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Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell, Sin of Pride, Adversary to Heaven, Fallen Angel, and supposedly ‘5-Star, Flawless, Greater than Great,’ had been moping in the spare lounge for a solid week now. Not that Alastor cared, of course, other than the fact that he quite liked the spare lounge. It was quiet and blissfully solitary. It had an excellent and extensive collection of novels, an antique radio shined to perfection, and most importantly, no television.
So it was at the very least inconvenient that the King had chosen Alastor’s favourite spot in the obnoxiously shiny new hotel to sulk in. In fact, it was inconsiderate, really, that he was hogging the room.
To that end, Alastor had decided he’d had quite enough of waiting for Lucifer to get over his bout of melancholy. He’d had a long day, and he wanted to spend his evening relaxing.
To that end, Alastor dropped into his shadow with a thought and slipped into the room. He paused only briefly to glare with no small amount of distaste at an abandoned donut box left mostly empty and partially crushed on the floor and returned to corporeality next to the couch Lucifer was draped across.
“Well, this is quite pitiful,” Alastor said, leaning over Lucifer, “You know, most people have the courtesy to engage in depressive episodes in the privacy of their own room.”
Red eyes flicked open, and Lucifer almost managed a baleful glare before rolling over and mumbling something into the couch cushions.
Alastor reached out and prodded Lucifer in the side of the head. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch it through all that pathetic self-loathing.”
Lucifer flopped over and fixed Alastor with a proper glare this time. “I said all the rooms are mine; I made them.”
“I was under the impression you’d made them for Charlie.” Alastor tapped his finger against his chin as if thinking about something. “Well, I guess I’ll go let her know you said it was your hotel, not hers.”
Just as Alastor turned as if to walk away, Lucifer’s tail lashed out suddenly and wrapped around his wrist, tugging him back, “Don’t start shit you can’t finish, sinner.”
It was admittedly somewhat distressing to find he could neither tug his arm free nor turn into a shadow and slip away, but Alastor played it off with as much ease as he could muster, “Please, as if a slightly cutting insult wouldn’t finish you entirely right now.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes and stood finally, tugging again with his tail and drawing Alastor closer, “I could finish you with an errant thought.”
Alastor winced as the grip on his wrist tightened, and then Lucifer was letting go and slumping back onto the couch.
“Go away,” Lucifer waved one hand dismissively.
Well. That wouldn’t do. “I don’t think I will; this is public space, so you’ll simply have to share.”
Alastor turned on one heel and sat on the adjacent sofa chair, rifling through his mind for the best music choice even as he sent his shadow to retrieve a book.
Lucifer was glaring again, but then he simply rolled back over, curling up into the cushions again.
The radio clicked on, and Ethel Waters’ Sweet Georgia Brown started to play, and Alastor scowled down at the book his shadow had delivered.
He had not meant to play this song.
Back in his day, they’d called what Lucifer was clearly afflicted by melancholia. Alastor was unfortunately quite familiar with the phenomenon, as his own mother had often suffered from it. Toward the end of her life, Sweet Georgia Brown had been one of the few things that could get her up and out of bed.
At least it didn’t seem to be budging Lucifer, but the reminder was discomforting to say the least. As was his shadow now lurking near Lucifer with what one could only describe as concern.
Aggravating. That’s what this was.
Alastor snapped his book back closed and set it on the side table, glaring at the object of his frustration. It would be so much easier to hate Lucifer if he’d stayed that boastful asshole he’d been on his first day. But he hadn’t. He had inconveniently become a person over the past month.
An annoying person who put too much sugar in and on everything, who whistled incessantly when cleaning, and stuck his forked tongue out when concentrating like some tiny halfwitted lizard. But a person nonetheless.
“Oh, enough,” Alastor finally said. “It’s time to get up, or this will never get better.”
Lucifer rolled over again, his brow lifting in confusion. “What do you care?”
“I don’t,” Alastor said automatically, and then he sighed, massaging his temple with one finger. “I simply can’t stand this wallowing.”
Lucifer’s face fell back into a neutral apathy at that, “Go someplace else then.”
“I-“ Alastor stopped and shook his head before standing and taking two steps forward to stop squarely in front of Lucifer, holding one hand out, “No, come on, time to get up; you have all of Hell to rule and a daughter to care for.”
Lucifer blinked once, and for a moment, Alastor thought he might roll back over. Then, hesitantly, Lucifer sat up and placed one hand in Alastor’s own.
