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The memory of the previous night hit Alastor in waves as he was pulled from sleep by an unfamiliar alarm.

A holiday party with hotel staff and residents. Somebody had spiked the eggnog, and in Alastor’s opinion, his money was on Niffty. The headache behind his eyes and the ache in his joints was almost searing, almost unrecognizable. He must’ve had a particularly rough night, because he was laying on his stomach. It wasn’t often he was plagued with fitful sleep. Not enough to turn him off his back, at least.

With a groan, he pulled himself to be seated in bed, and—

He faltered. Because this was not his bed, and he knew for a fact that he had gone to sleep in his own room last night. 

When Alastor reached up to rub at one eye, he saw his arm was black, which faded into soft white, fingers ending in well-manicured claws. He, understandably, faltered, then slowly trailed his gaze down to his body.

An oversized pink sweater with a fully open back, red and white striped pajama pants. A lion-style tail, of all things, and curled ram horns weighing down his head.

His smile tightened, straining at the muscles of his cheeks from lack of practice.

Okay. He was in Lucifer’s body. Weird, vivid dream. Nightmare? Nightmare, he decided, as he pulled himself up, out of bed. As he acquainted himself with the suite around him. Was this how Lucifer saw the world? He couldn’t see the top of anything. How bothersome.

He finally made his way to the wardrobe, then ran his fingers through the thin layer of dust on its outside. Did he not use it? What an interesting choice for his sleeping mind to make.

Alastor hummed, the lack of static over his voice almost a surprise despite the circumstances, as he pulled the wardrobe open and looked through the clothing there.

Was this weird? It was only his subconscious, but it still felt odd to be digging through His Majesty’s clothes.

He pulled out a white blouse, backless and with snaps in the back, and a pair of high-waisted, dark red slacks. Why were all of Lucifer’s shirts backless? He usually didn’t even have his wings out. Well, who was Alastor to question the whims of the subconscious? Perhaps this was a sign he wanted Lucifer to fly south for the winter, as it were.

Undressing was… an affair, Alastor noted with a huff, as he realized that the six wings sprouting from his back had a mind of their own. He struggled the entire time he tried to pull his sweater off, a twinge of pain shooting up one wing and down his spine every time he pulled too fast or hard.

With a grunt, he managed to get the blasted thing off. He appreciated the snaps on the shirt he was going to put on so much right now.

He sighed, almost struggling to catch his breath with the effort of removing a single piece of clothing, and on a whim, he rested a palm against his chest, and his arm brushed against something hard, smooth, and lukewarm. When he glanced down, his breath caught.

The King of Hell had nipple piercings? What sort of message did this dream intend to send? He shook his head firmly, then pulled off his pajama pants. He couldn’t dwell on meaningless things like fancies of his subconscious.

Relief flooded him when he realized that he didn’t have to strip fully. Lucifer, luckily, had on boxers. With ducks on them, which… Alastor couldn’t exactly say he was surprised.

A muffled voice came from the hallway, carrying through the door only enough to let him know that somebody was there— multiple somebodies, more likely— but not enough for his ears to catch what was being said. Nevermind that. He had a bit of a journey ahead of him, with these damned wings.

Alastor began with the top buttons. The collar came up to snugly rest only a few inches below his chin, the lace around the edges surprisingly soft. He managed the top few snaps, and when he reached further and was met only with his own warm flesh, he shifted his arms to reach from under his lowest set of wings.

Every moment he spent in this garment only made him more sure that Lucifer was wasting the clothes he kept in his wardrobe. It seemed like he wore the same thing everyday, when he could be wearing things like this?

(Not that Alastor was any better.)

The rest of the buttons were a breeze, and he only hit a snag in dressing again when he had trouble threading that stupid tail of his through a small triangle of space sewn into the back of his pants. The rest— milling about the room for a belt, mostly, and heeled boots— was quick. So quick that it made his earlier, ah… efforts… look even sillier than they did in isolation.

Okay, he reasoned. This dream was just— just to see through his eyes, as it were. He grabbed the walking stick from beside the door, finally pulling it open, and coming face to chest with—

Himself. Looking sheepish and timid, with a hand raised and about to knock. He looked a mess, his clothes hastily done up, vest undone, shirt half-untucked. And the tie, oh, don’t get him started.

“...Hey,” his voice warbled, laden with its usual static, but he wasn’t the one who said it. A shiver ran up his spine at the sound. “So, uh…”

“Lucifer, I presume?” Alastor asked, smile still wide, and he tilted his head. He couldn’t tilt it as far as he was used to, the muscles in Lucifer’s neck far too tight for that. 

A body swap. In all of Alastor’s years down here, he had never had a dream like this.

“Uh, yeah. Yes! Yes, hi. Um.” He paused for a long moment, brows furrowing in concentration. Alastor could practically hear the gears in his head turning. “...Bellhop,” he landed on, and Alastor raised an eyebrow.

“Alastor,” he corrected, giving him a proper once-over. “Your tie is crooked, Your Majesty.”

“Alastor,” Lucifer’s electric voice echoed with a nod. He managed a nervous laugh and ignored Alastor’s second comment. “Uh— okay, Al, funny prank! But, um, whatever you did to— to switch us, can you undo it now? I have… King stuff to do, and all—”

Alastor laughed— a real laugh, one so unfamiliar but so genuine. It was a wheezy sort of sound, unlike the one he had in his own body, and it almost overtook him. “You think I did this, Your Majesty? Oh, no! No, my idea of a prank is much simpler, and much more gruesome, I assure you.”

That answer, evidently, did not satisfy Lucifer, and he huffed, crossing his arms. God, Alastor’s neck was starting to ache from having to tilt his head up to meet his own gaze.

“Who else would do this?” he asked— demanded, rather. His arms slid easily to rest on his hips, the pose looking unnatural in Alastor’s body. “Who else could do this?”

“I’m getting breakfast. Care to join me, Your Majesty?” Alastor asked perfunctorily, sweeping past him. “To answer your question, well— We could ask your dear Charlotte, no?”

“Woah, woah, absolutely not,” Lucifer said quickly, immediately meeting Alastor’s stride. He sort of hunched in on himself, as if being Alastor’s usual height made him uncomfortable. “You are not grilling my daughter, okay? We can’t have this getting out! And Char would never—”

“Never say never, my dear!” Alastor said cheerily, turning his chin up and over his shoulder to look at Lucifer wearing his face. It was… unnerving, Alastor would admit, seeing himself not smiling.

Lucifer groaned in frustration, ears pinned flat against his skull. “Okay,” he conceded, gritting the words out through his teeth. “Then it would be incredibly out of character for her to swap our bodies. At the very least, she’d warn us first, if not outright ask permission.”

They continued their bickering as they descended the stairs and managed to slip into the kitchen entirely undetected by the other hotel full-timers, who were too busy having their own impassioned debates.

Except for Charlie, who was immediately tailing them.

“Alastor! Hey, I actually need your help with something,” she said as the three of them entered the kitchen. Alastor resisted the urge to respond to that.

“Good morning, princess,” he said over his shoulder instead, then coughed pointedly at Lucifer. “Bellhop. That’s you.”

“Right!” Lucifer managed, straightening and whirling to face Charlie, a genuine smile on his face. Not plastered on, not the type of smile Alastor gave. “Charlie! What’s— uh, what’s up, what can I do ya’ for?”

Charlie visibly shivered at the lax attitude from Alastor’s body. “Um, Alastor, are you feeling alright?” she asked, then glanced over to Alastor— in her father’s body. 

Immediately, Lucifer’s expression faltered, and he scoffed a laugh.

“I am fine, Charlie,” he assured, waving dismissively. “More than fine. I’m— I’ve never been better! Just, uh— just hungover from last night, y’know.”

Alastor couldn’t help but snicker, couldn’t help the roll of his eyes. Lucifer shot him a glare. He shrugged off the look, letting it roll off his back as he folded his arms behind his back as he usually did. 

“Uh,” Charlie said, shaking whatever thought had been ping-ponging in her head. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting sort of weird—”

A long beat, and then Lucifer leaned awkwardly on the prep table in the kitchen, nearly tumbling to the floor when the wheels proved unlocked. “Agh, fuck— I’m— I’m okay, Char, really.”

Char. Alastor’s ears caught on the word, and his smile tightened. If Lucifer was so insistent on keeping this under wraps, the least he could do was try.

“Wh—? Um— I— I just remembered, Husk needed help with some tall person stuff!” Charlie managed out, then turned on her heel and scurried out the kitchen door, flushed a fiery red in her cheeks. Alastor watched as Lucifer’s deer ears pinned back against his head, his smile melting off his face as he practically folded in on himself.

Alastor’s smile tightened for a moment.

“Gah, I fucked that up, didn’t I?” Lucifer asked after a moment. He curled down to sit on the floor, with his knees to his chest. 

“Yes, sire,” Alastor affirmed easily. Heartlessly. Lucifer looked up at him, and—

Good Lord. Perhaps Alastor should try to use this form of manipulation more, because the way Lucifer gave him doe eyes— he looked like an abandoned fawn left out in the rain. His ears were pinned back, and he dug his fingers into his hair, then dropped his face to rest against his knees with a groan.

“Now, now,” he said, sweeping closer and leaning down to hesitantly pat the top of Lucifer’s head. His head. He had never been big on prayer, but he was getting to the point he might consider it if it meant waking up. “Don’t fret, Your Majesty. My image has been through worse than an awkward encounter, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Lucifer groaned half-heartedly into his knees.

“Well! I’ll go talk to your Charlotte. Come find me when you’re done sulking, my liege.”

Before Lucifer could protest too much, Alastor summoned his tentacles from within himself to pull him down into the inky shadows— but instead, a golden portal opened up under his feet, and he ended up falling onto the lobby floor, directly in front of Charlie.

His wings flailed uselessly to slow his fall, but he ended up on his ass regardless. These damnable things couldn’t even be useful, could they?

