Despite what mortals might think, music was not invented by humans. The first songs to grace the universe came from angels, not long after their creation. Celestial harmonies echoing through heaven, a symphony for the glory of God and, in Lucifer's dubious opinion, not that anyone ever asked him, boring as all fuck.
No, humans didn't invent music, but they sure did improve on it. Even the earliest techniques of smacking two sticks together in rhythm was an improvement as far as he was concerned. Music was one of the few things Lucifer really kept tabs on from the Living World over the years.
There were a few phases he wasn't really fond of –Gregorian chant came to mind, a little too close to the ol' family tunes— but Lucifer considered himself an equal opportunity music aficionado, just as likely to enjoy Mongolian throat singing as he was Lady Gaga.
Jazz never stood out specifically on his radar, but he'd been getting a new interest in it. Sometimes a person only needed a little fresh exposure to learn some appreciation.
It was the music that dragged him from a mercifully dreamless sleep. The gentle lilt of a piano endlessly winding through chords, delicate and soaring as the butterflies in Eden. But it wasn't the piano pulling him to wakefulness, it was something else. A papery rustling sound that didn't fit, an off-beat note like a snake in the garden and the metaphor pained enough for Lucifer to open his eyes.
He looked towards the music and the first sight to greet his bleary gaze was Alastor lying next to him, his chin propped on an upraised hand as he read the magazine spread on the bed in front of him. His dark-tipped crimson hair fell forward, concealing most of his face. Not all, the upturned tip of his nose was visible, leading the way on the path of his face.
Oh. Alastor was back.
He flipped a page and the mystery of that papery rustling sound was solved.
Lucifer's first sleepy reaction to seeing him was to smile. Then the shoals of sleep receded a little more and pleasure at seeing him tipped into relief. He was back from wherever he went and looked relatively unharmed, and more to the point, he came back. Either he didn't care about Lucifer's loose lips possibly sinking their ship or he hadn't heard yet.
Okay. Lucifer needed to find out which before anything else happened. He just needed a minute, was all, to collect the scatter of his thoughts before he possibly wrecked the whole evening.
"You're awake," Alastor said. He didn't look up. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd sleep around the clock."
"You could have woken me up," Lucifer pointed out. Fuck knew Alastor was the exact opposite of shy.
Proven by the withering look he shot Lucifer's way. "I believe we already established that I have no desire for part-time employment as an alarm clock. I have enough to do as it is."
That level of sass demanded a proper answer and Lucifer sat up to give him one…only for his train of thought to derail at the station when he finally got a good look at him.
Alastor was sprawled out on his belly in his regular pajamas, there was nothing new about that, it seemed to be his preferred pose for reading. Lying there with his feet raised and crossed at the ankles like a teenage girl, a lovely sight but not enough for Lucifer's thought cycle to get caught in a loop of 'oh, god, oh fuck, oh Jesus fucking Christ, oh god—'
There was a bow on Alastor's tail. Wide loops of satiny crimson with narrow threads of gold running through, knotted crisply around the fluff of his tail as neatly as the tie normally around his neck. The whole arrangement was pertly perched right above the slight curves of his ass like a coy invitation and Alastor was just lying there like everything was totally normal, like he always tarted up his tail before coming to bed, only another part of his routine like brushing his teeth.
Meanwhile Lucifer was quietly trying not to have a stroke. He turned away, sucking in a cooling breath before he humiliated himself somehow. Like coming in his pants, holy hyped-up fuck that was hot. Alastor was always just on the edge of pretty and that single bow tipped him into tantalizingly lovely.
"Are you awake?" Alastor asked, archly. "I'm beginning to have my doubts." He flipped a page on his magazine and made a static noise of interest, must be the recipe section.
"T-t-tail." Not exactly as cool as Lucifer was striving for, cut him some slack, he just woke up.
"Hm?" Alastor said distractedly. He glanced behind himself, as if somehow he'd managed to forget. The tip of his tail flicked teasingly and all the blood in Lucifer's body made a quick detour from his brain to below the belt. "Oh, that."
"That," Lucifer agreed weakly. Not particularly descriptive for the thing that was going to leave him for dead.
Alastor only returned his attention to his magazine. "You mentioned last night that the idea appealed, and I thought I might indulge you, generous soul that I am." And all holy fuck, he wriggled his ass, a deliberate little shimmy making the bow flutter, the trailing ends of the crimson ribbons shimmering against the thin silk covering his backside. "Is this what you had in mind?"
Mind? What mind, Lucifer's was entirely taken up with trying not to drool. Already he was reaching out with grabby hands, only to yelp aloud when Alastor's shadow came up between them before he could reach, the vivid red slash of its grin wide. That woke him the hell up, holy fuck, he did not need an intervention from that thing, even if it did semi-decent side work as a Lassie.
"Ah, ah," Alastor didn't even look up. "You wouldn't want to spoil the vision, now would you."
Yes, now, and immediately were the words that came to mind, but Alastor's teasing was probably for the best, anyway. Lucifer couldn't allow himself to get distracted this time and rolling Alastor into the sheets without verifying he knew what happened felt dishonest at best. At worst, it was manipulative in a way Lucifer did not like to be, King of Hell or not.
He forced himself to look away, focusing on his hands folded into his lap. "So, um. I'm a dick."
That got him a startled glance, that tiny frown line appearing between Alastor's eyes. "As in, you're declaring your status or you're in possession of one?"
"Both?" Lucifer winced. "I fucked up, I—"
Alastor wrinkled his nose in distaste and it made Lucifer want to kiss the tip. "This habit of yours of apologizing to me is getting extraordinarily dull."
"It's probably not going to stop," Lucifer admitted.
"Then let's get it over quickly," Alastor heaved an expectant sigh, "You've apologized, I accept, moving on."
Seriously? How was it that Alastor managed to make this all too easy and too difficult all at once. "You don't even know what I'm apologizing for!"
"Something exceedingly dull and/or foolish, I'm sure."
"Hey!"
"Which option is it that you're taking offense, dull or foolish?" Alastor asked, all polite disinterest.
"Both!" Lucifer snapped. He rubbed a knuckle between his eyes, trying to ward off the headache threatening to return. "Look, at the interview earlier, I. Uh. I said some stuff. On tv. Maybe you heard."
Alastor waved him off, "Oh, I never watch that drivel."