There was an unnatural heat to Lucifer that radiated through him, but Alastor didn’t mind that so much. Far better to be warm than clammy and cold. He tugged and pulled Lucifer to his feet. Now what?
Lucifer tilted his head up and then to the side. “Now what?”
Indeed. But Alastor knew well enough, although he’d admittedly not kept up on the latest literature on such a condition, that there needed to be something to do, “Now we clean up.”
A faint smirk lit up Lucifer’s face for a moment, a hint of mischief, and he snapped his finger. In an instant the lounge was as clean as it had ever been, plates and old donut boxes vanishing as if they’d never been there at all. Even Lucifer himself was cleaned up, his once crinkled clothing smoothing and adjusting back into proper order. “And now what?”
The radio clicked over to a new song—the opening notes of Mississippi Mud ringing through the lounge. And Alastor had an idea, perhaps a bad one, and yet, “Do you know the Charleston?”
“You want to dance?” Lucifer sounded skeptical, but there was a hint of curiosity there. “With me?”
“Nothing like a good dance to get the spirits up,” Alastor said cheerily.
“Alright,” And then there was that smirk again, full of mischief and something else Alastor couldn’t place. “Try to keep up.”
One song in Alastor was forced to admit at least privately to himself that Lucifer was good, very good in fact. By the third song he’d all but forgotten that this had been a plan to get Lucifer out of his melancholia.
It was shockingly fun trying to keep up with the little king. And Alastor was mildly stunned to find an errant thought that he should invite Lucifer to Mimzy’s club next time he went wandering through his mind.
The third song wound to a close, and Alastor found himself much closer to Lucifer. Lucifer looked up at him with a faint golden blush on his cheeks and a soft smile that was admittedly beautiful to behold. Like some great and ancient marble statue from ages past.
“You know, you’re pretty lovely when you’re not insulting me,” Lucifer said before his blush suddenly intensified.
“I—uh oh,” Alastor fumbled for a response and was somewhat stunned to find no reply available. He should insult him now and return to their usual rapport of sniping back and forth. But somehow he was finding he didn’t want that.
Lucifer stepped back and shook his head like he was trying to knock himself back into reality, “But I guess it’s back to arguing now that you’ve gotten me off your favourite reading spot, huh?”
He’d known?! Of course he had. Lucifer had probably chosen this spot to mope specifically to irritate Alastor.
And Alastor wanted to be mad. He really did want to. But somehow after dancing, he just didn’t have it in him. So instead, Alastor just reached out with one finger to bop Lucifer approximately where his nose would be if he'd had one, “Who says I want to?”
Lucifer blinked and jerked back slightly with a startled look on his face, and then slowly it expanded into a smile that almost looked … fond? Then Lucifer shrugged, “Alright, you win.”
“Of course I did,” Alastor said smoothly, although he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d won in this case, or what for that matter.
“Well then, goodnight, Alastor,” Lucifer said, taking a step back and heading for the door.
Alastor didn’t reply, frozen to the spot, instead trying to recall if Lucifer had ever actually used his name before. He felt almost certain he hadn’t. He’d used sinner, deer-boy, bus-boy, Bambi, Rudolph, and once Antlers—but never once before had it been his name.
Alastor grabbed his book back up, settled on the couch, and decided not to think about it. After all, he was sure everything would be back to normal tomorrow.
Except, of course, it was not.
It started at breakfast. As Alastor had been firing up the burners for some simple scrambled eggs, Lucifer wandered in, poured some coffee, and then hopped up to sit on the kitchen island. He then proceeded to watch Alastor make scrambled eggs all while chattering happily about his latest plans for an animated duck shower curtain that could offer you the precise bath product you needed.
Then in the mid-afternoon, when Alastor decided to go over the books in the office, Lucifer just sort of popped into being on one of the office chairs and proceeded to spin in slow circles while staring at the ceiling.
Somewhere after a solid hour of making sure the hotel was ready for tax season, Lucifer had oh-so-helpfully supplied that all taxes were ultimately funnelled back into the Morningstar accounts.
Which meant, of course, that all of Alastor’s meticulous paperwork was, in the end, a massive exercise in futility. They were calculating taxes to send to Lucifer, only for him to turn around and send it right back into Charlie’s account.
And then Lucifer was there again in the evening as Alastor tried to wind down in the spare lounge. Alastor wasn’t even sure when Lucifer had arrived and curled up on the sofa chair, scribbling into a notebook. He only knew that partway into his book he’d glanced up to find Lucifer already comfortably settled.
“Are you following me?” Alastor demanded finally.