“Oh my God, Dad, are you okay?” Charlie asked, abandoning the resident she’d been assisting to help Alastor to his feet, which he grudgingly accepted. “I— I’m sorry for ditching you with Alastor, by the way, I was just—”

“Ah, I’m fine, Charlie,” Alastor assured, choosing to ignore the latter comment as he pulled himself straight. Had Charlie always been that tall? She towered over her father. “A word?”

Charlie faltered. Perhaps Alastor should dumb himself down a bit... “Uh, sure! Yeah, what’s up?”

Alastor twirled his walking stick in his hand, narrowly catching it when it slipped from his now much shorter fingers— then he placed a hand on her mid-back and guided her towards somewhere more secluded. A hallway. “Well, my dear, I’m in a bit of a predicament with Alastor, you see.”

She groaned, following Alastor. “Again? Can’t you guys at least pretend to get along? It’s really bad for group morale if you two are constantly at each other’s throats—”

“Nothing like that, Charlie, I assure you,” Alastor cut in, and Charlie raised an eyebrow. Alastor didn’t give her the chance to say anything before he was speaking again. Honestly, he would’ve preferred if this whole thing could just be done with. “This predicament has to do with… external factors. It seems that the two of us have swapped bodies, as it were.”

“...What?” 

“We’ve—” he started, but Charlie waved him off.

“No, no, I heard you, but— what do you mean you swapped bodies?” she asked, her brows knit, nose twitching. She picked at her claws anxiously— then the negativity melted away a bit, and she laughed awkwardly. “W-well— look, Dad, I’m glad you and Alastor are getting closer, but we really don’t have time for pranks like this today—”

“Pranks?” Alastor laughed sardonically. “Oh, Charlotte, you truly are your father’s daughter— why, he said the same thing to me just a bit ago. But no, this is no prank. I would rather die again than be stuck in this infernal body another moment.”

Charlie opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. She looked… well, a storm brewed behind her eyes, and Alastor could practically feel her emotions for her. Concern, confusion, intrigue. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in, my dear,” Alastor said gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. “But, at the very least, we’ve narrowed down our suspect pool.”

When he said that, Charlie raised her head a bit to meet his gaze, eyes widening. “What? Suspect pool?”

“Yes!” Alastor said, his smile widening a fraction. His cheeks ached from the movement. “Your father and I clearly didn’t do this, and I had a sneaking suspicion this might’ve been some hare-brained scheme of yours to get us to bond— but with your reaction, I think it’s fair to say that you aren’t the one behind this.”

“What? You thought I’d do something like that?” Charlie exclaimed, scandalized. “Dad!”

Alastor only gave her a look, and she shrunk into herself.

“Alastor,” she corrected. “Right. W-well— Why can’t you just undo it? If you have my dad’s powers… y’know, Dad is, uh— he’s pretty powerful.”

“...Well, my darling, I’m not sure if you noticed, but I don’t exactly have much practice with his particular magic,” Alastor said with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. 

She nodded, chewing at her lip idly. Probably recalling just a bit ago when he fell flat on his face before her. “You would think it’d be, like, the same,” she said, then shook her head. “Anyway. Who would do something like this?”

“Anybody who knows your father and I have friction, and have a vendetta against one or both of us?” he asked, twirling his walking stick. “Which, honestly, could be half the Pride ring.”

Charlie sighed, deflating a bit. 

“This is all a bit much,” she said finally, resting her head in her hands. “I just—”

At that moment, an inky shadow shot up the wall, promptly spitting out Lucifer onto the carpet on his hands and knees. He fell into a coughing fit, and after a moment, coughed a writhing shadow onto the floor, which melted into the rest of the darkness after a moment.

“Ugh, that sucks,” Lucifer managed, out of breath. “Anyway— Charlie! Charlie, hi— I’m— I’m not Alastor! I’m your dad, we—”

“I’ve already explained, Your Majesty,” Alastor interrupted, resting the tip of his walking stick on the back of Lucifer’s hand. He watched as Lucifer’s claws sharpened into the carpet, ears pinned back and antlers shooting to an inch or so longer. Such little control over his expressions— it’d be cute if it wasn’t his body. “You needn’t worry yourself with things like that.”

Lucifer pulled himself up to a seated position, shooting Alastor a scowl and crossing his legs. “Why didn’t you warn me that I wouldn’t be able to breathe when I do your shadow bullshit?”

“I didn’t find it pertinent, sire,” Alastor said simply, giving Lucifer a bap on the nose with the apple-shaped head of his walking stick.

“So, Alastor—” Charlie started, then stopped herself. “Sorry. Dad, I mean Dad.”

Lucifer’s head shot up, and he pulled himself to his feet, the movement awkward. He looked like a fawn taking its first steps. How could he not know how to handle a few extra inches? He walked around in heels all the time. 

“Yeah? Yeah, what’s up, Char?” he asked quickly, and Alastor rolled his eyes. Falling over himself for Charlie, and he ruled all of Hell? 

“Do you have any ideas for who might’ve done this? That, like, realistically could,” she asked, head tilted up just slightly to meet Lucifer’s eye. 

“I still haven’t ruled out that Alastor did this somehow,” Lucifer said, crossing his arms. “But— I suppose a few other Overlords might have this sort of power. Emphasis on might. Even the other Sins can’t really do this sort of thing.”

Lucifer continued, now mumbling under his breath, and the static that filtered his voice was enough to render him incomprehensible as he continued. Alastor would need to lecture him later about the importance of diction— he didn’t talk like that for fun. He had to be understood.

“I can ask around, if you want?” Charlie offered. “I— I mean, I am the princess, they’d have to tell me if I asked—”

“No!” Lucifer said, ears pinned back and eyes widening. “No, no, we can’t have something like this getting out! People barely respect me as it is, Char!”

“Oh, it isn’t all bad for you, sire,” Alastor said, wings fluttering as he recalled their weight on his back. How did Lucifer put these away, anyway? He’d ask later. “I’m sure you’re appreciating my… advantages. I, on the other hand, seem to have gotten the short end of the stick.”

With a twirl of his walking stick, the thing tumbled out of his hand, and he cursed. Lucifer snickered, the sound not like his usual laugh. Was— was that how Alastor laughed? Oh, dear, that sound was dreadful. He’d remedy that once this was sorted out. With a huff, he picked up the walking stick again and brushed himself off.

“And I thought I was clumsy,” Lucifer said, a hand resting on his hip. “Not even an hour in my body and you’ve already hurt yourself twice.”

“I am not clumsy,” Alastor bit out, smile tightening. His feathers puffed outward, and he had to consciously smooth them back down. “Your walking stick is simply unbalanced, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, I will end you, eyesore,” Lucifer shot back, bending a bit at the waist to talk down to Alastor more literally.

“Dad, Alastor!” Charlie cut in, her eyes blown wide with nerves by their bickering. Poor girl. Alastor almost felt bad about it. “Can we work on getting you two back to normal before you start to go at each other again? Please?”

Lucifer huffed, straightening back up and crossing his arms. “Yeah, you’re— I’m sorry, Charlie, you’re right.”

“Okay. Thank you. Now, who of the most powerful Overlords would want to fuck with you guys like this?” she asked, her hands finding her hips. 

A heavy silence fell over the three of them, and Alastor realized that there were… quite a few people with a vendetta against one or the other of them. The one that came to the forefront of his mind, though…

“Vox,” Alastor said through grit teeth. “If he could figure out how to do such a thing, he’d jump at the chance.”

“Woah, woah, TV-head?” Lucifer asked, shuddering. “What are we supposed to do? Confront him?”

“What a splendid idea, Your Majesty!” he said sarcastically, spinning on his heel, and his smile wavered a moment as he tapped the ground with his walking stick. “Finally using that brain I have between those eyes!”

“Okay, jackass, what do we do, then?” Lucifer asked with a scowl. 

Alastor waited a moment too long to pretend he was just being inflammatory— admittedly, Lucifer had a point. If they had an inkling it could be Vox, what else could they do but talk to him? He had been running stories trashing the two of them, even together. If he didn’t know what they were talking about, they could just… pivot.

His smile widened, exposing black gums. “Well, actually—”

“No! Absolutely not,” Lucifer cut off. “I am not going back to that asshole. Last time, he asked so many invasive questions—”

“If you weren’t such a coward, Your Majesty—”

“Guys!” Charlie tried, and Alastor’s eyes trained on where she’d been picking her nailbeds, where black ichor pearled on her skin. “No fighting, please? Just— you guys should go see Vox! I have budgeting to do— So—” She continued to ramble, but Alastor tuned her out.

Because instead of salivating, as he often did when he saw blood— he… he felt something very unlike hunger churning in his gut, something still sharp, but cold. His wings puffed outward again suddenly, and Charlie flinched, then stilled.

“What—?” she started, her gaze trailing down to where Alastor was looking, and her concern melted away. And she laughed. 

“Uh-oh, somebody’s daddied up,” Lucifer teased when he noticed, then made a face, wiping at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Why am I salivating?”

“Dad always cared way too much when I got hurt,” Charlie said fondly. “Maybe you got some bleedover, or something?”

Alastor bristled at the notion. “Perhaps,” he conceded, nicking his tongue on unfamiliar teeth. Sharp in different spots, in different ways. He winced. “Ow—!” he said in reflex, although it hadn’t hurt. Not really.

“That’s three,” Lucifer teased, leaning casually on his staff. 

If he wasn’t careful, he’d break it, and Alastor would have to go crawling back to Rosie to get it fixed— and she would make it a whole thing.

“Alright! Char, you go do your budgeting thing, Red guy and I will go see Box!” he continued, pulling Alastor into an awkward side-hug.

“Vox,” Alastor corrected, less than enthused about the development.

“Yeah, what’d I say?” Lucifer asked, and instead of answering, Alastor gave a tight smile.