"But I should tell you—"
"No, you shouldn't." Said with a sort of deadly calm, all hints of music going silent, like the warning before a storm, "I said, I never watch that drivel. There's never anything important on it. I recommend you stay away, too. For your health, as it were."
Yeah, okay, heard loud and clear, and with the potential for property damage. No talking about it. Lucifer couldn't say he liked it, but the idea here wasn't to force an argument. Moving on, then, time to hit the second option on his mental clipboard. "I should also tell you Charlie knows about us. And Vaggie."
Finally, a statement interesting enough to drag Alastor's interest away from the wonder of his magazine. "Oh, did she finally say something? I did wonder how long she'd hold out, she's terrible at keeping secrets, I really should work with her on that."
Okay, ignoring the horror brought on by the idea of Alastor teaching Charlie some kind of lesson on how to hide shit other people should know, there was a lot of 'what the fuck' to unpack there. Lucifer stared at him, briefly speechless, before he sputtered out, "You knew that she knew?"
The look Alastor gave him was the absolute dictionary definition of a side eye. "Of course she knew, she's not a complete idiot."
Yeah, Lucifer was letting that slide, this time.
"Besides," Alastor returned to his magazine, asshole that he was, flipped to a page discussing how to properly use a love potion to keep your man in line, "she threatened me some time ago over it."
Uh. "She what?"
Alastor only waved a careless hand at Lucifer's shock, seriously, did he have to do that like a queen gesturing at her subjects. "I expected no less and I do appreciate a creative threat." His grin widened appreciatively, his eyes bright with sadistic humor. "She was rather charmingly inventive, spending time with Rosie has done her some good. Afterwards, she asked me to continue pretending that I was unaware she knew for the time being. It was such an entertaining idea, so delightfully deceitful on her part, that I agreed."
"You—" Yeah, Lucifer needed about a week to backtrack through his memory, to recall every time all three of them had been together because this. Fucking. GUY. "So, you don't think maybe she'd rather you not tell me all this now?"
Alastor shrugged. "If she did, she should have made it part of the deal."
Which she surely didn't even think about, why would she, she would never do it herself. Two kinds of people.
Alastor was obviously already bored with the topic of pseudo-patricide, his attention back on his magazine, or so one would think. Lucifer was not one, and he couldn't help staring as Alastor wagged his little hoofy feet back and forth, making the bow perched so invitingly right above his ass sway enticingly. It was like an invitation, a key to the city below and all the delights contained within, and Lucifer forced himself to look away. There was one more question that he needed to ask, then he was more than ready to play whatever fiendish game Alastor had in mind.
That was if his question didn't make Alastor lose interest entirely and he was very much afraid it would. But he had to know, a niggling idea sitting at the back of his mind; Box was obviously the past relationship Alastor wouldn't discuss; the real question was could he be something else, a maker of deals trying to warn Lucifer away from his prize without directly revealing the details. A deal could swing both ways when it came to non-disclosure and it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that Alastor might have gone to his ex in a moment of desperation.
(Must be so disappointing for you the way he lays there like a corpse when you fuck him.)
(I'm not having sex with someone else if that's your concern. I wouldn't do that willingly.)
There was nothing Lucifer could do if it were true; he couldn't break a deal made with other sinners and even if he were willing to kill Box—
oh, and he might be, he might, his daughter would hate him but
—that was fraught with its own complications.
"Look," Lucifer started, "there's one other thing." He hoped this wasn't going to go as poorly as he feared, and Alastor's impatient sigh did not fill him with confidence.
"Must you?" Alastor groaned and the pointed, teasing wriggle of his tail was almost enough to change Lucifer's mind.
Almost.
"Uh, I know you can't really talk about it, but." All that sly seduction was immediately gone, the lean line of Alastor's body stiffening as it was replaced by wariness and all Lucifer could do was mourn the loss and desperately press on. "Your deal isn't with—"
Alastor interrupted him, eyes flashing as he said irritably. "If you know I can't talk about it, why are you asking questions again?"
"It's not about the deal itself, it's just…" Lucifer took a deep breath then let it all out in a blurted rush, "Look, I get it if you can't say, but I have to ask. It's not with that Box guy, is it?"
"Box…?" Crimson eyes were briefly puzzled before suddenly narrowing. "Ah, I see. I should have known Vox wouldn't use whatever bulbs and wires in his head pass for his brain. What did you hear? And from whom, curiosity abounds!" That nonchalance was laced with poison, sweet as an old lady's arsenic cookies and belied by the way his ears were pinned back.
"I heard from him," Lucifer admitted. "He came to the hotel. I mean, one of his minions did."
Instantly Alastor was less amused. He pushed up to his knees, the static in his voice deepening and his sclera going dark, every inch the Radio Demon. "What happened?"
Lucifer pushed the blankets aside and wrapped his arms around his drawn-up legs, suddenly relieved he'd fallen asleep nearly fully dressed. He felt naked enough right now beneath Alastor's penetrating gaze. "I was trying to tell you that but you—"
"Yes, yes," Alastor waved an impatient hand, his already thin fingers nearly skeletal, the nails lengthened to claws. "Bypass my woeful neglect in not paying proper attention to your ramblings and just tell me."
Lucifer did not flinch from the force of those words, the room going darker around them, hissing static in the air.
"He brought pictures," Lucifer said. It was an effort to keep his own eyes from going crimson, just the memory of that asshole made the back of his tongue taste hot and coppery. "Of us. The two of us, mostly just standing together."
The static abruptly faded as Alastor visibly relaxed, his eyes going back to their normal crimson. "Is that all? Where are they now, do you still have them?"
Well, shit, that was a good question. "Um, I dropped them, Charlie must've picked them up."
"Ah," Alastor tutted, "a shame. I would have liked to see them."
Understandable, it was hard to defend against your enemies if you didn't know what dirt they had. "You're blurry in most of them," Lucifer said, trying to be reassuring, "looks like he still hasn't figured out how to get a good pic of you."
"Not my reason, but good to hear." Alastor tapped a sharp fingertip against his teeth, considering. "Is that all, he brought some tawdry evidence for your perusal?"
Lucifer winced, no, that wasn't the meat of it, was it, and he was more than a little worried Alastor would want to sink in his teeth. "That wasn't all. He said some…stuff. He accused us of—" Lucifer broke off, searching for a less insulting way to phrase it.
