up?” he had another sip of coffee as he waited.
Charlie’s red eyes glinted in the overhead lights. “There’s a lot of space around the hotel… why don’t you make a new Palace? Right here?”
Right here? Right there, in her own backyard. His wittle girl still wanted him that close, after everything.
His mind soared with the possibilities, all the moments they could share. “We could have Hell’s largest duckpond, sweetie,” he cackled, already seeing the nearly lake sized water between their properties, with ducks and all kinds of other birds taking up residence, thriving.
He could conjure vast stretches of trees and lucious green grass for everyone to enjoy, keeping the acid rain at bay easily.
“We could go feed them every day,” Charlie chimed in. “Oh, Dad. Please say yes?” the moment her lip pushed out, colouring her face in an adorable pout, eyes large and sweet, he knew he’d lost.
“Of course, duckling. I’d like nothing more,” he told her, no longer surprised that he actually meant it. “but it’ll take some planning and crafting, so meanwhile… I’ll just stay up at the dome.”
With Alastor by my side—Jesus, he needed to stop. “And before that again, I’ll talk to Angel, okay?”
“You will?” She blinked at him. “Did something happen, I mean, beyond dinner yesterday?”
“I said some things I shouldn’t have, and it’s my responsibility to fix it,” he admitted, downing the rest of his coffee to feel the caffeine burn through his veins for a hot minute.
Obvously, he was going to have a little boot-to-wings with a moth, in regards to a spider that for all intents and purposes on nature’s side should have gobbled him up like a mid-afternoon snack ages ago, but he couldn’t very well tell his adorably pacifist daughter any of that. Not unless he wanted an entire crash course in her well-meant meddling.
No, it was better if she didn’t know the details. Definitely.
Hoisting himself out of the chair, he quietly noted that there were no longer any scorch marks there, only intact, warm wood. Forcing the tightness in his throat away, Lucifer rounded the table instead, not wishing to mimic their stances from yesterday, opting to stand closer to Charlie.
“What is it you two told me? You make ‘em run, you bring ‘em back?” What was meant as a confident, inspiring ‘yeah, I got this!’, ended up as something closer to a half-strangled something.
Lucifer knew a thing or two about running from his problems, though, and the sad truth was that it changed nothing. Besides, as Asmodeus had so helpfully pointed out… taking these wars, breaking deals entered unfairly… yeah, that was all a part of being a Ruler.
And as King, he protected what belonged to his Court, his family.
“I’m not sure that’s exactly what Vaggie or I said, dad, but—” Charlie offered a short, nervous laughter. “Dad, Angel really doesn’t like it when his work is disturbed.”
“Ah, well, things have gotten a bit scrambled up here after all these years,” he said humorously, making the vague gesture of a circle at his temple.
“And just how do you intend to catch up to Angel Dust, sire?” Alastor piped up suddenly. Somewhere along his talk with Charlie, the sinner had started on his second cup. “He does have significantly longer legs.”
To drive his point home, the sinner let his gaze wander over Lucifer’s body, lingering on his legs before meeting his gaze again. Yeeah, f*ck him. He didn’t sound half as bitchy as usual.
“I have wings, you know,” Lucifer sniffed proudly. Bringing them out to flaunt in Alastor’s face was tempting, but the risk to his feathers, or just getting a whole wing chopped off was a little too real.
Not to mention, he hadn’t yet gotten a chance to ask about the preening—
“And this helps you how, your majesty?” Alastor arched a brow over the rim of his cup, hiding the amused tilt to his grin. “Do you even know where he’s headed?”
That was… a surprisingly good point. f*ck. Lucifer cast a quick glance at Husk. “I was assuming to work. At the Powertower? V tower? Don’t they all have their bases at that ugly building?” Clearing his throat pointedly, he hoped Husk would come to his rescue.
Apparently, that was too much to ask. Probably—read: definitely—because of Alastor’s little warning outburst.