“Goodbye, Charlotte,” he said, reaching within himself for his shadow-travel again, and the two of them fell through the glowing golden portal he’d opened on the floor.

The two of them landed in a heap outside the front door of the hotel, with Alastor faceplanting in Lucifer’s chest (his own, really), his wings flaring out awkwardly, but with Lucifer’s hold on him, he couldn’t orient himself as he fell. That was the reason. Not the fact that he’d never had wings before. It was Lucifer’s fault, as all things were.

With a heavy groan, Lucifer pulled himself up to a seated position, and Alastor scrambled awkwardly to stand. He had the strangest muscle memory that begged him to do finger guns, of all things. Lucifer’s… Lucifer-ness… had better not be catching.

“Are you okay?” Lucifer asked, mic feedback spiking with worry as he gave Alastor a once-over and reached up to straighten his clothes, to brush away dirt and dust and a stray feather. “Be careful. The wings are fragile.”

“I’m fine, Your Majesty,” Alastor said, pulling away, his smile strained. “You needn’t worry. I’m taking good care of your delicate, royal form.”

“I am not delicate,” Lucifer hissed. He finally pulled himself from his knees and to his feet, not caring to fix his appearance. Then, he crossed his arms and turned on his heel, exposing his tail, which twitched indignantly in time with his ears. “Fine. I’ll go by myself, and make a fool of you in front of TV-man.”

Alastor’s eyes widened. Making him look weak in front of Vox— oh, he’d kill Lucifer as soon as things were righted. He didn’t quite want to be fun-sized for the rest of eternity.

“Absolutely not. You follow my lead,” Alastor said, a frown threatening to tug at his perpetual smile as he began walking. His cheeks burned. And a walk would do both of them good. The pollution would remind them to savor the air purifiers of the hotel. “You don’t know Vox. Not like I do.”

“And who put you in charge, bossy?” Lucifer asked as he trailed after, as if Alastor didn’t make a good point. “Did the council of dicklords supersede the monarchy when I wasn’t looking?”

Sometimes, Alastor couldn’t tell how much of Lucifer’s behavior was stubbornness and how much of it was stupidity.

“Oh, no, Your Majesty,” Alastor said as they crossed the street, then turned a corner. “I would never keep such dreadful company, for one.”

“Ugh, you’re so hard to insult,” he grumbled half-coherently under his static.

“Now, sire, as much as I would love to allow you to continue insulting me,” Alastor said, sarcastically, before his tone melted into something more genuine, “we have something we must discuss. Vox.”

“Yeah, TV-head,” Lucifer affirmed as they crossed another street. Alastor led the two of them through an alley— a shortcut. “What about him?”

“There are a few fundamental truths you must know about Vincent— Vox, that is,” he said, finally glancing back over his shoulder to Lucifer, and stopped short, allowing Lucifer to meet his pace before he began again. This conversation was important. “The first is that Vox is obsessed with me. He has dedicated pretty much his entire afterlife since 1981 to stalking me. He will immediately know something is off if you don’t play this right.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his stomach. “Great. So why are we even doing this?” he asked, and Alastor gave him a firm smack to his mid-back with the head of his walking stick. “Ow, what the fuck was that for?!”

“Fix your posture. I never slouch,” Alastor replied.

“You never relax either,” Lucifer complained. “I found, like, three knots in my back just while I was getting dressed. Would it kill you again to loosen up a little bit?”

“The second truth,” Alastor continued, ignoring the comment about how tensely strung he kept himself, “is that Vox is devastatingly, stupendously homosexual, and he makes no efforts to hide his attraction towards me. The second we enter Vee tower, I swear, it will be like a hunting dog zeroing in on a rabbit. If he’s not in a meeting, I give it a maximum of ten seconds before he appears to greet us. You.”

“And if he is in a meeting?” Lucifer asked, and Alastor hummed thoughtfully. “Anything that buys me a little more time to get into character—”

“Twenty seconds,” he said, and Lucifer choked on his words.

“Does this guy not have a life?” he asked with a groan as they crossed yet another street. 

“No. Usually unfortunate, but today, very fortunate. You need to get him alone and convince him— by any means, short of the viscerally intimate— to tell you what he’s done,” Alastor said, then grabbed Lucifer by the arm to stop him in his tracks. “If you press and all he says is that he’s spied on us for his tabloids, then we can eliminate him from our suspect list.”

Lucifer nodded, a hand on his hip— then he fixed his posture and folded his arms tightly behind his back. “Well, yeah. Plus, y’know, Father of Lies. I can sense these things. To a— to a degree. I dunno if that’s a bodily thing, though, or if that’s, like, a soul thing—”

“You cannot speak like that anymore,” Alastor cut off, gripping him a bit more firmly, and he watched as Lucifer assumed the trademark grin Alastor always had plastered across his lips. Dear Lord, it truly was terrifying. Alastor suppressed a shudder at the sight. “Not to Vox, at least. You need to do the accent.”

“...Okay,” Lucifer said. “But if I slip even once, he’ll know something is up—”

“No, he won’t,” Alastor assured. “Not so long as you stroke his ego. The second you give him any praise, I swear, his circuits fry. He becomes the second most stupid person in Hell.”

“Second most?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, and when Alastor only mirrored the movement, Lucifer huffed. “Oh, fuck you.”

“I said nothing,” Alastor said, swiftly steering the topic back to how Lucifer presented himself. “But do make an effort to appear like me, at least, Your Majesty. If he isn’t behind this, we don’t want him figuring out something is wrong with me.”

“Are you going to bother acting like me, Alastor?” Lucifer asked, tone warbling a bit as he got a feel for the accent he was performing, and Alastor realized that it was the first time that Lucifer had gotten his name right on the first try. He didn’t hate it. “Or do you plan to humiliate me in front of your Overlord friends?”

(It was natural that a king would know the names of the people he lived with, Alastor told himself. This is the bare minimum. Nevermind that the only people he could remember with accuracy were his daughter and his ex-wife.)

“They are not my friends, sire, and I’m repulsed you would think so little of me,” Alastor grit out as Lucifer bent at the waist to be closer to eye level.

Lucifer only tilted his head. 

Yeah, Alastor understood why Lucifer’s reactions to his behavior were particularly visceral. This fucking sucked.

“I do not plan on humiliating you, no,” Alastor supplied finally, rolling his eyes. “Assurance, Your Majesty, that your royal image will not be tarnished because of me during this… endeavor of ours.”

You do a fine enough job of that yourself, he thought. At least Lucifer seemed satisfied.

“So you just can’t fake it around your Charlotte,” he teased when Lucifer straightened, and Lucifer shot him a glare.

“Now, Your Majesty,” Lucifer shot back almost teasingly as they began to walk, the static in his voice crackling. He was still understandable, though— this was why Alastor did the accent. “You’re well aware I have a bit of a soft spot for the princess.”

They approached Vee tower, assuming their roles— though Alastor would admit, pretending to be a ditzy, forgetful loser was a bit difficult. He would just gush about Charlie or Lillith or ducks if anybody asked him anything, and once their eyes glazed over, he’d conveniently ‘get a text’ from somebody that needed to be attended to, or slip off to the bathroom. Easy-peasy.

Oh Lord, he just thought ‘easy-peasy.’

And, just as Alastor had predicted, mere moments after the door slid closed behind the both of them in the lobby, there was a crack of electricity, and Vox materialized before them. He was hastily dressed, and he was still buttoning up the vest under his suit jacket as he approached, a wide grin on his face.

“Alastor,” Vox greeted, then spared the real Alastor a glance. Alastor watched the light in his eyes dim a moment. “Your Majesty.”

“Vox,” Lucifer greeted warmly, but the way his eyes narrowed betrayed his feelings. His smile didn’t even flicker, didn’t pull taut at overstretched cheeks. 

“It’s been ages since we properly talked, Al,” Vox said, automatically slinging an arm over Lucifer’s shoulder. “What brings you here? Are you perhaps reconsidering my offer after all this time?”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. “Unfortunately, Vox, it’s nothing quite like that.”

“We have a couple questions, TV-head,” Alastor cut in before Vox could begin yapping their ears off. 

With a glare shot towards Alastor— Jesus, where had this act been in front of Charlie?— Lucifer gently guided Vox away with the head of his staff. 

“I was hoping to catch you when you were free, Vox, my dear,” Lucifer continued. “This is a bit of a private matter.”

Vox, for what it was worth, was eating this up. He must’ve been so excited that Alastor had willingly showed up that he could very well overlook any slipup from Lucifer. His smile only widened.

“Of course, of course,” Vox said, then pulled up a schedule on his phone. “I’ve got a shareholders’ meeting in about ten minutes, but—”

Lucifer tsked, guiding Vox’s phone away from his face with a single claw, and tilted his head. “Surely, you can make time for us, Vox,” he said, the words a voltaic drawl. “After all, it isn’t everyday you have the King of Hell stopping by for a meeting, now, is it? Your shareholders will understand.”

…Vox didn’t move for a long moment, his eyes locked onto Lucifer. 

He swallowed hard, then nodded dumbly.

“R-right, yeah, of course,” he breathed, then began typing quickly on his phone. “Just— let me— let me send the message out, and I’ll bring you somewhere private. Both of you! Both of you, not just— not just you, Alastor.”

Lucifer gave Alastor a knowing glance, and Alastor grit his teeth. 

Finally, he forced himself to stop smiling, and the ache in his cheeks receded ever so slightly. Alastor shivered a bit, wings flapping once in mild discomfort. His little motto was just a motto, of course, but without his smile, he felt almost naked.

After a moment, Vox ushered the two of them into an elevator, looking giddy with excitement at the prospect of being in any enclosed space with Alastor. The elevator climbed— and climbed, and climbed higher still. 