"Fucking," Alastor supplied dryly.
Close enough. "Yeah. He said some nasty shit about you and I may have, accidentally, told all of Hell that he's full of it and you're great in the sack. Something like that," Lucifer finished weakly. Ugh, It sounded so much worse said aloud.
"I see." Alastor closed his eyes, his outline wavering in eerie green and his nostrils going white at the corners. He inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly through his mouth, looking very much like a person counting to twelve. "Well, I can't say I appreciate the advertisement, but I suppose my reputation has taken worse hits than the King of Hell talking up my skills in the carnal arts."
"You're not mad?" Lucifer asked, hopefully, only for that feeble hope to be immediately dashed.
"I'm furious," Alastor said, all needle-sharp teeth and a flash of dials in his eyes. Both subsided quickly, their warning given, "but I have yet to decide what portion of that particular meal is yours. I will ask that if there is a next time, you control the urge to brag about our activities?"
"Yes." Lucifer swallowed hard; this was a little better than he'd hoped. "But you didn't answer my question about you and Box—"
"We aren't discussing it," Alastor said sharply.
No discussing Box, who was possibly but not confirmed the deal holder. Okay, heard. "Got it."
Which was why he didn't expect what Alastor said next. "That's what you were upset about this morning." It was not a question.
Lucifer shifted uncomfortably. "I thought we weren't talking about it."
"Fair enough." Alastor settled in to sit cross-legged, facing Lucifer, and he silently mourned the loss of the sight of his tail. "So long as the mood is ruined, let's discuss something else. How much do you remember from last night? I'm beginning to think more than expected but less than hoped."
Talk about a loaded question. "How am I supposed to know what I don't remember?"
"Touché," Alastor said. His smile slipped closer to teasing, the light of his eyes glittery bright. "Do you remember telling me you'd let me see your wings?"
Um, what the fuck? That would be a 'no' with a side order of 'no', supersized to 'no'. Lucifer couldn't believe he'd agree to that, drunk or not. Touching an angel's wings, even a fallen angel, wasn't something done on a whim.
Lucifer gave him a suspicious look. "A better question would be do I think you'd lie to me and say that I did?"
That teasing smile soured, shifting closer to offended, gritted teeth. "You think I'm lying?"
No. Alastor didn't lie to him, but neither did he strictly tell the truth. "I think you might be exaggerating."
"Would you be more readily convinced if I told you that in exchange you wanted to suck me off?" Alastor said testily.
"That does sound like something I might say," Lucifer admitted. Five minutes ago, he wouldn't have believed there was anything that might make sucking Alastor unappealing. Lucky him to find this particular point. Lucifer looked away, fingers twisting nervously together and the warmed metal of his wedding band ground against his knuckle as he said, "But I also think that things said while drunk shouldn't be held against someone."
"If I were trying to take advantage of your inebriation, I would have persuaded you then," Alastor said. His tone took on a wintry chill, his smile slipping to a bare curve of his lips. "You were flighty about the offer last night as well."
"Flighty. Ha ha."
"And what I recall," Alastor went on, "is pointing out that I've been quite permissive with my sensitive points, even generous, and here you are, unable to return the favor."
There was an uncomfortable truth to that, one that Lucifer didn't want to examine too closely, why the Hell hadn't he just taken the pretty tail on offer, why the fuck did he open his stupid mouth?
It was too late for regrets, they were here now. "Why do you want to see them?"
"Why don't you want me to see them?" Alastor countered.
"Oh, no, you don't," Lucifer said, his own irritation creeping out. "I'm not doing the question with a question thing all night."
"I assure you, it won't be necessary." Alastor snatched up the magazine and started crawling to the edge of the bed, wait, what the fuck, was he…was he leaving?
"Wait!" Lucifer yelped and Alastor paused, sitting back on his heels. "This isn't fair! You can't just ask me to do something and then get snitty when the answer is no. That's not how boundaries work!"
"I don't believe you get to dictate my mood," Alastor said coolly, "which, as you may recall, was already partly furious. Speaking of fairness, please do explain why I am supposed to trust you with my body and my desires, and even my reputation as an Overlord but you don't return any of that trust to me."
"I do!"
"Oh?" Alastor swung around and his gaze was as cold as his voice, eyes like crimson chips of ice. "Tell me, how did Charlie suddenly 'find out' about us? Please, give us the story around that." Alastor summoned his microphone, gesturing grandly to the empty room and a murmur of invisible voices rose around them, artificial and wrong. "The audience awaits your answer!"
"I…" It sounded so much worse looking back at it; he didn't tell her, only thoughtlessly blurted out a vivid description of fucking Alastor in front of her and how was he supposed to say that? He couldn't, he could not say that to Alastor; he was already upset about the broadcast to Hell, how could Lucifer tell him Charlie was part of a live studio audience.
"Tick-tock," Alastor said, sing-song sweet, his false audience murmuring discontentedly. "I'm afraid I need an answer or you're disqualified from this round."
"Alastor, don't," Lucifer tried, but it was too weak, barely audible.
"Cat got your tongue?" Alastor mocked, "Or can't you come up with an appropriate lie, Lucifer, are the rumors of your skills in that area nothing but lies themselves?"
"I wouldn't lie to you!"
"No, you only talk around the things you don't want to discuss. I must say, I do admire your skills in sheer avoidance." Alastor flicked his wrist, his microphone vanishing, and he started to move away again, his pajamas slippery against the sheets. "I believe I'll sleep in my own room tonight."
"Don't," Lucifer blurted, his hands automatically rising, to reach for him. "Please, don't."
Alastor sat on the edge of the bed, turned away. It put his tail on display, his beribboned point of vulnerability that he'd allowed Lucifer to touch, more than once.
"I'm tired," Alastor said, petulantly, and he sounded it. "You may recall my sleep was interrupted today more than once."
"You can still sleep here," Lucifer said, a little desperately, "I told you before, there's no price of admission."
Except for Lucifer kicking him out just this morning, unspoken and heavy in the air. Every stupid thing he'd done today was biting him in the ass all at once, and dragging Alastor along for the ride and Lucifer didn't know how to fix this. He was terrible at this and always had been.
All he had left was honesty, that he didn't want Alastor to go.