“No.” Lucifer didn’t even look up from his notebook, but his face was lighting up with that golden blush again.
“Why are you following me?” Alastor pushed, snapping his book closed and standing.
“I just said I’m not,” Lucifer insisted.
Alastor stomped closer, clamped his hands on either arm of the chair, and glared down at Lucifer.
Wide red eyes stared up at him, and for a moment, Lucifer’s mouth made a tiny ‘oh’ expression that verged somehow on being almost sweet. No, wait. What?
Alastor started to pull back only to be halted by Lucifer reaching out and gripping onto the lapels of his jacket, “Why aren’t you insulting me anymore? I’ve given you ammo all day long.”
“Maybe I don’t want to,” Alastor said, turning his gaze away, “And you still haven’t properly explained why you’re following me.”
“It was fun.” Lucifer’s grip on his jacket tightened a little.
“Following me?” Alastor was officially confused.
“No, dancing with you, so I thought I’d see if you were fun... in general, I mean,” Lucifer finally let go and sighed, “I can leave you alone.”
Alastor stared down for a moment and then cleared his throat. Why did he feel so warm all of a sudden? “I’ll have you know, I am a riot.”
"Is that so?" Lucifer was suddenly meeting his eyes, leaning forward and watching him with anticipation. "Well, I guess we'll have to put that to the test, won't we?"
That forked tongue flicked out for a moment, and then slowly Lucifer was reaching forward to cup his face so tenderly Alastor nearly flinched; he felt frozen, uncertain, and yet...
"Can I kiss you?" Lucifer asked, head tilted to the side.
Alastor wasn't entirely certain how they'd gotten from dancing to this, but he could admit he was at least a little bit intrigued. After all, who wouldn't be interested in the attentions of the King of Hell? It was a perfectly normal response, really. Not strange at all. Well, perhaps strange for Alastor, but he'd never shied away from new things that captivated his attention before; there was no reason to stop now because it was something outside of his usual wheelhouse… right? Right.
Lucifer's hand started to pull away, and his face had started to fall, and that Alastor did not like at all.
Alastor caught Lucifer's hand with his own and leaned a little closer, "Let a man think a little first."
A smile lifted Lucifer's face, and he pressed his hand back into place more firmly this time, "My apologies."
Admittedly, while kissing wasn't something he'd normally consider at all, Alastor had to admit he couldn't help but want to see where this went; he wanted to see how it would go. "Yes, you may."
Lucifer's smile broke into a full-blown grin, and he was suddenly much closer and pressing in. It was strange, but shockingly soft. It also made clear just how unnaturally smooth Lucifer's skin was; even up close, he was the absolute semblance of perfection. After another moment, Lucifer pulled back and let out a soft sigh. "Well, how was that?"
Alastor contemplated it for a moment, and this time Lucifer waited patiently. It wasn't as if Alastor had never experimented before to see if there was something there he was missing, but it had never felt like this. Each fumbling attempt at a kiss before had ended in disappointment for everyone involved. But this had felt and been different than any kiss he'd ever tried before. Different enough, in fact, that he couldn't help but be intrigued, "I think I'd like to experiment some more with this."
"You would, huh?" Lucifer's smile still hadn't faded, and Alastor decided this was his preferred look for Lucifer. "Well, maybe we move to the couch then; it's easier than you leaning over me like this."
Alastor glanced at the couch and then back at Lucifer before climbing into the sofa chair next to him; it was a rather large chair after all.
Lucifer actually let out a small laugh and then shifted to leave enough seat for Alastor too, "Or here is good."
Alastor stretched his legs out over Lucifer and the arm of the chair, while Lucifer curled one arm around his back, and oddly Alastor found he quite liked this part of it, a hand holding but not keeping him there; it wasn't quite a reaction he knew what to do with, so instead he turned his attention back to Lucifer, "Shall we then?"
"You know, somehow I didn't expect this to be where today would go. I mean, you're you," Lucifer murmured, drawing Alastor back towards himself with his free hand.
Alastor shrugged and ran his own hand into the hair along the nape of Lucifer's neck. He was delighted to find it was as soft as it looked, like touching down feathers, "I contain multitudes."
--
Five Months Later
Alastor realized as he approached the hotel that he might be a little tipsy. His night out with Mimzy had gone swimmingly, his expulsion of her from the hotel now entirely forgiven, and she’d even let slip some particularly good intel on Vox’s plans. Where she’d gotten the information he wasn’t certain, but whatever her faults, Mimzy didn’t lie to him, and that meant it was useful. The night had been a rousing success, all things considered.