“So, what’s with the secrecy?” Vox asked finally, breaking the quiet that had settled between him. “I mean, if you had warned me I’d be getting a visit from two of Hell’s most important— and controversial— figures, I could’ve prepared accommodations, or something. Only the best for the royal family, and all.”

“We kind of want to keep this under wraps,” Alastor said, leaning against the wall of the elevator, and Alastor watched as Vox’s gaze reluctantly dragged over to where he stood. “Optics. Besides, we just want a couple answers. No action expected of you.”

Vox’s expression shifted, looking more and more done with Alastor as he spoke. 

“...I see,” he answered as the elevator slowed to a stop on the penthouse floor. The doors dinged and slid open, and Lucifer was leaving the elevator as soon as he could. “Well, Your Majesty, I promise I will answer what I can.”

“Thank you, Box,” Alastor said brightly. Vox’s expression faltered.

“It’s Vox,” he corrected, tone terse, and Alastor just tilted his head a bit as they exited the elevator.

“Yeah, what did I say?” Alastor asked as Vox led the two of them further into the penthouse. They were in his house for this— did he not have another meeting room or something? This building was huge.

Everything was ultra-modern, cool steel and dark blue paint and pops of white. Light fixtures that seemed more impractical than anything. The place teetered between brutalist and high-tech. Alastor didn’t care for it, and didn’t bother hiding it in his expression— while one should adapt to the times, personal taste should be considered, too.

As they entered the dining room, Vox slowed to a stop.

“Please make yourselves at home. Refreshments?” he asked, and Alastor knew him well enough to know it was perfunctory. Lucifer smiled as he pulled his coat off, then took a seat near the head of the table.

“I’m alright. Thank you, though,” Lucifer said smoothly, and Alastor shivered as he noticed how Vox’s gaze shamelessly lingered on the curve of Lucifer’s back, catching on the tail that sat at its base.

Alastor sat as well, opposite Lucifer. 

“So! What’s so urgent and secretive that you just had to drop in on me, Al?” Vox asked as he sat, completely ignoring Alastor. Could he at least pretend he didn’t play favorites?

“Well, my dear friend, I was just hoping you could tell me something,” Lucifer said, his smile softening as he leaned a bit closer towards Vox, resting his chin on the back of his hands. And, again, Vox was devouring it. “We know what you’ve been doing with His Majesty and I.”

Vox faltered. “Huh? What—” He laughed awkwardly. “I— I dunno what you’re talking about, Alastor.”

“We both know how you feel about the King, Vox,” Lucifer said, “but do you take me for an idiot?”

Going so far as to insult himself? Alastor’s feathers puffed outward, but it was conscious this time. “Hey, watch it, eyesore,” Alastor grit out. “I’ll end you.”

“No! No, Al, you’re not an idiot,” Vox hurried, talking over Alastor without remorse, straightening in his seat. “Just— Could you, uh— could you be a little more specific?”

“Don’t play dumb, TV-man,” Alastor said with a bark of laughter. “You know what we’re here about.”

Vox’s expression tightened as he looked over.

“Your Highness— if this is about the tabloids—” he started, and Alastor kicked his feet up on the table. God, he probably looked like a child. This table was built for people nearly two feet taller than him.

“Oh? What else would it be about, Vox?” Lucifer asked, tilting his head and leaning ever closer. He rose from his seat, drawing nearer to Vox.

“Well, I—” he started, then tensed when Lucifer rested his palm on his shoulder. He swallowed hard. “I, uh…”

Alastor sighed, sinking further into his seat. It was unsettling enough that they’d swapped bodies like this. He didn’t want to watch himself flirt with Vox. And yes, that was exactly what he was watching, and no, he did not recall telling Lucifer to do that.

Lucifer gave him a glance before he focused in on Vox, and oh God, Alastor wanted to melt into the floor. 

“I have a spy in the hotel,” Vox blurted out, and Lucifer’s expression faltered, smile disappearing for a split second before he plastered it back on. Vox’s eyes sparkled when he noticed that. “That’s how I have all that stuff about you guys for the tabloids.”

With a purr, Lucifer leaned even closer. “And that’s all?” he asked. Static flashed across Vox’s screen.

“Uh— y-yeah,” he said, avoiding Lucifer’s gaze. “That’s all! That’s it. Hah.”

“Is it?” Lucifer pressed, running an affectionate claw down his sleeve, to his elbow, where it sat on the armrest of his seat. “I have a hard time believing that, Vince. Nothing personal, but a man like you hides a lot of things.”

“That’s it, I swear, Al,” he insisted, hands raising in surrender. “I— I can call him off, I’ll have him remove the cameras he stashed, and the bugs—”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “So that wasn’t everything, then,” he concluded.

At the sound of that, Vox shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes dipping to his hands as he rested them in his lap and futzed with his claws. “I just— I figured it came with the territory, y’know…”

“Who knows what else you could be hiding,” he continued, and Alastor sunk further into his seat. Should he just use a portal and go to the other room? It would save him the humiliation of witnessing this nonsense. The embarrassment of dealing with Vox bringing it up later down the line.

“I’m—” Vox laughed awkwardly. “I’m not hiding anything, Al.”

…Yeah, Alastor was leaving. He slid out of his seat and onto the floor, then fell through the portal he summoned and onto the couch.

—

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, noting almost absently that Alastor had left, and leaned a bit closer.

Finally. He didn’t have to hold back on account of Alastor’s preferences. He could show Vox why he was called The Seducer.

“Really?” he asked, leaning even closer, bent at the waist to be level with his screen. “Are you sure about that?”

“C’mon, Al,” Vox tried, shying away from him further. He was halfway out of his seat by now… maybe Lucifer should cool it a bit. He straightened back out. 

“Well, forgive me, Vince, for keeping in mind your track record,” he said gently. His smile softened, then turned to return to his seat. With his head tilted over his shoulder, he spoke again. “Are you sure you’ve got nothing else to tell me?”

“Wh—”

Vox started, but it seemed like his brain caught on the nickname and refused to move on.

“What— what do you, like, expect me to say?” Vox finally managed, static crackling across the center of his screen. Was that how he blushed? It was so… well, cute, admittedly. 

Lucifer gave him a noncommittal look, shrugging and humming. “Come now, Vince, I can tell when you’re hiding something from me.”

There was a heavy silence that fell over the two of them, and Lucifer worried for a moment that he had pushed too far. That he had slipped up somewhere, that Vox knew something was wrong—

But instead, Vox groaned in frustration.

“It’s— it isn’t related to this,” he said, kicking one leg up to rest his ankle against the opposite knee and waving dismissively. “It’s dumb. And I swear, it’s got nothing to do with the whole ‘spying on the hotel’ thing. And it is just the hotel. Not, like, wherever you guys go.”

Lucifer hummed, leaning back down to be eye-level with him. “Oh, but now you’ve got me curious, my dear! Come, now, you can tell me.”

He felt like he was really getting the hang of this ‘pretending to be Alastor’ thing. Maybe it was bleedover, like Charlie had called it earlier, but he was doing pretty well! And he should hope so— not only was their whole deal riding on this, but he’d spent long enough getting made fun of by Alastor that he knew him. 

Vox looked over to where Alastor had been sitting, and stiffened. He leaned down to look under the table.

“The king—” he started when he straightened up once more.

“Left, my dear, yes,” Lucifer answered, shifting to sit on the table near where Vox’s chair was. “Which means what you say is only for my ears. So go on. This is a safe space.”

At that, Vox visibly relaxed a bit.

“I, uh,” he started, face rapidly becoming overlaid with static. “It’s embarrassing.”

“How long have we known each other?” Lucifer replied, and before he could help it, he was swinging and praying (though he’d never been one for it) that it wasn’t a miss. “As if I haven’t seen you embarrass yourself before.”

Vox playfully scoffed, leaning his screen on his hand. “You’re never letting the scream rain thing go, huh?” he asked, and Lucifer internally breathed a sigh of relief, settling further onto the table.

The cool wood beneath him was nice. Welcome. Not many places in Hell were properly cool. Lucifer couldn’t imagine the electric bill this place ran up.

(Knowing Vox, he probably just raised everyone else’s rates.)

“Afraid not,” Lucifer said brightly, with that warm laugh of Alastor’s. “Now, tell me this little secret of yours.”

Another heavy silence settled over them.

“It’s, um— It’s not professional,” Vox tried, and Lucifer gave him a once-over, eyes catching on the growing bulge in his slacks. Ah. Yeah, Alastor hadn’t been joking earlier. He hadn’t even done any overt flirting yet— did this guy not get laid, or something?

“Oh, please, Vince, nothing about this—” Lucifer gestured between the two of them— “is professional.”

Finally, he rested his shoe pointedly between Vox’s spread legs— not against his crotch, but if he slid an inch or so higher, Vox could grind against his sole. Lucifer was, for once, glad that Vox had been manspreading this whole time.

Vox’s face flickered with recognition. 

“I, um— I—” he stammered. Lucifer gently ran a claw under the bottom edge of his screen’s frame, guiding his gaze up.

“Words, Vinny,” Lucifer said coquettishly, and Vox’s screen rapidly heated up, the fans that kept it cool working overtime to keep up with it. 

“I think about you when I’m jerking off,” he blurted out, screen crackling with static and glitching.

Lucifer laughed, his static spiking as he did, one ear twitching. “There we go. Was that so difficult?”

“You’re not— you’re not gonna make fun of me for that?” he asked, and Lucifer laughed again. Oh, Vox was cute. In a pathetic, repressed sort of way— and Lucifer couldn’t deny that that was sort of his type. 

“Oh, no,” he purred, leaning down a hit, until his nose brushed against Vox’s screen. “I’m cruel, my dear Vincent, not evil.”

Vox let out a shuddering exhale, his legs attempting to cross, only to be stopped by Lucifer’s foot between his thighs. “...Right,” he said, breath shaking. “Um, was— was there anything else you wanted to know? Or…”

With a hum, he shrugged, sliding his shoe up. Vox gasped as Lucifer ground the sole into the tent of his pants. “Not particularly, Voxxy. Unless you’ve got more to tell me.”