"Please don't leave," Lucifer said, quietly. Please don't leave me.
"Are you sure you trust me enough to be here while you sleep?" Snidely said but Lucifer would have to be deaf not to hear the strains of hurt, the discordant note in the warble of Alastor's voice.
"It's not about trust," Lucifer said. He forced the next words, he owed Alastor some vulnerability and this was what he had. "It's that I've never let anyone mess around with my wings."
That got a sound of surprise, static blatting, "No one?"
"No." Even Lilith never asked to see them up close and he'd never offered. He couldn't say why, only that it never happened. "Can you at least give me tonight to think about it, sober?"
"Can you let me sleep in my own bed while you do?" Alastor countered. He was still turned away, facing the door.
The thought of it ached, he was already too accustomed to Alastor sleeping next to him in their bed. But Lucifer couldn't hold him that way, he knew that, he knew.
"If that's what you want," Lucifer said quietly. "I won't try to stop you."
The line of Alastor's shoulders was tense, his spine painfully straight. "What do you want?"
Because that was what Alastor always wanted, to see if Lucifer's wants aligned with his own before he made his choice.
"I want you to stay," Lucifer admitted. He could give Alastor that, another shred of vulnerability. "I always want you to stay."
Alastor's head twisted around with appalling, neck-cracking flexibility, his grin easing, relaxing into something true. "And so I shall."
The rest of his body joined his head and he crawled back across the bed to Lucifer, moving directly into his space as he took a kiss, too hard and bordering on painful, and Lucifer accepted it gratefully, let Alastor press his tongue between his lips. The tip rubbed ticklishly against the roof of his mouth until Lucifer laughed helplessly and pushed him away, rubbing his own tongue there to try to get rid of the sensation.
"Well!" Alastor clapped his hands together and said brightly, "That entire conversation was horrible, quite worthy of Hell! I don't know about you, but I'm starved."
He snapped his fingers before Lucifer could offer to go down to the kitchen and the little table in front of the sofa was suddenly filled with white waxed cartons, steam escaping through the folded seams. "I took the liberty of pushing my order to tonight, I hope you don't mind. I did remember the vegetarian option."
Tears actually prickled and Lucifer blinked hard, chasing them away. His quiet little fantasy of eating Chinese food with Alastor was about to come true and right now, it was all he wanted. To sit with him and snark at each other and laugh and maybe push Alastor down on the sofa afterward and kiss the taste of sake from his mouth, play with that pretty little bow on a prettier tail…and…and…
I think I'm falling in love with you.
He didn't say it. He didn't even mean to think it. The words wouldn't be welcome, and he knew it. It didn't make it less true. Alastor was a psychopath, a murderer, a cannibal, all that was true. And he also liked to be the little spoon when he slept, he made amazing coffee, he tried to protect Charlie, even from herself, and he was an underwear thief. All those things could be true at once and Lucifer was starting to suspect he'd given Alastor a fraction of his heart the first time they'd ever touched, no bigger than a grain of sand.
It might take an eternity but eventually you could carry away the entire shore if you were persistent enough, a single grain at a time.
Lucifer ignored the thickness in his voice, almost choked as he said, "Keep your chopsticks out of the communal rice carton."
Alastor gave him the gift of an honest laugh and the brightness made those tiny grains in Lucifer's chest glow warm. "I promise nothing."
He took Lucifer's hand and tugged, twining their fingers together and Lucifer followed him, his eyes dropping to the sway of Alastor's hips and that tempting little bow as he led the way towards the delicious smells starting to fill the room.
Lucifer bundled all the confused, tangled thoughts in his mind away, tucked into the dusty corners for now. He could think about all that later, tear it apart in the privacy of his own mind.
For now, it was time to eat.
-finis-
Notes
Magical backlash was a unique sort of thing, if magic was even the right word for it. There were plenty and whether you called it magic, called it powers, called it whatever, the point was usually when a demon, sinner or otherwise, ran out of juice, that was it. They had to sit around and wait for the battery to recharge, not exactly the safest route when one was in Hell and never was a demon more vulnerable when they were both exhausted and drained.
It was a little different when it came to angels created by God. Lucifer didn't have powers, he was his powers, all of him made up of angelic grace contained in a physical shell and that was why he was able to shapeshift, changing the shell was relatively easy, flesh was malleable, and it was only preference that kept him in a human-ish form.
That meant he usually had plenty to spare, extinguishing his powers meant extinguishing him, but that also meant any physical ailments weren't just another story, they were in an entirely different book on the other side of the library. He didn't exactly have what could be called an immune system, every part of him was made up of the same angelic grace as his powers and anything out there strong enough to affect him physically for longer than it took to immediately begin to heal was already in another league than your basic shot of whiskey.
Which was to say, he really needed to find out what the hell was in that drink Angel gave him.
This morning he hadn't banished his hangover, he'd stepped outside of it and took his clothes with him, and that was after his normally robust powers already took a beating. The eventual bounceback left him more tired than he could remember being in millennia, maybe ever.
Sleeping away most of the day helped and so did sleeping more after copious amounts of delicious Chinese food, despite Alastor persistently stealing the water chestnuts from Lucifer's carton, like there hadn't been plenty of damn food for both of them. As it turned out, food coma combined with sex could put even the devil under the table or at least crawling into bed dragging the blankets behind him before the clock hit five pm.
When Lucifer woke again, it was with the sticky, foggy feeling of having slept entirely too much. The bedroom was still dark and beneath the blankets was baking hot, almost overheating with another sleeping body pressed tight up against his front. Seriously, as much as he wanted Alastor here, Lucifer did seem to get the short end of the stick when it came to breathing at night. The position of big spoon mashed his face right in the middle of Alastor's back and when he tried to move, their bare skin clung, his cheek peeling away like ass cheeks on a leather sofa, ugh, if Alastor wanted to play silverware drawer, he better not complain about getting drooled on at night. Either that, or they needed to stop wrecking his pajamas before bed and that seemed highly unlikely, plus a lot less fun.
His phone was on the nightstand and Lucifer picked it up, cringing from the overly bright screen. Not quite one in the morning, either too early or too late, depending on the person.