He could hear Husk and Angel still at the bar as he stepped through the front door, but he walked straight past. He had a very specific goal, and as entertaining as mocking them might be, he was craving something else that evening.
Down the long entrance hall and then into his shadow to slip into and directly up the elevator shaft. There was a small stumble as he reformed in front of the door of his intended target, and he was forced to admit he might be a little more than tipsy, at least privately to himself. No one else had seen after all.
Before him stood a large pair of doors, each shaped like half of an apple, painted a bright white with gold and red designs swirling across its surface. Alastor would have simply slipped underneath the door, but in the past several months he’d become certain the designs served more of a purpose than aesthetics. It was a purpose he wasn’t particularly eager to try out for himself, but it did make him feel all the safer when he was on the other side of them.
He rapped his knuckles against the door twice and used his free hand to adjust his bowtie into place.
The apple split open with the barest whisper of sound, and Lucifer looked up from his workbench, a soft smile lifting his features into something warm that Alastor wasn’t quite ready to think about.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be home tonight,” Lucifer said, placing the chisel he’d been holding down.
“Well, here I am,” Alastor spread his arms and let his grin stretch wide as he stepped into the room. His belongings had started to accumulate here. A small radio on the shelf, his spare monocle on what he’d come to think of as his side table, and his clothes in the dresser.
The doors snicked shut behind him, and Lucifer dropped to the floor from his stool with a sharp click of heels against the real (and how that was possible Alastor didn’t know) oak flooring, “I’m glad.”
“Of course you are,” Alastor closed the distance and couldn’t resist running his claws through the silky blond strands of Lucifer’s hair. It felt as lovely as it always did, smooth and soft.
Lucifer’s nose wrinkled slightly, and then he chuckled, “Out drinking, huh?”
“Is it so obvious?”
“Only when I stand this close,” Lucifer looked contemplative for a moment, “Would you like a nightcap?”
“What did you have in mind?” Alastor asked even as he let Lucifer take his hand and lead him toward the window seat.
“For you a little of that apple liqueur I made, for me perhaps something a little stronger; I seem to need to play catch-up.”
Alastor settled into the plush seat and raised a brow. “Can you even get drunk?”
“If I want to,” Lucifer shrugged.
“But only if you want to?” Alastor nudged Lucifer in the side with one finger.
“Well, an angel can’t be poisoned typically, certainly not by something as basic as alcohol, but if I want to shift some things around, make them a little less efficient, I can get drunk.” Lucifer gestured, and two sherry glasses appeared on the table; the one closer to Alastor was contained liquid of a pale caramel colour, while the one closer to Lucifer was crystal clear.
Alastor scooped the one closer to him up and peered dubiously at Lucifer's glass. "And how will that much allow you to catch up?"
"Well, it won't taste great, but it'd probably strike anyone who's not me blind," Lucifer grinned and swiped up his own glass before holding it toward Alastor's own. “À votre santé!”
Alastor clinked his glass against Lucifer's and chuckled; it hadn't been a common phrase for cheering with Alastor's crowd while he'd been alive, but he did appreciate Lucifer trying, and at the very least, it was pleasant to hear French on occasion. Alastor sipped at his own drink, a crisp sour apple flavour filling his mouth and pinching his cheeks a little, while Lucifer threw his entire drink back in one go.
Lucifer made a soft hiccup sound for a moment and then placed his glass back down before immediately climbing closer across the window seat and curling up against Alastor, "I missed you today."
"How terribly saccharine," Alastor murmured, finishing his own drink and then leaning back into the cushions, drawing Lucifer with him as he did so. He'd missed Lucifer too, but to say so out loud felt too big. Not that Lucifer seemed to mind.
"That's me, saccharine," Lucifer sighed, settling in on Alastor's chest, "Easily one of the better things I've been called."
"I can think of a dozen titles of yours I'd prefer over saccharine," Alastor needled even as he ran his fingers through Lucifer's hair absently.
Lucifer tilted his face up and shook his head fondly, "Of course you can."
Alastor leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Lucifer's forehead before settling back against the cushions. "What did you do today?"
"Oh, you know, changed one of the bedrooms into a games room for Charlie, finished building those salad tongs, started a new carving." Lucifer squirmed up until their faces were nearly level, and he was settled into the crook of Alastor's arm. "The usual."
"And what are you carving now?" Lucifer had gone through several hobby phases since Alastor had gotten closer to him: pottery, macramé, and something that involved layering paper; most recently it was wood carving.