“No,” Vox said quickly. A bit too quickly.

“Ah, well then,” Lucifer smiled, pulling his foot away. “Guess I’d better get going, then. Thank you for your time, Vinny—”

“You’re— you’re gonna leave? Just like that?” Vox asked, leaning closer, shifting in his seat. He laughed nervously. “Stay, stay! There’s no need to run off—”

“If you’re not talking, I don’t need anything more from you,” he answered smoothly, sliding gracefully off the table. He only made it a few steps before a cable wrapped around his wrist and halted him just short of grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.

“Stay. I’ll— I can keep talking,” Vox said. Was he truly this easy? Why hadn’t Alastor taken advantage of this sooner?

Lucifer’s smile widened, and he allowed Vox to pull him closer with the cable he’d wrapped around his wrist. “Go on, then,” he said, returning to his seat on the table, shifting so he could properly sit directly in front of Vox. “Talk.”

Vox hesitated, and when Lucifer eased his shoe back between his thighs, his breath caught. “I, uh— the other day, I was hooking up with Valentino,” he started.

“Mhm?” Lucifer hummed, tilting his head and resting his chin on his palm. 

“One of your broadcasts came on,” Vox continued. His breath shook as Lucifer pressed his shoe to the tented fabric once more. “I— I pretty much came instantly when I heard your voice.”

He couldn’t help the giggle he let out. How precious.

“That’s pathetic,” Lucifer said instead, and Vox nodded, hips shifting once under his shoe— then again, more purposefully, with a shaky breath.

“I— I know. I know,” he said, then swallowed hard. A heavy silence fell over them, and right when Lucifer was about to pull away again, a couple cables wrapped firmly up his leg to hold him in place. “I think, sometimes. About— about us, I mean. About you coming over like this, and telling me how much you’ve missed me. Us. Even though there never really was an ‘us.’ Not the way I wanted.”

“Oh, my dear,” Lucifer cooed, reaching forward and running a knuckle along the frame of his screen. “What else do you want, hm?”

“God. You, Al,” he said, shifting his hips again. “I want— come back to me.”

He leaned forward, pressing his screen against Lucifer’s knee. 

“Please.”

Lucifer cooed again. This display was absolutely pathetic— again, he found himself thinking, ‘Why hadn’t Alastor taken advantage of this?’ Bending a powerful Overlord to his whim almost made Lucifer’s head spin. It had been a long time since he had properly dominated somebody like this. Lillith had always leaned more dominant as it was.

“Hm. Keep going,” he said, smile softening. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“You,” Vox said simply.

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving dismissively. “Specifics, my dear.” 

He tenderly wrapped his fingers around Vox’s screen frame, and once he had a firm grasp on it, he yanked it up sharply enough that a buffering whine erupted from Vox’s speakers.

“I— God, I’ve always wanted to blow you,” he admitted, his screen flickering and buffering with how flustered he was, and his hips jerked against the sole of Lucifer’s shoe. He finally began to grind into him with a rhythm. A jerky, erratic rhythm that occasionally sent the squeals of his chair pushing across the floor to Lucifer’s sensitive ears, but a rhythm nonetheless. “Want you to fuck my throat, and tell me how pathetic and useless I am without you while you do it.”

Vox’s screen buffered again, his eyes avoiding Lucifer’s, and Lucifer tsked.

“No, no, Vincent,” he purred. “Eyes on me.” His smile softened when Vox instantly obeyed, eyes snapping to Lucifer’s face. “Good boy. Go on.”

“I want—” Vox started, then cut himself off with a whine before he began again, hips twitching, clawed fingers finally wrapping around Lucifer’s ankle. “I want you to make me beg to fuck you, Al. For the right to fill you, to claim you. Just want you to be mine in every way that matters.”

It was a partial lie. Lucifer felt it, tugging at his soul.

“You want me to be yours?” he asked skeptically, and Vox faltered, his hips stuttering. “Or is it that you want to be mine?”

Vox groaned at the words, and that was all Lucifer needed. Bingo. Finally, Vox nodded, beginning to rock his hips again into Lucifer’s shoe.

“I figured as much,” he purred. “Such a good boy. Obedient for me, aren’t you?”

A static groan rolled from Vox’s speakers, buffering, as his screen glitched. “Fuck, Al, I’m close.”

“Already?” Lucifer teased. “Oh, I’m flattered, Vinny, but that’s a bit easy, even for you. I mean, I’m not even hard!”

“You’re not?” he asked quietly, haltingly, but still continued to grind his hips.

“Oh, honey, it takes a lot more than that to get me going,” Lucifer answered, and it was true. He’d been around a long time. He practically invented kink. It took more than just some shoe humping and begging to get him hot and bothered. “Keep going.”

Vox moaned this time, the sound glitching awkwardly as his screen buffered again, hips twitching erratically. Lucifer didn’t stop him from burying his screen in his knee again, fingers tightening like a vice around his calf with those claws of his.

“You gonna cum in your pants?” he asked tenderly, running his claws affectionately against the back of Vox’s head. One claw caught on a round port, dipping into it teasingly. Vox groaned and melted at the contact. “Adorable.”

“...’m not adorable,” Vox managed, panting against Lucifer’s knee. Glowing, electric blue drool was beginning to soak into the fabric of Lucifer’s pants.

“Yes, you are, Voxxy,” Lucifer pressed, digging his shoe a bit further into Vox’s crotch, which earned an outright whine. “A pathetic thing for me, aren’t you? You know, you’d be nothing without me. I practically made you, Vox. That makes you mine.”

Instead of another protest, Vox tensed, twitched, and whimpered, hips jumping needily before stilling. How cute.

“Fuck, yeah,” he panted finally, pulling away. There was a glowing blue wet spot on the front of his slacks. The bottom of Lucifer’s shoe was even slick with it. Gross. “Thank— Thank you. For… this.”

“Don’t tell a soul,” Lucifer responded, wiping his shoe against Vox’s thigh. Glowing blue cum smeared across the fabric. “This will be our little secret, my dear, or else.”

Finally, he leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to Vox’s screen, electricity dancing on his tongue and down his throat. Vox faltered too long, tensing so hard he shook, and when Lucifer pulled away, Vox bluescreened. A droning whine buzzed from his speakers, almost inaudible, and Lucifer’s ears twitched uncomfortably.

“Ta-ta now, my dear,” he said sweetly, then grabbed his jacket and melted into the shadows.

It took him a moment to reorient himself in the shadows, to remember that he couldn’t breathe here and that that wasn’t cause for panic. The cool of night touched every inch of his skin, like ice-cold hands against feverish mortal flesh, and he used the calm it brought to locate where Alastor had gone.

You’re right here, the shadows whispered back, the words worming into his mind as if placed there, and he cursed.

Okay, smartasses. Where is Lucifer, then? he replied in his mind. 

Through the northern wall, the shadows replied simply. In the lounge.

He gave his thanks, and the shadows pulled him where he was going, spitting him out haphazardly onto the rug in the lounge. He inhaled sharply once he could breathe again, his head spinning from the lack of oxygen, and Alastor nearly jumping out of his skin, dropping his— Lucifer’s, really— phone face-up onto the floor. He had been watching a VoxTube video about duck migratory patterns.

“Good Lord,” Alastor grit out as Lucifer bent down to hand him his phone. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. How did it go?”

“Yeah, not him,” Lucifer said, shrugging and dropping the accent. It was nice to relax. He stretched upwards. “We should probably dip before Vox boots back up.”

Alastor hesitated, frowning. “What did you do to him?”

“Just teased him a little,” Lucifer insisted, wiping at the faintly glowing spit stain on his knee, then pulled his jacket on. “Did you know his spit is, like, radioactive blue? Anyway, yeah, let’s get going.”

Alastor eyed the faint, glowing blue outline of Lucifer’s shoe when he turned to head for the door, but didn’t comment on it.

After a moment, Alastor caught up with Lucifer’s pace and summoned a portal that they could walk through, plastering it across the wall.

“You’ve finally figured out how to put them on the wall, I see,” Lucifer teased as he ducked to pass through it, foot catching on the bottom of it. He almost tripped, but he caught himself, and Alastor laughed at that, because why wouldn’t he? “Oh, haha, laugh it up, dickhead.”

“It’s an objectively funny sight,” Alastor defended as he stepped through the portal and let it close behind the two of them. “The King of Hell stumbling on legs that wobble like a newborn fawn.”

“Well, you can’t even put my wings away, dumbass,” Lucifer countered, frowning and crossing his arms. He sighed and shook his head. “Whatever. Where to next?”

Alastor hummed thoughtfully, then turned on his heel in the direction they’d come from.

“Woah, woah, are we going back to the hotel?” Lucifer asked. “We can’t do that! We still don’t know who did this—” He gestured between the two of them almost frantically— “to us! If I go back to Charlie with nothing to show for it, she’ll think I’m an even bigger loser than she already does!”

“It isn’t nothing, Your Majesty,” Alastor said easily, shooting him a smug smile as Lucifer hurried to match his pace. “We know now that Vox didn’t do it. And we know that there’s a spy at the hotel now.”

Lucifer blinked. “...Right. Yeah, I forgot about that part,” he said. “Did he say who?”

“You were there, my liege, I assumed you would remember,” Alastor said, laughing. “What did you do afterwards that made you forget?”

“Just— nothing,” Lucifer said, waving it off. “No big deal. I guess it counts as a footjob. And I kissed him.”

Alastor stiffened, smile straining, eyes widening. His gaze flitted up to Lucifer’s after a moment. “You what?” he demanded.

“Well, I was just teasing! Next thing I know, he’s grinding against my shoe and drooling on my pants,” Lucifer defended, nerves swelling in his chest. “I didn’t think he’d be so easy! I, like, wasn’t even trying that hard!”