Hm, the bar was open until two, and Lucifer was still processing everything that happened in the past day, but his mouth tasted like Chinese food and death, and his tongue felt dryer than the asphalt running alongside the lava pits in the Wrath Ring. Filling a glass from the bathroom sink didn't appeal, he wanted something a little more refreshing than mediocre tap water. He could risk making a public appearance.
Lucifer slipped out of bed as carefully as he could. Not that he needed to bother, Alastor didn't even stir, sleeping deeply. He was curled up under the blankets, huh, interesting that he almost always went the fetal way when he was sleeping. Like he was making himself smaller, all the better to be the little spoon, maybe? In any case, he didn't so much as twitch over losing his big spoon, sleeping the sleep of the (in)just.
He deserved the chance to rest. Lucifer couldn't claim that he wore him out, but he liked to think he'd had something to do with it.
Alastor had already been tired and the workout he got after dinner would have exhausted the energizer bunny, and, golly gee, wasn't it just a shame about the mess Lucifer made of his fancy bow? Hey, Alastor earned that, teasing brat that he was. A guy could only waggle that pretty little tail so many times in someone's face before he got the teeth. Ruined the bow and Alastor right along with it, and Lucifer would not soon forget the sight of Alastor on his knees, back arched as he braced over the coffee table, surrounded by half-empty containers of dumplings and dubious-meat fried rice. By the end all his mocking taunts were closer to begging and fuck, Lucifer was getting hard just thinking about it.
Yeah, that little memory was definitely hitting the spank bank.
Eh, the damage had been worth it, he'd just have to get a replacement. Maybe something lacy in an arsenic green, shot through with gold, something to match Alastor's powers. It would look good with his hair and the glimmer of gold against his skin was a temptation that Lucifer didn't want to examine too closely.
He flicked his fingers, using his powers to tuck the covers closer around Alastor shoulders, better than trying to lean over the bed and possibly waking him up. Let the guy sleep, fuck only knew what he would be doing tomorrow.
Lucifer did take a second to scribble a quick note to say he'd be right back, just in case Alastor woke up and found him gone. After yesterday, seemed wise to give a heads up rather than let Alastor worry he was off having a panic attack in the basement or something. If, you know, Alastor worried, Charlie seemed to think he did, maybe. All Lucifer wrote was he went downstairs for a drink; as tempting as it was to say brb, he suspected Alastor wouldn't get the reference.
He went to set the note on the nightstand and saw the monocle case already sitting primly atop it.
Oh. Alastor was actually using it. Lucifer hadn't thought about it too deeply when he made it, hadn't allowed himself to. He reached out and traced the A, his own careful stitches wound through.
It was too late at night to deal with all the emotions suddenly clenching tight right under his sternum.
He left the note propped up against the case, forcing himself to step back before he gave into the urge to give the soft furry tufts of ears poking out from overtop the blankets a gentle rub, and grabbed up his clothes from where they were still scattered around the sofa.
Lucifer usually walked around the hotel; portaling was faster but it also kept the guests from seeing him around and as tempting as that thought was, the point of him being here was supposed to be helping Charlie, putting himself out there. Harder to do if people only saw him out of the corner of their eye, popping in and out like some kind of demonic meerkat.
Were there any demon meerkats? Seemed reasonable to think so, but there was a path of distraction he wasn't allowing himself to meander down tonight.
Tonight, he was tossing all that out the window and heading downstairs the easy way. But first, he went into the bathroom and closed the door –his portals went both ways, and he didn't particularly want to give whoever was in the lobby a view of a sleeping Alastor drooling on a pillowcase.
Fuck what they thought of seeing his bathroom, they were lucky Lucifer was wearing pants.
His precautions were unnecessary, the lobby was empty but the bar sure wasn't. Lucifer was usually down here during the day with his cup of preferably Alastor's coffee, his newspapers, and maybe one or two other guests. The only time it was crowded was when one of the therapy sessions let out and that did not tend to be a partying group.
The nighttime crowd was another beast. They were crammed in around the bar and the jukebox, Husk's normally surly expression hitting previously unseen levels of irritated.
Lucifer sat at the only empty table, avoiding the puddle of what smelled like cheap beer in the middle of it; no urges to drink mystery liquid tonight, thirsty as he was, he could afford to be patient.
Except Husk abandoned the bar when he caught sight of Lucifer and the loud complaints fell down to low grumblings when the crowd noticed who Husk was going to.
Lucifer resisted the urge to wave at them, and the deeper urge to grin triumphantly; that wasn't at all redemption-friendly, now was it, but hey, sometimes it was good to be the king.
"Not your usual time to show up," Husk grunted. He wiped the tabletop with a cloth of dubious levels of cleanliness that was at least slightly better than pools of beer.
"No, it's not, and it won't be turning into my regular. I prefer to be asleep right about now," Lucifer sighed. Husk raised an eyebrow and somehow his expression became encouraging without actually seeming to change, weird, maybe Alastor was right that Husk was meant to be a bartender. Then it hit him that Husk maybe thought something was wrong in Alastorland, and he hastily added, "I woke up thirsty, is all, and water didn't seem quenchy enough. Is there anything non-alcoholic back there?"
That subtle encouragement relaxed from his expression. Not that Lucifer blamed him, dealing with a grouchy Alastor was pretty low on his list, too. Husk considered the question, the fingers of one clawed hand drumming on the tabletop, then shrugged, a laconic roll of the shoulders.
"This is a bar not a soda fountain," Husk said, "but I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks," Lucifer said gratefully. He looked around at the crowd. All the tables were full, Frank/Hank the Egg Boi was making himself useful carting trays of drinks out to them. More demons were crowded around the jukebox and the bar itself was standing room only. "Is it always busy like this at night?"
Because if so, they might need to look into hiring another bartender. Frank/Hank could only do so much before he cracked under the pressure.
"Not usually," Husk shrugged again, "anyone who wants a real party heads into the city for the nightlife. We got more of a 'sin light' vibe around here."
Lucifer frowned. "So what's different tonight?
"Eh, there's no signal on the tv," Husk hooked a thumb at the television secured to the wall next to the bar, the screen black and silent. "Been out all night, and now they're missing 'yeah I fucked my sister', whatever the shit it is." Husk rolled his eyes, as if the very thought of such trash was beneath his lofty standards. "Maybe since it ain't working they can either start drinking or fuck off somewhere else to bitch." He raised his voice on the last part and started back towards the bar where the line was growing by the minute. "Hang out a mo', I'll be back with somethin' for you."