So, what else could the Devil do but clear his throat obscenely loudly again, making everyone else turn to him with concern.
“Are you okay, Dad?” Charlie’s tentative voice, laden with worry—for his health, though it really should have been for his sanity—distracted him enough to take his eyes off the grouchy bartender.
“Do stop it with that disgusting noise, dear. Some of us are trying to eat. Is it now you hack up a lung, as they say?” To his favour, there was a twinge of disgust lingering in the corners of Alastor’s eyes. Not that Lucifer had studied them or anything in great detail. Up close and personal.
“Bite me, Al,” he scoffed and gave him the middle finger. “Between you and me, you’re the one who’d be hacking up a lung. Illness evades me like the plague.”
A warble of disjointed radio channels flitted in the air. “If you refer to the bubonic plague, dear, that is an illness.”
“I know that, asshole!” Lucifer groaned. Strangling the sinner seemed entirely too appealing, honestly. Except, all his body let him remember was those ridiculously long fingers curling around his own throat, rather than the red cup in his grip.
f*ck. This. sh*t.
The last thing any of them needed was for him to pop a stiffer in front of his own daughter from thinking about her hotelier and business partner.
“Mr. Valentino’s studio is at the tower,” Charlie confirmed gently. “But… if he’s at work I really wouldn’t advice going, Dad. Mr. Valentino gets very upset when his work is interrupted.” Lest his eyes deceived him entirely, it sounded like—no, it couldn’t be. Surely.
“Did you… Duckling, did you go there? To a p*rn studio?” Lucifer stared at her with disbelief—not because she wasn’t adult enough to do whatever she wanted, but because this was his innocent baby girl—and if that moth had laid a single appendage on his baby, there would be Hell to pay.
“You’re not the only one who has upset Angel at some point, okay?” Charlie scrubbed her hands over her face with a groan. “I made things worse, and I think its best if you just wait for him to come back.”
“Wait? No, Charlie, this can’t wait,” he said sternly, gaze shifting to the empty seat just slightly further down the table from where she and Vaggie sat.
“All due respect, sire, what exactly do you aspire to do at the tower? You have to know it will be well guarded. Bothersome television cameras in every corner, watching your every move. Surely you don’t wish to take a turf war to their home arena?”
Aren’t you a King? The words lingered between them, hanging in the air suspended by nothing but their mutual dislike for Vox. Albeit for vastly different reasons.
Lucifer stared closer at Alastor, noting how carefully he’d positioned himself, long neck tilted slightly to the side as he regarded Lucifer in turn, static warbling.
Yesterday… he’d said he allowed himself to get hurt, to not let the truth of his healing come out. sh*t, if Lucifer then up and exploded through there, even if he was looking for this Valentino fellow… screw him backwards around a rusty metal pole covered in poison oak.
“I am the King, so I can go where I want,” he sniffed after long moments of silence. “It’s not a turf war if everything already belongs to me.”
Something dark and dangerous glinted in Alastor’s eyes, black swirling his red sclera before disappearing. “Well, I suppose I could show you the way on my outing today.” He set his cup down gently at the table, the index finger of his injured hand coming up to trace the rim. A soft crystal sound lifted, but it wasn’t from the ceramic cup. “If you desire.”
Asshole. f*cking dick. Motherf*cker—
Alastor was the picture of nonchalance as Lucifer all but imploded inwards in his own mind, raging at the sultry lilt to his voice, the obvious tease. Because he was a tease! Of the highest order!
Between the giddy feeling beneath his ribs, telling him Alastor wanted to spend time with him, there was an uncomfortable thought of where Alastor was going. Who he was going to see. Sure, he’d denied working with the televised trash-pad, but he hadn’t exactly said a word about anything else. Other than goaded him about his sexual interests, no doubt comparing him to the animated drawing board. Rude.