“Trying?” Alastor asked, scandalized. “Never did I tell you to flirt with him, Your Majesty— I told you to stroke his ego.”

“...I kinda made him degrade himself, if that helps?” Lucifer asked, raising his hands in surrender and awkwardly shifting where he stood. Instead of any sort of reasonable reply, he got a swift smack to the nose with the apple-shaped head of Alastor’s walking stick. “Fuck, bad tickle!” he cried out, eyes watering as he stumbled back, an unpleasant tingling exploding out from the spot of impact. 

The static that overlaid his voice peaked into a whine, and he let out a sound not unlike a distressed deer’s bleating.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, my liege?” Alastor demanded, his words hissed. “He’s never going to let me live that down once we get this fixed!”

“Just tell him it was a one-time thing,” Lucifer managed, wiping away a tear from his cheek. He forgot other people were so sensitive to pain, the way it threatened to arrest his heart in his chest, the blazing heat that it shot through his gut. Alastor didn’t dignify him with a reply, only grabbed him by the arm and pushed him towards the wall behind him.

Lucifer anticipated to hit the brick of the building, but instead, his ankle caught on the edge of another golden portal, and he landed with a groan on his back right in front of the bar of the hotel. Alastor followed after, and the portal popped closed.

“What the fuck?!” Lucifer demanded after he pulled himself up to standing, shooting Alastor a deep scowl. “What was that for? I didn’t even do anything that time!”

“That one was just for being annoying,” Alastor admitted.

“Woah, Smiles is frownin’,” Angel Dust said, crossing one leg elegantly over the other as he leaned against the bar, a fizzy, neon-pink drink in one hand and his phone in another. “Y’ever seen anythin’ like that, kitty?”

“Alastor’s not smilin’?” Husk asked, a bit concerned. He leaned over the bar to get a better look.

Lucifer cursed internally, plastering a strained smile across his face as he scrambled to his feet. He dusted himself off, praying nothing from the sticky floor had attached itself to him in a way that was less reversible, and straightened up.

“You two fightin’ again?” Angel asked, looking between Lucifer and Alastor. “Thought Charlie told ya to cut that out. It’s bad for ‘morale,’ or whatever.”

“We’re not fighting,” Lucifer insisted, slipping back into the act he’d been doing with Vox, though something told him these two wouldn’t be so easily fooled, considering they had lived with Alastor for just over a year now. “Just a spat, my effeminate friend.”

“A spat, he says,” Husk grumbled under his breath, and Lucifer’s ear twitched, irritated. “As if His Majesty ain’t just launched him to the floor.”

Angel snorted a laugh, then took a long sip of his drink. “Charlie was sayin’ they’re havin’ a lovers’ quarrel or somethin’ earlier,” he said, transferring his phone to his lower two hands so he could text as he drank. 

“A lovers’ quarrel?” Alastor asked, tone sharp. His feathers puffed outward. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, yer lucky if Alastor don’t kill you for that one, Legs,” Husk joked, now moving to wipe down the bar. “He’s not exactly a lover.”

“Clearly,” Angel said, rolling his eyes and sighing before he downed the rest of his drink. “He’s pure fighter if he hasn’t tapped the Royal Ass yet.”

Lucifer flushed at the crude wording, his ears pinning back and antlers creaking a bit as they grew an inch or so. With a glance to Alastor, he realized he was pretty much alone in that, because Alastor was somehow cool as a fucking cucumber at Angel’s confession— in fact, Alastor even raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“I beg your pardon?” Alastor asked, and Angel tensed. Lucifer felt his ears flatten against his skull against his will.

“Uh—” He laughed nervously, raising his top two hands in surrender. “S-sorry, Yer Majesty, but— Y’know, someone would have to be, like, an idiot to not want a night with you. Like, look at you!”

“Ease up, Legs,” Husk said, and Lucifer felt himself relax, though hopefully it wasn’t too noticeable from an outside perspective. “He’s a married man, ‘n all.”

“...No, I’m not,” Alastor said, tilting his head quizzically. Lucifer tensed, and before he could stop himself, he hit Alastor upside the head with his staff.

“Yes, you are, my liege,” Lucifer said, a bit too quickly to be casual, his smile strained. “Queen Lillith?”

Alastor’s eyes widened as he straightened— he hadn’t even winced when Lucifer hit him. “Right! Right, yes, Lillith.” Alastor had overcorrected himself, standing a bit too straight to look natural for Lucifer. “My wife. Who I love.”

Husk and Angel, meanwhile, were frozen in place, eyes darting between each other and where Lucifer and Alastor stood.

Okay, they officially knew something was up.

“I— Where’s Charlie?” Alastor asked stiffly. “I need to talk to her about— um, something.”

“I should get going, as well,” Lucifer said, arms folding behind his back. “Work’s never finished, and whatnot.”

“...Right,” Husk said, narrowing his eyes as Lucifer melted into the shadows, embracing its coolness and thinking ‘Oh my God, just spit me out in a random hallway, please.’

Before he began moving, muffled noises came from the light above him— the spot he’d just been standing. Alastor had walked off already. 

“So they’re definitely fucking, right?” Angel asked, his voice muffled, as if Lucifer was under the stillest of waters.

Conjecture shouldn’t be spoken aloud, the shadows scolded, as if it was Lucifer who had said it. 

“Apparently they had some meetin’ with Vox today,” Husk replied. Lucifer heard the clink of a glass being set down. “Maybe they were just rattled.”

“Nuh-uh, whiskers, I know when people are fucking,” Angel said. “Those two have definitely been inside each other.”

There was a pause, and Angel yelped, further muffled as if Husk had thrown a rag at his face. Lucifer ignored that, willing the shadows to pull him up into a hallway. The shadows dropped him off just outside the door to Alastor’s room. 

His room? If he was in Alastor’s body, should he use Alastor’s room? Probably not. He could sleep in his own bed.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought, and headed for his own room.

No Alastors Allowed glinted on the room’s sign under the flickering of an ill-fitted lightbulb. He ran a claw over it affectionately over the word Alastors. Ironic, admittedly.

He opened the door with a wave, undoing the lock with an inky shadow-tentacle and heading inside.

When he slunk in, relaxing and stretching upward, he sighed. He sat on his bed awkwardly. It was low enough to the ground that now, with his much more impressive height, he almost fell down onto the mattress.

As he sunk into the sheets, twisting to lay on his stomach, he grabbed a large stuffed duck to rest his head on as he lounged. 

His ear twitched, and he frowned, discarding that stupid monocle he’d worn somewhere in the sheets so he could properly bury his face in the duck’s plush body. His jacket was quick to follow. He relaxed into the sheets with a staticky groan. 

“Stupid Alastor,” he grumbled, to himself more than anything. “And his stupid height, and his stupid gay-ass rival. And his stupid face.”

Of all the people to switch with, did it have to be the one schmuck he couldn’t stand? And they were still at a dead end for the how, the who, and the why. Just Lucifer’s fucking luck. If he were in his own body, he could just use his angelic powers— he’d been the strongest of the original Seraphim, and he was the most powerful of the Sins. There was no doubt in his mind that he could do this.

Unfortunately, those powers came through his blood, not his soul, and since he currently had mortal blood, he couldn’t do shit. He only sat there for a long time. How long exactly, he didn’t know.

With another groan, he pulled his arms up to cage his head, then settled his face back into the stuffed duck beneath him. 

Lucifer’s clawed fingers messed with his hair idly, dragging over a sensitive scalp, through soft red tresses. They trailed upward, to soft buck ears, then to his antlers. Small. Still growing in— it was the season for that— with only a few forked bits and plush velvet coating them. Lucifer wasn’t used to his head being this light, actually. His horns were much more dense, and much heavier. After how long he’d been around, his horns had had to be shaved down. (He usually got them cut down every 50 or so years, so they didn’t grow into his face.)

He continued to trace his claws over the contours of his antlers, something he hadn’t had time for this morning in his panic and confusion. When he reached the base, he dug his fingers in experimentally, and a shiver ran down his spine. Pain, yes, from how hard he’d dug in— but more notably, arousal. A single touch had sparked heat in his gut.

Experimentally, he pressed down again, gentler, and shivered again when it sent another curl of pleasure down his spine, which settled into the shallow pool of desire in his stomach. 

It wasn’t masturbation, Lucifer justified as he slowly mapped out each sensitive spot. He was just— he was exploring. Who knew how long he’d be stuck in this body? He might as well know all of its idiosyncrasies. And even if it was masturbation, so what? It was his body. For now.

His breath caught when he found a sensitive spot behind an antler, and he continued to rub at it slowly, before he let out an electric whine into the plush duck beneath his head.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, your Majesty?” a judgmental voice came from the doorway, and Lucifer shot up to a seated position. Of course Alastor was here. Lucifer pulled his stuffed duck into his lap, hoping to cover the half-pitched tent in his slacks.

“I was exploring,” Lucifer explained, and technically, that wasn’t a lie, though Alastor looked unamused and unconvinced.

“You were touching yourself,” Alastor ground out, shutting the door firmly behind him. He walked over to stand opposite Lucifer, arms crossed over his chest and walking stick discarded on the sheets. “Need I remind you that that body of yours is mine?”

“Your body is fucking weird,” he defended. “I was acquainting myself with it. God forbid, I guess.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent the plush duck flying across the bed. It landed on its back amongst the sea of pillows, head pathetically lolling to the side as it settled into place. “Like I thought,” Alastor said, eyes pinned on Lucifer’s crotch like it owed him money. “You’re hard.”

“You say that like I did it on purpose,” Lucifer said, shifting his sitting position and pulling his jacket over his lap to hide his arousal. He heard his antlers creak, felt them grow a bit heavier. “It isn’t my fault you’re repressed and sensitive.”

Instead of a reply, Alastor huffed, then moved to sit on the bed.