Lucifer nodded absently, still looking at the blank television. The TV signal was out and had been for most of the night? That was…interesting. Was it interesting? Maybe it was more worrisome considering what went down with Box today. Yesterday, hell, whenever it happened, it did happen, and the timing was a lot on the side of sus.
But Alastor never left his room, it couldn't have been him. Could it? Lucifer's understanding of Alastor's powers was limited to what he'd seen, and he already knew Alastor had a unique sort of hold over the radio waves. Hell, for all Lucifer knew Alastor used the energy worked up from sex to zap whatever TV signals were out there, weirder things happened here all the time. Sex magic was a thing for sure but if that were true, Lucifer would appreciate the heads up before he got used as the angelic version of a Duracell.
That was assuming Alastor actually had anything to do with this, of course, but one didn't hear hoofbeats and expect to see a herd of ostriches tromping by.
Something to worry about tomorrow. For now, all there was to do was wait for his drink.
Every table in the room was filled, Lucifer realized, except his, and no one was brave enough so far to come ask if they could steal one of his chairs, as if he might have need for four of them, him and his three imaginary friends. Maybe some people would think it made him look the part of aloof leader, proud and alone, above sitting with the plebs. What Lucifer saw was loneliness and the only thing more pathetic would have been waking Alastor, so he didn't have to come down alone—
"Heya, short king!"
Lucifer whipped around to see Angel sauntering over from the bar. He couldn't help smiling, pointing eagerly towards one of the empty chairs and Angel slid right into it, all lanky grace and sharp grins.
"I'm not drinking tonight," Lucifer warned.
Angel waved that off. "Eh, I don't have any of the good stuff, anyway, Smiles took it with him when he bailed on Uno the other night." Angel slouched back against the chair on his lower arms. "Speaking of, where is Mister Creepy Voice Card Shark?"
"Asleep," Lucifer admitted. Which was as good as saying he'd just left the bed he was in, you know, the bed, the one they had sex in, his and Alastor's bed, that bed. It wasn't that Angel didn't know —hell, he knew more than he should—but Lucifer felt his cheeks go a little warm. He'd be the laughingstock of every Sin in Hell if they ever heard about it, but part of Lucifer, the last shred of innocent angel fresh from Heaven, still thought of sex as something that should be at least reasonably private, broom closets notwithstanding. Alastor certainly seemed to feel that way and likely didn't want Lucifer spreading around whenever he was freshly fucked and sleeping.
The separation in his mind was ridiculous, really. Talking about coming in front of Angel, no prob, talking about coming with Alastor's involvement, not so much.
The common denominator there was obvious.
He wondered if Angel would find that amusing or pathetic, or maybe, just maybe, he'd think it was sweet.
Or it was the third option that Angel didn't even notice, yeah, Lucifer was getting carried away with his main character syndrome, he and Alastor couldn't be thatinteresting.
"Asleep?" Angel scoffed. He dug a long finger into his drink and came up with a cherry, luscious red on the clawed nail. He bit into it, a thin ribbon of crimson juice trailing down his chin and a demon one table over fainted. Lucifer fought the urge to roll his eyes, wondering if these horny morons would be as impressed if they spent some time watching Angel losing at Uno. Angel wiped up the trail of juice with a fingertip and licked it away, not even glancing at his audience. "What an amateur, it's early yet."
Lucifer doubted that Alastor deserved the amateur classification. According to that Whimsy woman, Alastor spent his living days out on the dance floor while he two-fisted shots of whiskey. He didn't get the idea those carefree ways kept up after Alastor landed in Hell, but what did Lucifer know, maybe he'd been sneaking out of the hotel every night before they'd started sharing their evenings. Hard to keep up as a party boy when you were burning the candle on both ends.
Well, Whimsy could find a new dance partner, Lucifer had plans to fill up Alastor's dance card for the foreseeable future. If Alastor let him. (please, let me.)
"Soooooooo," Angel stretched out the word like a piece of chewing gum and winked salaciously, licking at his teeth, "I gotta ask, whose underwear is he wearing today? You go for boxers, briefs, or panties?"
"No comment," Lucifer grumbled. That drink could show up any time now, he didn't really need a reminder of his drunken antics last night. If he had to remember something crystal clear, why did it have to be the moment he told Angel about Alastor's underwear thievery? "How many people have you told that story?"
"No one," Angel said, insulted. "You think I'm spreading your business out there like that? You told me not to tell."
Huh, so much for Alastor thinking Angel told every person in the porn industry. Trust a little more in their…friends? Yeah, Lucifer decided, he'd like to call Angel a friend.
Angel, not being privy to Lucifer mentally promoting his relationship status, propped his chin on his folded hands and grinned. "Fuck it, I'm pretty sure Husk wishes you could take that info back for him."
"I'm pretty sure Husk is too busy getting run ragged to care much about Alastor's possible underwear fetish," Lucifer said, glancing at the bar. Husk was pouring drinks with two hands, shoving round after round towards the chaos of the crowd. Lucifer felt a little guilty about giving him even more work.
Probably better not to mention that the whole TV fiasco might very well be Alastor's fault.
Some of Angel's cheer faded as he watched Husk work. "Yeah, he'll prolly be busy all night."
That unhappiness on his pretty face didn't feel right and if Lucifer was going to dub thee friend, he should probably act the part.
"You okay?" Lucifer asked, cautiously. It could be a question of some contention here in Hell.
Angel only nodded tiredly. "Yeah," he sighed, "Was just looking forward to sharing a drink with my buddy over there after a long day. Val was in a piss-ass mood today and tomorrow ain't gonna be better after all this shit with the television signals. Sex sells but only if you can get it on air."
"Val?" Lucifer asked, frowning, "Who's that?"
"Valentino?" Angel said, slowly, as if somehow that cleared things up. His grin widened again as he shook his head, "You really don't know much about what goes on out there, do ya."
"Not in a long time," Lucifer admitted, then, impulsively, "Would you help me learn?"
"Me!" Angel said, surprised. His eyes narrowed, considering, and Lucifer waited for him to ask what he'd get out of it, forcibly reminding himself not to be disappointed. But Angel surprised him again by asking, "Why not Smiles?"
