winterveritas
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“Alright,” Lucifer says, turning back to the counter to take the next customer’s order, “And what can I get started for yo—”
His smile pulls tight and uncomfortable across his face, surely looking more akin to a grimace than anything resembling the simple joy that was present only moments before.
Not him again…
“Do you typically take this long to acknowledge a customer, or are you just feeling especially inadequate today?” Alastor’s voice is irritatingly soothing, full of an easy confidence that Lucifer would love to say is misplaced—but, frustratingly, he can’t.
The man has been coming here for the better part of three months. Danced in on a breeze from out of town, some sort of up-and-coming audio engineer trying to wiggle his way into the recording booth, from what Lucifer had been able to gather.
Innocent. Innocuous.
It wasn’t something he’d normally have any issue with and, though their first meeting in the café hadn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy, it wasn’t outright hostile, either. There was something off about him that Lucifer couldn’t quite put a finger on—until the bodies started piling up.
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Lucifer is a touchy individual. Always has been, ever since the dawn of all creation. Snuggling with fluffy animals, his siblings, Lilith, and Charlie when she was younger, he loves—loved all of it. He’d put hands on shoulders and hold people close whenever they let him. He found comfort in touch of all forms.
For the shoe to be on the other foot, to be transported back to that fucking cage the second someone so much as brushes his elbow… It’s horrible.
It’s just what he deserves.
He’ll deal with it the same way he’s dealt with everything since he was cast down into the pit.
That is to say, he wouldn’t.
Not until he absolutely had to.
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“My heat is next month,” Alastor begins, starting to pluck at the stray hair of Keekee’s from the fluff of the sweater.
Lucifer nods slowly, hands squeezing where they’re wrapped around his upper arms. “I know,” he says easily, “I’ve got my old room just about set up again. Did you need something more for your nest? I can sleep in the same pajamas for a few nights for you… Maybe a few pairs in case the first one loses the scent too quickly.”
The tightness around Alastor’s eyes grows, and barely-there glow of green at the upper corners of his mouth begins to show.
“Um, or not!” Lucifer exclaims, throwing his hands up in front of him. "Shit, sorry, I just assumed—”
“I don’t want that,” the demon bites out, causing that sinking feeling in Lucifer’s stomach to make another appearance. He seems to realize how that sounds, since he hurriedly follows it up with, “I want you there with me.”
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“You seem to misunderstand,” Sera tells him as the platform under his feet begins to glow a blinding white-gold. “Hell will still be. You will still be. But not as you are.”
The words take root in his mind, the implications of having everything stripped away from him.
Lucifer has spent centuries wishing he could undo so many things, that he could start over from nothing and this time, this time he would do it right. He’d give anything to make those same mistakes again if it meant keeping everything that makes him him.
He hadn’t accounted for Sera swinging so severely to the opposite extreme. No longer was it a matter of doing what was required to keep Hell in check and subdued, now it was a matter of forcing Sinnerkind to atone for her mistakes.
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When Alastor had laid another body at his feet, Lucifer thanked him for following through.
The one after that, Lucifer’s eyes had crinkled around the edges in delight, and Alastor had to force himself to look away.
Their meetings were few, but perhaps that only made them feel more electric. It was a balancing act, as all things are, in killing enough to satisfy his newfound patron and also ensuring that those he slaughtered were deserving of his wrath.
If he found himself chomping at the bit to bloody his hands, it was clearly only because he could not stand the idea of such scum wandering the planet freely. It had nothing to do with the way the devil’s eyes lingered on his hands as they gripped a knife, or the way his eyes flickered between a shimmering yellow and an inferno of red with each kill.
Lucifer was, perhaps, simply an ego-swelling side effect.
That’s all.