“I am not repressed, nor am I sensitive,” Alastor said.

“Yeah, right,” Lucifer replied, rolling his eyes. 

“Bold words, my liege, considering your predicament,” Alastor said, leaning a bit closer with that stupid smile of his. Lucifer sat up a bit straighter, frowning. 

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Predicament,” he said with a scoff. “You manage to make it sound so unsexy.”

“What, pray tell, is sexy about walking in on you being a pervert in my body?” Alastor retorted, raising an eyebrow. After a moment, he reached over, fixing up Lucifer’s clothes, which had been crooked all day. 

“Uh, what isn’t sexy about that?” Lucifer asked. Alastor’s hands were almost tender as he straightened his clothes for him— undoing Lucifer’s tie, unbuttoning the vest so he could fix his shirt, doing it back up.

Instead of an answer, Alastor furrowed his brow, a small hand guiding itself over Lucifer’s jaw to pull him closer. “Where’s my monocle?” he asked. “Did you lose it?”

“Took it off,” Lucifer said with a roll of his eyes, and Alastor gave him an unimpressed look, as if he were any better. He had dressed absolutely ridiculously today. “It was annoying. And I wanted to lay down. It’s… somewhere on the bed.”

Though, Lucifer thought, giving Alastor a once-over, he didn’t look that bad. It was just a bit more feminine than Lucifer usually dressed. The look suited his body pretty well, too.

Alastor sighed, sweeping a bit closer on the bed.

“You look ridiculous,” he said finally, reaching down to pull off his shoes and, once free, digging his hooves into the mattress to sidle even closer. Before Lucifer could say anything, Alastor’s hands were on him again, straightening and fixing and tidying like he was getting paid for it. 

“Are— are you preening me right now?” Lucifer asked, ear twitching when Alastor reached up to futz with it, and Alastor recoiled as if stung.

“Absolutely not, Your Majesty,” he said decisively. He made a face, as if he’d eaten something particularly sour. Lucifer smiled. He knew the feeling well enough— an itch deep within that said one had to preen another, a need to touch and fix and be there. “That’s— no. I’m fixing your appearance.”

“Preening,” Lucifer concluded, and Alastor’s feathers puffed up, wings flaring outward.

“Isn’t that courting behavior?” Alastor asked, grinding out the words. “No. I am not preening you. It— I— The fact that you could even suggest such a thing, sire, is absolutely reprehensible—”

“What, would it be so bad?” Lucifer teased, leaning closer. “It doesn’t have to be weird.”

“You’re the one making it weird,” he replied, but instead of pulling away, he continued fixing up Lucifer’s clothes. He guided Lucifer’s jacket off his shoulders, then began rebuttoning his vest.

“Sure,” Lucifer conceded with a playful roll of his eyes, though he didn’t believe that in the slightest. 

Eventually, Alastor’s hands began to nitpick at Lucifer’s hair— and admittedly, he hadn’t taken much care with styling it, so it was probably warranted. Alastor brushed away a frizzy curl from Lucifer’s eyes, making full eye contact for a long moment— 

Then his gaze shifted, down to Lucifer’s mouth, and Lucifer’s own eyes sparked with interest. 

“Something wrong?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Alastor faltered. 

“No, sire,” Alastor said quietly, then blinked hard, as if dismissing whatever he’d been thinking about. “I— I forgot what I came here for.”

“It’s technically your room,” Lucifer said with a shrug. “I was going to stay here because I’m used to it, but—”

He paused when Alastor shifted and furrowed his brows. He watched as claws dug into the thick, wine-colored fabric of his pants.

“...You alright?” he asked finally.

“I feel— odd,” Alastor admitted. His wings beat once, and Lucifer noticed their condition. He supposed it had been a while since he preened himself. It was just so difficult to do by himself, and it was a timesink, and—

“You’re probably wound real tight because of these bad boys,” Lucifer said, gesturing to the wings. “C’mere, I’ll preen ‘em for you, yeah?”

“I can do it myself,” Alastor snapped, and Lucifer laughed a bit.

“Can you, now?” he asked. “You’ve never had wings before. I was taking care of these hundreds of years before you were even born.”

“I don’t want you preening me,” Alastor insisted, and Lucifer raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay. Then it isn’t preening,” he said, a bit more gently. “It’s… fixing.”

Alastor faltered, then huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and extending out his wings obediently. Lucifer bit back a ‘Good boy.’ “If you must, Your Majesty.”

“It’s clearly bugging you,” he said as he sidled closer, beginning work on the topmost left wing— setting straight those uncomfortable bent feathers, removing debris. Normally, he’d use magic to add a bit of luster to his wings as well, but he didn’t want to accidentally suck Alastor into the shadows or cover him in crude oil or something, so he would skip that. 

As he slowly worked at the inside of each wing— working his way down the left wings meticulously— he heard Alastor’s breath stutter occasionally. When he fixed a particularly bad feather, or removed a twig, Alastor tensed, breath catching. He moved to the right set of wings. 

Alastor took it silently, which surprised Lucifer a bit— he knew how much Alastor loved to talk. It was like Alastor lived to annoy everyone around him. He didn’t utter a word, just sat there— tense, eyes shut, breath stuttering every once in a while. He almost looked peaceful.

By the time Lucifer moved to the backside of the wings, Alastor was flushed, so flustered that a faint light glowed from his cheeks. Thanks to his current body’s angelic blood, his enjoyment of this was clear as day.

“Fuck,” Alastor panted when Lucifer dug his fingers into the bed of the top-most left wing. Lucifer had always found working the tension out of his shoulders to be relaxing, and it seemed Alastor was no different, because he let out a rolling groan when Lucifer’s touch continued.

Lucifer made quick work of the back of the wings so he could focus on working the tension from Alastor’s shoulders and the base of his wings. 

“What— what are you doing?” Alastor demanded.

“You’ve had your wings out all day,” Lucifer said simply, working at a knot between his shoulderblades. Alastor outright moaned when the tension finally dissolved. “They’re a bit heavy, so I usually end up with my back fucked up after having them out for long periods of time.”

“I’m fine,” Alastor insisted, trying to pull away. He melted into the touch all over again only a moment later, when Lucifer pressed his knuckles into the tender flesh of his wingbed, and let out a sound bordering on a whimper.

“Let me take care of this for you,” Lucifer said. “You’ll feel better after. Promise.”

Alastor didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Lucifer stilled, not wanting to push him too far. They sat in that silence for a long moment, Alastor knelt on the bed and Lucifer, sat behind him with crossed legs, hands rested almost delicately at the muscles of his back. Alastor’s shoulders tightened when he realized Lucifer had stopped.

“Go on, then,” he said finally, and since it was the closest thing to an enthusiastic yes he was going to get out of Alastor, he listened, massaging at tender wingbeds and working the tension from his muscles. 

Whenever Lucifer worked at a wing’s base, Alastor’s breath caught, or he drawled a whine, which Lucifer ignored— if only so Alastor wouldn’t get upset. When Lucifer ended the back massage by running a thumb up his spine, Alastor whimpered pathetically.

“Fuck— Don’t— Don’t do that,” he said quickly, his voice a bit shaky.

“Hm? What’s wrong with it?” Lucifer asked, but didn’t repeat the action. “Don’t like it?”

“No, I don’t,” Alastor ground out, but Lucifer leaned forward to rest his head on Alastor’s shoulder and looked down. 

Bingo. There it was, clear as day— he was hard as steel, tenting the fabric of his pants.

“You sure?” Lucifer teased, murmuring right in his ear, and the way Alastor’s breath caught in his throat was delicious. He ran his hands over Alastor’s hips, but didn’t touch him where he knew he was craving it most. “Seems like there’s some evidence to the contrary.”

“That’s nothing,” he responded. He sniffed decisively, hastily sticking one hand over his lap, and shoving the palm of the other into Lucifer’s face. “It’s— I don’t—”

“It’s alright,” Lucifer purred, guiding Alastor’s hand away. “I was touching your wings. It’s okay if you’re feeling a little worked up from that.”

“It will pass,” Alastor said. “Just— leave it be. It’ll go away.”

Lucifer sighed, then finally pulled away— one hand had been resting at the base of a wing, the other splayed between his shoulderblades— and Alastor’s feathers puffed outward. “I’m guessing you want me to just ignore mine too, then?” he asked. Alastor glanced back over his shoulder.

“What do you expect me to do? I can’t entertain this— this stupidity,” he managed before twisting, wings tucked close to his body, to face Lucifer. “I have better things I could be doing. I— We need to figure out who did this, and how to fix it.”

All he gave at first was a smile, a lean closer. A tilt of the head. Alastor’s jaw set, irritated. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Alastor said, wings twitching.

“Like what?” Lucifer asked, idly smoothing his palm over ruffled feathers. He smiled when Alastor’s breath stuttered, when his feathers set themselves straight under his touch.

“Like you want to eat me,” Alastor breathed. Lucifer laughed, despite himself. “I don’t like being on this end of that look.”

“So you can dish it, but you can’t take it?” he teased, claws gently meandering over to the high collar of Alastor’s shirt. He affectionately traced a sharp claw tip over his covered throat, the swell of his Adam’s apple. “Cute.”

Alastor gave him an unimpressed look, then— ever so slightly— tilted his head back subtly, baring his throat the smallest bit. 

With that concession, Lucifer slotted his hand around Alastor’s slender neck, pushing until the webbing between his thumb and index met with Alastor’s throat. He felt Alastor’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. 

When he curled his fingers, Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat, because his claws met. He could fully encircle Alastor’s neck. His own neck.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Alastor said quietly after a moment, his own hand reaching up to wrap around Lucifer’s wrist. His fingers didn’t even meet around it. For a moment, a worry gripped him— that Alastor was going to pull him away, or steer the conversation back to the cold and unfeeling— but his fears were dispelled when Alastor simply sat in that touch. Basked in it, almost.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Lucifer said gently. Alastor hummed in acknowledgment, and Lucifer’s gaze darted down to his mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

Alastor faltered.