Ask Alastor to give him a highlight about the current Overlords of Hell. Yeah, right, Lucifer was a decent enough cook to know a recipe for disaster when he saw one.
"Alastor is not a great source for information," Lucifer said dryly. "Especially if it bores him. Ten repeats of 'nobody important' isn't spectacularly helpful."
"Heh, yeah," Angel snickered, "I can see that. I can help a little, but I'm not really up on all this shit, we'll have to drag Husk over as a pinch hitter once we get past the basics." He looked down at the table, his long nails tapping against his glass. "Val is my boss, he's an Overlord, and he's one of the Vees."
Oh. Heavily implied that 'boss' meant like Alastor was Husk's boss, and considering Angel was a porn star, Lucifer suspected his duties were a little different than serving drinks. Well, that was what it was, wasn't anything to be ashamed of and Lucifer only nodded solemnly. "Should I be taking notes?"
Angel laughed and shook his head. "You got jokes, sweet cheeks. Maybe next time. Okay, so there's Valentino, Velvette, and Vox," Angel counted each one on a pink-tipped finger, "group of Overlords who work together, call themselves the Vees."
Vox. Television guy. Right. Who was likely in a poor mood too over his lack of television signal to pump out more inane trash for the masses.
"That's unusual," Lucifer said, slowly, "Overlords are usually a solo act with a few crossover events."
"It's a bitch all right—hey!" Angel yelled suddenly, "This ain't the downtown district, put that down!"
Angel was on his feet in an instant, storming over, all four of his arms scolding in tandem, to yell at a couple of guests who were both holding chairs over their heads in a prelude to throwing or perhaps bashing against someone. Both of the demons lowered their impromptu weapons, shoulders hunching as they meekly bowed to Angel's brand of justice.
Not that Lucifer wouldn't have stepped in, but it was better to let them handle it. No reason to bring in the power washer if a squirt gun would work.
All too soon it became apparent Angel wasn't coming back, especially when Angel threw an apologetic look his way. Giving the slightly inebriated, television-deprived demons a flirty sort of distraction and Lucifer could only shake his head in bemusement to see it was working, especially when Angel started singing and a dozen less talented and more drunk voices joined in.
As much as Lucifer liked to pin the possibility of property damage on Alastor, the guests were the ones most likely to tear shit up. Sure, Alastor had the size to do some real damage but little things like broken chairs and burning holes in the carpet tossing aside cigarette butts still added up. Tomorrow when he came downstairs, he'd make sure to stop in the bar and see if Husk needed some help cleaning up.
And here he was, alone again in a crowd. There were little coasters on the table with a cheery Hazbin Hotel logo and Lucifer picked one up to fidget with, wondered absently if Charlie designed them. He wondered if Alastor was still sleeping. He hoped so or if he wasn't, Lucifer hoped he saw the note and didn't think he'd been ditched.
Thinking of notes reminded him and Lucifer dug into his pocket, feeling around until he came up with a crumpled piece of paper. He pulled it out, smoothing it on the table, and with a fingertip, traced the elegant scroll of letters that absolutely did not belong on a post-it note.
'I, Alastor, Radio Demon, Esq., do declare to believe Lucifer Morningstar on his lack of shame in perpetuity'.
At least one of them believed in his lack of shame.
His memory of last night was still a little blurry, a smeary watercolor mess of moments and the most frustratingly missing one was his discussion about his wings with Alastor. It would be nice to know what the fuck he did, or didn't, say. Lucifer wasn't accustomed to forgetting things this way and couldn't say he liked it.
Thinking about his wings made them stir restlessly in the little dimensional pocket they were hidden away in. He didn't bring them out often, in fact, since Charlie came back into his life, he'd had his wings out more than he had several centuries beforehand. They were always there, of course, just tucked away, an unused tool waiting to be necessary again.
His connection to his wings was hard to explain to someone who didn't have a pair of their own, like describing color to a blind person. How could he possibly explain their connection to the ethereal, to the angelic grace of his powers.
The best he could come up with was they were almost like antenna, in the loosest of ways. Damaging them or losing them entirely wouldn't sever his power, he was his power, but it would make it harder to control, the difference between a swordsman wielding a rapier and bludgeoning with a baseball bat.
(fuck, he'd never be able to think about baseball bats the same again, would he)
They were a part of him as much as his ears or his fingers, every feather made up of the same grace. Up in Heaven, wings out were the standard, no one would even consider tucking them back, why would they? It wasn't until Eden, when Lucifer saw the first humans, saw Lilith, that he began hiding his away.
Looking back on it, it was maybe a little pathetic. Torn between wanting to leave her in awe and wanting to be with her. He'd wanted to know her as a man knew a woman, not an angel. Wings didn't really fit the part, since whoever did the final design on Humans left the feathery bits out.
Strange, wasn't it, how Lilith changed him in some ways or maybe he'd changed himself for her. He'd never thought much about the gear downstairs before Lilith, either, and they put that to plenty of use. She'd been the one to teach him how sex worked and he'd gone at it with the enthusiasm one would expect of a eons-old virgin learning the pleasures of the flesh. Wings would have only gotten in the way.
Then they fell. He didn't bring his wings out for a long time after the fall, they hadn't slowed his descent one fucking bit and moving them hurt, physically hurt, every part of him hurt from hitting the ground. He remembered that bit a little too clearly. Wandering around Hell, aching and terrified and alone until he found Lilith again, as terrified as he was.
Later, it was hard to bring them out without remembering that Heaven was lost to him, no matter how high he flew.
Hiding away his wings wasn't the only change, either. Other physical attributes manifested, demonic ones, and most of those aspects were also hidden away unless he called them forth. He could walk around like that all the time, if he wanted, all red eyes and flaming crown, but eh, it took a little concentration to keep it up and flaming crowns looked cool until one day you stood too close to the curtains.
It was funny, really, angels thought they were so much better, hiding away up in Heaven but the strength of his power hadn't changed when he fell, he could still do everything he could do before and then some; what he'd really lost was Heaven, his siblings, his family, and considering how they treated him at the end, well. Much as he hated to think it, maybe it was a good thing he could never return to Heaven because he was more than a little afraid he might, the way a beaten dog would still crawl back to its master if it could.
Better not to have the choice.
In some ways, it was better to be in Hell, away from the rules and judgement of Heaven, embracing his demonic side. Come to think of it, Lilith always liked the demonic aspect of him, sex while in possession of a tail was not to be overlooked.