"It's a surprise," Lucifer grinned and pressed a kiss to Alastor's cheek, "Because I know you love those."
"I hate surprises." Alastor did his best to deadpan, but it was hard when Lucifer kissed him again, but on the other cheek this time.
Lucifer shrugged. "Deal with it."
Alastor allowed himself an exasperated sound but only wrapped his arms around Lucifer a little tighter.
"And what did you do today?" Lucifer asked.
"Oh, you know, planned the inevitable downfall of my enemies," Alastor let his smile stretch back into his best gruesome smile and upped the static in his voice, "And then had a few drinks with Mimzy."
"Mimzy," Lucifer looked puzzled.
"You've been calling her 'that Flimzy girl' for the last year," Alastor supplied. When he'd first met Lucifer, he'd thought his rampant misnaming of people had been a sign of his lack of respect or care. It wasn't until he'd gotten to know Lucifer that he realized he had known so many people and so many words that he truly struggled to keep them all ordered in his mind. If Lucifer was truly distracted enough, he'd occasionally slip into ancient languages so long dead that Alastor couldn't place their origin at all.
"Oh, right, right, she interrupted us," Lucifer nodded, and Alastor noted his cheeks were well and truly flushed now; clearly, the alcohol was taking effect. "Well, try not to get into too much trouble."
Alastor felt the very distinct shape of Lucifer's tail wrapping around his ankle even as he let out a soft laugh, "You like that I get in trouble; it keeps things exciting."
And then there was that look of mischief Alastor had become fond of, Lucifer squirming around to press his hands to either side of Alastor’s face, “Charlie can never know.”
“That you’re a devious troublemaker who thrives on chaos? I hate to break it to you, but the whole world knows that about you, cher. The churches up there go on about it at length,” Alastor settled his arms around Lucifer’s back as he spoke, settling into the warm, pleasant haze of alcohol and shared body heat.
Lucifer looked very serious for a moment and then pressed a kiss to Alastor’s nose with a small giggle, “I like it when you call me that.”
“Call you what?” Alastor asked as Lucifer finally released his face and settled back into a proper cuddle.
“Cher,” Lucifer mumbled, rubbing his face into Alastor’s collar before apparently finding the right spot and letting out a soft sigh of satisfaction.
Had he? Alastor hadn’t really meant to start using a term of endearment for Lucifer, only he also couldn’t quite pin down when it had started.
Lucifer tilted his head up, and Alastor was startled to find a baleful red glare looking up at him when he glanced down. “You won’t stop now, right? I didn’t say anything before now because I didn’t want you to stop.”
Alastor sighed and smoothed one hand along Lucifer’s back. “No, cher, I won’t stop.”
Apparently pleased with that answer, Lucifer settled back in, eyes drifting closed, “Good."
Alastor absently traced patterns against Lucifer’s back, listening to the rise and fall of his breath. Then, just as he was about to drift off as well, a series of bangs like fireworks sounded off from downstairs.
Lucifer groaned but slowly sat up as the distant cacophony turned into shouting and then held out one hand. “Shall we?”
Alastor let out a sigh of his own at the interruption but couldn’t quite help the way his smile turned fond at Lucifer’s sleep-mussed hair. He reached out and smoothed Lucifer’s hair down before accepting his hand. “I suppose we should.”
"When we finish handling whatever this disaster is, I want to dance," Lucifer informed him with a small stumble as they headed for the door.
"Are you sure you can stay standing for that?" Alastor chuckled, not that his stability was much better.
Lucifer squinted at him and then smirked a little sloppily, "I can be sober whenever I want; I'm just staying drunk in solidarity!"
As they left Lucifer's room, Alastor gave his hand one final squeeze before letting go as the racket from below surged, "Fine then, one dance before we sleep, cher."
"Eva Taylor?" Lucifer asked, turning to give Alastor a pleading look as they walked.
Alastor snorted but nodded his head in acquiescence; lately, Lucifer had developed a fascination with all music Eva Taylor—not that Alastor minded, and admittedly, there was some pride in Lucifer liking music that Alastor tended to think of as belonging to him on a certain level. “Ain't Misbehavin'?” He suggested as they approached the elevator.
"I was thinking, What Wouldn't I Do For That Man," Lucifer said with a tilt of his head and an expression that was swimming with fondness.
"Mawkishness as usual, cher," Alastor replied, but there was no heat to the comment.
Lucifer stepped closer and tugged Alastor down to steal a quick kiss before the elevator opened, "Can't seem to help it around you."