And, furthermore, did Alastor not even realise he hadn’t been Lilith’s first? Or, did he think that was why he wanted to be someone’s first? Well, it didn’t actually matter. Not the part about Lilith, anyway.
Maybe he could just put a bit of himself on Alastor in front of those cameras. Get the sad bastard something better to get off to.
“That would be lovely, Alastor,” Lucifer drawled, entirely serious as he twirled on his heels. “Bring breakfast in hand or starve. I don’t have all day.” He was almost around the table when Charlie’s hand landed on his arm, warm and comforting.
Through lightly glassy eyes, she stared up at him. “Whatever you’re doing, Dad, just be careful?”
A mix of sadness and mirth filled him. “I always am, duckling.” He bent the way to kiss her forehead, then pinched the matching dot on her cheek long enough to be batted away with a laugh.
“Yeah, okay, I get it,” she complained, but it held no heat. “You’ll still cook tonight?” Her tone was so hopeful, it nearly hurt to think she thought he’d miss it.
Just how many plans and agreements had he missed?
“Of course!” Grinning broadly, Lucifer twirled his way to the door with a flourish. “Everything will be fine, and everyone will be home for dinner.”
The thousand-watt smile sent his way was more than he deserved for what he was about to do.
Across the table, Alastor had already vanished, leaving his seat empty and his cup abandoned. Empty, thankfully. Just like his own. He headed out before his face could betray to the others how his thoughts churned. Was Alastor doing as Lucifer expressed he desired, or was he looking to shove where he was going in his face, knowing he wouldn’t pry too hard, especially after yesterday? Or was it all because of their fight in the tower?
It was too early to try and understand Alastor’s scheming mind, and not just because it was morning. He needed to sample more, undoubtably.
Alastor stood in all his tall glory by the door in the foyer, one arm tucked gently behind his back, the other idly twirling his cane between deft fingers. The bitchy look sent his way almost made Lucifer giggle.
“You wait long? I forgot to powder my nose,” he said, grinning at the sinner as he summoned his hat at last, perching it gently atop his hair. Perfect. Fit.
“That’s funny,” Alastor said, bemused as his neck gave an audible crack. “I don’t recall you having one.”
“Ha ha, good one.” Lucifer stuck his tongue out without thinking. He had a nose, thank you very much. One blessed upon him by God upon his creation—a nose fit for the serpent of the gardens. Almost as though the role had been destined, unavoidable—
The pinpricks of claws digging into his tongue was a jarring surprise. Alastor hadn’t moved beyond his hand, and yet he looked impossibly closer, eyes glowing dimly between them. “Did I not tell you to be careful with that?”
Picking apart the look on his face was… difficult to say the least. Always was, but this was a whole different rodeo. Mirth and disapproval both seemed to swirl in the glowing bottomless pits of rubies.
“Uh,” Lucifer tried to swallow around the hold on his tongue, intimately torn between letting his skin split or not. On one hand, it could be fun. On the other…
The crinkle of Alastor’s eyes held a smouldering heat, like an unchecked beast snapping its jaws. But the corners of his lips were tense with remnants of disgust. Which. Uh. Thanks? Yeah, no. Lucifer pictured it was better to leave the analysis for another time.
Like, when his mood inevitably crashed and burned sometime mid-afternoon.
The soft pad of Alastor’s thumb pressed down on his tongue, pulling him from his thoughts, a low moan vibrating through his open mouth as the accompanying claw pressed down at the mass of the muscle. “While I am the last person to dare insinuate what course of action you should take, sire, are you prepared for what may come if you choose to do this?”
And how, just how, was Lucifer supposed to form a though coherent enough to translate to his vocal cords? His brain was immediately scrambled into a mess of ‘more!’ and vivid images of what more those fingers could do—or something bigger. Part of him felt ashamed for reacting so strongly to a mere touch, the press of a finger past his lips, on his tongue.
But with Alastor… because of Alastor… he would take what was offered. Any touch willingly given was one to be enjoyed, revered, even. Savoured.