His angelic side, she'd always been more ambivalent about. She never exactly discouraged him from using his wings but, when you were with someone long enough, you got a feel for them, knew things without them having to say a word. Maybe that was a manifestation of her own trauma; after all, he wasn't the only one Heaven abandoned.
They'd been lovers from the beginning but at the moment of the Fall they'd been trauma victims clinging to each other. Falling sucked, Hell sucked, but being with Lilith made it if not worth it, then bearable, more than.
Only ten thousand years passed and things change, wasn't that the bitch of it? Things always changed, eventually, no matter how you tried to cling to the way things were.
Marriage was an unspoken language in a lot of ways and at some point, Lucifer started to forget the words of it. Part of him would always love her, always miss her and what they'd had but…it hurt less to think about it these days, huh, wasn't that a thing. When she'd first gone and taken Charlie with her, he'd felt like there was a gaping hole in his soul and now? Maybe…just maybe, he was finally getting past the most painful part of mourning. Sure, it took him a long time, but there was a lot of time to mourn.
It wasn't about Alastor, he was the red herring, heh, literally in his case. It was about Lucifer and where he wanted his life to go, the direction he needed to choose.
Lilith left him behind a long time ago now, but he'd abandoned her first without ever taking a step out the door. In the end, none of that mattered, there was no going back, and he knew there was no way to change the past. Yeah, he damn well knew that lesson, learned it painfully.
He looked down at his wedding band, the mark of the vows they'd made to each other kneeling on the grass in Eden, absently twisting it on his finger. He wore it mostly out of habit now, but maybe it was time to stop reminding himself of love lost and promises broken, maybe—
The thump of a glass at his elbow nearly made him fall out of his chair without even a drop of booze and he almost flung the ring across the room out of sheer reflex. Instead, he clenched his fist to keep it where it was and turned to the bearer of his beverage, Husk, who grunted out, "Here ya go, got a Shirley Temple."
Lucifer swiped a hand over his face and told his heart to chill, only Husk could scare the shit out of someone in a crowded room. "Are you giving me a drink or setting me up on a blind date?"
Husk only snorted, "You don't need any more blinders than you already got."
Rude.
Even ruder, the drink he'd been given was bright pink and had a damn crazy straw curlicuing its way overtop the glass. Lucifer looked at it then at Husk, who was unashamedly smirking at him, see, this attitude was how he lost his soul to a guy like Alastor.
"Thanks a lot," Lucifer said and flipped him off. Husk only chuckled and headed back to the bar, leaving Lucifer with his kiddy drink and was he using the straw? You bet your ass he was, he was taking the damn thing with him.
He took a sip of dubious pink and once that cleared, sucked half the damn glass up with a single gulp, lord, he was thirsty, and kiddy drink or not, it tasted amazing.
Condensation was dripping down the side of the glass and, since Husk didn't bother with the coaster, spreading across the table. It soaked the corner of the post-it before Lucifer could save it, snatching it up before the tiny paper could be ruined.
He set it back down on a dry part of the table, traced the words on the wrinkled paper again and this time he summoned a touch of power, smoothing the paper and leaving it as fresh as when Alastor pulled it from the pad. He really did have lovely penmanship, or at least he did when he tried, Lucifer had seen the chicken-scratch scrawl across some of the hotel paperwork.
'I, Alastor, Radio Demon, Esq., do declare to believe Lucifer Morningstar—'
Lovely penmanship, lovely little tail, lovely face.
Lucifer took in a deep breath and let it slowly out. Okay. He'd let Alastor see his wings, let him give them a once-over if that was what he wanted. What was the worse that could happen, he trusted Alastor not to chop them off or get out the Buffalo sauce.
He did trust him that much, right?
Right?
Besides, the agreed on terms, whether he remembered them or not, seemed to be he got to suck Alastor off as a reward. Lucifer was planning to hold Alastor to it, thanks, he'd waited long enough for his chance.
He finished his drink, straw crackling at the bottom of the glass and then he stole it, flicking it dry before shoving it into his jacket pocket. The post-it he tucked into the other side with more care along with half a thought to tuck it into his sketchbook when he had a chance. He gave Angel and Husk both a wave, got a blown kiss and a rude gesture in return before heading towards the door, leaving them to it.
This time he took the stairs. The empty hallways gave him a minute to settle his inner turmoil before he got back to his room.
The bedroom was still dark, the stillness only broken by the faint tinkling of piano keys, a soothing, meandering piece and Lucifer knew from past experience soft music could pop up at any time of night. Huh, did Alastor have, like, a mental playlist setup before bedtime or did he have his internal settings on shuffle for the night shift? Curiosity abounded and Lucifer decided he'd ask. Even if he didn't get an honest answer, what he did get was bound to be entertaining.
Most disappointing was that Alastor moved while he was gone, taken his wagon train across the great plain of the king-sized mattress, and ended up curled beneath the blankets closer to his edge of the bed.
Now there was a conundrum. If Lucifer tried to hop back into the big spoon position, touching Alastor was almost guaranteed to wake him up and that was the last thing Lucifer wanted to do; Alastor was exhausted, the past week had been a lunatic roller coaster even by Hell standards. Alastor needed his rest and if Lucifer accidentally woke him, he might think Lucifer did it on purpose for another round. Worse, he might not think that and offer anyway, and even worse than that, Lucifer was afraid he wouldn't be able to resist taking him up on it.
Worse yet, Alastor might wake up on the grumpy side and a torn canopy was one thing. Any more damage and they'd really need a new bed, and Charlie knowing and Charlie knowing they needed a new bed were two entirely different things.
Sad as it made him, best not to risk it. Lucifer stripped off and climbed back into bed, staying on his side and letting Alastor be. Maybe Alastor would have moved away even if Lucifer hadn't left and if he wasn't in the mood for touching, Lucifer wasn't about to force it on him. Consent and boundaries, right? Chances were he'd end up back over here, anyway, probably crawl halfway on top of Lucifer and try anew to suffocate him.
That was fine, Lucifer didn't actually have to breathe, it was just habit-forming.
He settled in to sleep and tried not to think of how much colder his side of the bed was when it was only him in it.
Breathing wasn't the only thing habit-forming around here.
-finis-
Series