Regretfully, the finger withdrew all too soon. “Fun as your responsiveness is, sire,” Alastor said unamused as he wiped his thumb on the lapel of Lucifer’s white coat, smearing a pale golden shimmer against the fabric, “this idea of yours is rather ludicrous.”
“You have no idea what I’m planning,” Lucifer shot back the moment his brain rectified itself in his skull, world back on its proper axis. “I’m only going over there to have a talk with a giant purple moth about boundaries.”
“The Vees are not to easily placated as you may believe, your Majesty.”
A trickle of hellfire burned to life in his gut, throat immediately tasting of ashes and warm coal. The cruel, baseless accusation resting at the tip of his tongue was searing and impatient.
Did Alastor have something personally at stake about him being near those three overlord-wannabes? “You know, I’ve grown rather fond of Angel Dust. So, please and kindly do excuse me if I justly seek to free him from a deal badly struck.” Tipping his hat, Lucifer toed past the tall sinner, hand nearly closing around the knob when he was spun around, hat flying off his head.
His body thudded audibly against the door as Alastor pushed him against it, eyes lit ablaze like twin pits of raging fire. “If you would just—” he stopped himself forcefully, bottom lip pulled taut between his teeth. Trickles of blood crept down his chin, threatening to drip off.
It was nearly a miracle he didn’t bite the whole thing off, leaving him looking like some kind of lip-less zombie. Which, given his usual diet almost could have been a more accurate look.
Sighing heavily, Lucifer looked down at Alastor’s hand spread across his chest, the red-tipped claws digging lightly into the white fabric, snagging on the golden bands between the buttons. “Do you know what I desire?” he asked quietly, trailing his gaze up the length of Alastor’s torso.
Drinking in every detail that trademark coat, the threads of differently shaded reds in the pattern, how it moved with every breath filling Alastor’s lungs. The way it hugged his lean waist and accentuated the shape of hips he didn’t actually have, all the way to the ridiculous shoulder pads he knew the sinner hid underneath there. And he knew that, because he’d traced over Alastor’s soft, bony shoulders too many times to forget their shape.
On his way up the long slope of the sinner’s neck, he caught the bob of his larynx cartilage, somewhat hidden underneath the dark red fabric stretching over his neck and throat, all the way to the sharp curve of his jaw.
“Pray tell.” Alastor’s reply was clipped, not a hint of mock in the words. Tension bled into his shoulders, hiking them up just a bit further toward his ears. All the same, the hand against his chest remained at ease. Almost comforting.
“I would very much desire that you have some goddamned faith in me,” Lucifer sneered with a scowl. “Did you, or did you not endorse my little unwilling campaign on your show yesterday?”
Poorly concealed confusion bled into the warble of static around them and Lucifer could nearly taste the shape of a question mark. “I suppose I did,” the overlord agreed, reluctantly.
“In fact, I believe I heard you utter the words ‘any Queen knowing their worth will make their King’s work easier.” Slapping Alastor’s hand away from his own person, he advanced, pushing heavily at the sinner’s shoulder. “Or did my ears deceive me?”
Alastor’s knee gave out under Lucifer’s mass, the trickle of power he sent into his flesh. A mere whisper of his true mass, his true form, one he no longer knew how to access fully, but forever lingered within the flesh he’d designed for himself.
“Do you not serve me, as you said?” Before him, his Queen kneeled, ready to be anointed and sworn in. With a look of brazen defiance.
“Why of course,” Alastor hissed quietly. A brief squeak died on his lips as Lucifer took his face in hand. Hell, it was such a cheap shot to make him bend in such a way. Take the knee and swear felty like he meant it.
And yet.
Lucifer wanted nothing more than to feel those sharp teeth nip at his lips, sharp claws at his waist.
Anger and jealousy burned in his veins, so hotly he hoped it didn’t melt Alastor’s lovely skin right off his face. “You swore to me you didn’t work with Vox,” Lucifer whispered, pulling Alastor’s head toward his own. “Would you want me to spare him, if it came to it?”
It would be excruciatingly difficult to hold back against someone who had hurt Alastor so deeply. Not only yesterday, but in the past.
Disgust twisted Alastor’s trademark grin into the realms of a grimace. Whether that was aimed at the prolonged time he was touched, the pose, or at Lucifer’s words was hard to tell. The sinner’s gleaming eyes stared up at him with open, clear annoyance. “Lucifer?”
His own name had never sounded prettier than when Alastor’s patience at last waned. Every lash framing his eyes stood out against the soft glow of his irises. “Shut up and kiss me already.”
That was permission if Lucifer had ever heard it.
He hauled Alastor up the remaining distance, lips and teeth clashing insistently against the sinner’s. There was nothing gentle, or kind about the kiss he bestowed upon Alastor.
A rough breath rattled through his chest and Lucifer took the opportunity for what it was worth, sliding his tongue between those devilishly sharp teeth. He tasted of coffee, and for some unbearable reason, apples, and it really shouldn’t have been so hot. The moan falling from his own lips was entirely too obscene for just a simple kiss, a simple dance of tongues.
f*ck, had that flatscreen motherf*cker taught him this too?
Drawing back with a nip to Alastor’s lower lip, he released the sinner fully. His lips tingled from their kisses. All he wanted to be was numb.
“Does that satisfy you, sire?” Alastor glowered at him from his kneeling position, mouth kissed soft and wet with their mingled spittle.
No, Lucifer wanted to say, it doesn’t satisfy a bit. Everyone needs to know you’re mine. No one can know you’re mine. Two sides of the same possessive bone in his body, clashing, landing at a stalemate he didn’t know how to fix.
“Yes,” he said instead, swiping the last of Alastor’s taste away from his own lips. A decidedly safer option. “Now, if you would be so kind as to let me know where I need to go.”
He held out a hand for the sinner, almost giddy as warm fingers clutched his, yet offered no weight as Alastor pulled himself to his unholy height.
“I think I’d better accompany you, your majesty,” Alastor said smugly, holding out an arm for him to take, like a proper gentleman—if one was leading a woman, or an old person. “Men your age could trip and fall any minute without supervision. Or even get disoriented and lost.
Lucifer wanted to push the sinner away, put him back in his place again. On one hand, the age jokes were funnier, because he was always going to be the oldest one in the room. On the other hand, it confused him to no end if he should take them seriously or not. Alastor had a knack for pushing the right buttons at the right time when he found them.
Deciphering the meaning behind the jokes was entirely lost on Lucifer, that was, if there even was one.
“Please try not to have a breakdown right now, sire. I just had this coat cleaned.”
Lucifer flushed golden, both at the implication of an upcoming emotional episode, and that Alastor thought his coat was minutes away from being covered in tears and snot. “Oh, f*ck you, I’m not about to have a breakdown!”
Despite his words, he hooked his ringed hand through Alastor’s elbow, setting his best scowl in place on his face.
The grin the sinner gave him was nothing short of feral. Leaning down as they walked outside, they had to look every bit the couple they absolutely weren’t. “In your words, mon cher, for that, you’d have to beg.”
His lungs would never draw breath again, of that he was certain. All his blood rushed to his head as Alastor cackled heartily, almost wheezing by the end. A want so strong his knees almost buckled rushed through him, the only thing keeping him upright as they descended the stairs from the hotel being Alastor’s elbow. Heat settled into his spine, pooling into his abdomen. He throbbed everywhere, arousal mixing with the sharp burst of humiliation.
A happy tune chirped from Alastor, quiet and subtle. The sinner was most decidedly playing with him. Stringing him along a little bit, but no more than Lucifer was already doing to him. At the very least, they appeared to be headed in the same direction.
For now.