“...It’s a bit odd,” he admitted after a moment. “Considering… well, you know.”

“Yeah,” Lucifer agreed. “But, like—”

His words stuttered to a halt when Alastor leaned closer— and kept leaning closer, until their noses brushed against each other, until Lucifer’s eyes fluttered shut on instinct. He could feel a puff of breath against his lips, hesitant, but Alastor’s fingers tightened around Lucifer’s wrist, and that betrayed his desire almost as much as the erection did.

For a moment, they sat in that spot— just existing, just being near each other— until Alastor swallowed again, Adam’s apple bobbing under Lucifer’s palm, and closed the little space there was left between them.

There was a second where Lucifer only felt lips on lips. That evaporated a moment later, a fire sparking in his gut almost immediately when he fully processed what he was doing. Who he was kissing. He leaned in a bit more, hesitant to go too far and risk scaring Alastor off, but Alastor reciprocated in full— and then some. 

Alastor licked at his mouth, slinging his arms over Lucifer’s shoulders. Something in Lucifer itched, something at the base of his antlers, in the tips of his claws, and he dug his fingers tighter into Alastor’s throat before he could stop himself.

Assert yourself, something animal within his mind said, in a voice shockingly similar to that of the shadows. Dominate.

Alastor groaned against his mouth, and Lucifer used the way his lips parted to push his tongue in. When Alastor only gave him a whine in reply, he went further, licking at the inside of Alastor’s mouth, mapping out every inch of it.

Lucifer removed his hand from Alastor’s throat, and while Alastor didn’t seem pleased with that, his disappointment was short-lived. Only a moment later, Lucifer dug his claws into Alastor’s scalp, and his other hand pressed nimbly between his shoulderblades, then meandered over to the base of one of his wings, teasing at it. Alastor moaned almost pathetically against his mouth.

Normally, Lucifer’s raging voice kink and crazy-high sex drive would’ve made that more than enough to get him to full mast, but he realized when Alastor crawled into his lap that he was only halfway there. Perhaps it was a bodily thing, then? 

“Sire,” Alastor breathed when they finally parted, then pressed another quick kiss to Lucifer’s mouth— then began to kiss at his jaw needily. 

“You don’t have to be so formal, Alastor,” Lucifer responded once he’d caught his breath, hand futzing at the back of Alastor’s shirt, clumsily undoing the snaps. He wasn’t used to doing it from this direction— or at all, really. He almost never wore this shirt. “It’s just us.”

Sharp teeth nicked at his flesh, and even though the skin was unbroken, Alastor’s serpentine tongue laved over the spot all the same, equal parts comfort and threat.

“Lucifer,” he said finally, fingers pulling off Lucifer’s tie, which he’d never done back up after undoing it earlier.

“Yes?” Lucifer responded, finishing with undoing the last few snaps on Alastor’s shirt. He shamelessly dug his claws beneath the fabric, into unblemished porcelain skin and wrapping fully around his slender waist, and unholy fuck, his fingers touched. Was Lucifer really that much smaller than Alastor usually?

“Fuck,” Alastor replied as Lucifer’s fingers traced further up, coming to rest just below the nipples. “You’re wearing far too much right now.”

“So are you,” Lucifer shot back. All the same, he pulled away to begin shedding layers. Alastor was right, he had way too much on— vest, shirt, undershirt. He set about shedding his vest first as Alastor worked on pulling off his own shirt, and once that was doffed, his fingers were working at the buttons of Lucifer’s shirt.

Soon, both of them were topless, and Alastor’s fingers found their way up to Lucifer’s scalp, to his antlers. He pulled him into another kiss, using the antlers as handlebars, and Lucifer felt the simmering heat in his gut build again when Alastor dug his fingers into the base. He pressed just enough to tease, just enough that Lucifer’s breath caught against his mouth. Alastor would be hyperaware of his sensitive spots, wouldn’t he?

“You’re hard,” Alastor purred against his mouth, shifting his hips in Lucifer’s lap. He had to know what he was doing there. “I thought I was an eyesore, Lucifer. What happened to that, hm?”

“You’re hard, too,” Lucifer managed against him, cutting himself off with a spike of feedback and a moan as Alastor’s fingers dug again into the base of his antlers.

“Yes, yes,” Alastor said once he pulled away enough to speak properly. “You’re quite easy to get revved up, you know. All it took was some touching and kissing, and you get so turned on you can hardly think straight.”

Lucifer huffed a laugh, because that just wasn’t true. He was used to kissing— and as for the wings, well, he usually had that erogenous zone hidden in a pocket dimension. Voices were more his thing.

“Sure,” he said gently, digging his fingers further into Alastor’s wingbeds, and Alastor whimpered deliciously into his jaw. 

Alastor responded by digging his fingers into the sensitive base of Lucifer’s antlers. A spike of microphone feedback blared for a moment, mirroring the spike of arousal that twisted in his gut.

Then Alastor pulled him closer, shoving Lucifer’s face into the crook of his neck, and before Lucifer could stop himself, he was sinking his teeth into once-divine flesh and lapping up the golden ichor that spilled forth. It was hot, and thick, and sweet in a way he wasn’t expecting. It was sickening how his appetite sparked at the taste of himself on his borrowed tongue, how his slacks rapidly filled out in the front. He moaned against Alastor’s neck, pressing further against him.

Lucifer’s head cleared, and it was only as the fog alleviated a bit that he realized how addled his mind had been. His body stilled, his muscles growing more responsive to the commands he gave them— whatever Alastor had had, it was probably cured now.

Because of his blood.

His eyes trained on the wound when he managed to pull himself away, and another shot of arousal dug its claws into his spine as the puncture marks from sharp teeth closed, fading into dark, splotchy yellow bruises that would last at least a week.

“Fuck, take your pants off,” Lucifer said, already reaching to fiddle with Alastor’s belt. He was perched in Lucifer’s lap, straddling it, and with their size difference, it was all the more delicious.

“So impatient, Your Majesty,” he joked, batting his hands away and undoing the belt for him, then the button and zipper. “One would think that, in the past ten thousand years, you would have learned that good things come to those who wait.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lucifer said, and he shifted their positions, pressing Alastor back against the sheets a bit too forcefully to call the movement tender. Alastor didn’t even blink at the new position, accepting it with only a snort of laughter and an arm slung around Lucifer’s neck to pull him down into another kiss.

Normally, Lucifer would use his magic to just… make the clothes disappear. To leave them folded across the room, where they wouldn’t be an issue anymore. When he tried to do something similar with Alastor’s magic, though—

Inky tentacles wrenched themselves from his back, and the way they stung somehow only heightened his arousal. With one arm propping himself up and the other at Alastor’s bared throat, those tentacles made quick work of his belt, then his pants, then even his boxers, leaving him bare for Lucifer.

It should not have thrilled him the way it did. It was his body; he’d seen it millions of times. And yet…

Smooth skin, pale as porcelain, sent a rush through Lucifer. He ran a claw over the treasure trail down Alastor’s stomach, down to his dick, hard and twitching already. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen himself hard, obviously. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen himself this hard, so hard that the tip was a warm yellow, glowing faintly with the thrum of divinity beneath flesh—

But it was doing something to him, seeing himself like this. He shifted, pressing kisses down Alastor’s jaw and neck, down to his chest, and he teased a thumb over one pierced nipple with practiced ease, swiping his tongue over the other. 

He only lingered there for a short while before he began kissing down Alastor’s stomach, to the pelvis, then he skipped down to the slender expanse of a milk-toned thigh and sunk his teeth in deep. Alastor groaned, the ruffling of fabric giving away how his wings flared, and Lucifer echoed the sound when divine blood hit his tongue. Tangy sweetness flooded his senses, the copper zing of it in his nose and mouth, dribbling down his chin despite his efforts to keep the mess contained.

Lucifer pulled away a bit, transfixed as the bite once again faded from puncture marks to deep bruises.

“You’re beautiful,” Lucifer breathed, pressing a messy kiss higher up the thigh, over a pulsing artery. Alastor’s breath caught, then he buried a hand in Lucifer’s hair and yanked him away.

“So humble. Truly, my dear king’s virtue knows no bounds,” he said dryly. Lucifer gave a faux pout.

“I was gonna blow you,” he said, and Alastor barked a laugh before sticking the fingers of his free hand into Lucifer’s mouth.

“With these?” he asked, running his thumb along the edge of his sharp teeth. “I think not.”

“What, do you expect me to prep you with these?” Lucifer asked in reply after spitting out Alastor’s fingers, holding up a hand— his nails were claws. Lucifer had made that mistake before. (Lillith had been pissed for weeks.)

Alastor barked another laugh, shaking his head. “And here I thought you might’ve gained some logical skills with my brain behind your eyes. Ah, perhaps I was too optimistic about you, Luci.”

The jab, humiliatingly, sent another spark of arousal shooting up Lucifer’s spine, swirling in his brain in a way that made the animal part of him go haywire.

This is a buck, his more animal side insisted deep in his brain, as if only now processing that Alastor was, in fact, a man. Are you going to let him talk to you like that? Show him who’s in charge.

Lucifer grit his teeth, scowling, and shifted, sitting back on his haunches so he could pull at his belt and hastily undo his pants. He recalled how the tentacles had felt as he was using them— the sting, the extension of limb from spine, the mindless way they had done what he willed— and he called on that feeling again. Several thin tentacles writhed as they were pulled outward from his being, squirming and slithering around Alastor’s thighs, then between his legs.

One tendril of solid shadow wrapped around Alastor’s cock to squeeze teasingly, while two firmly around his thighs yanked him closer. Alastor yelped, eyes widening, before he smiled.

“Well, well,” he said, visibly shivering as another tentacle made its way inside him. “There’s hope for you yet.”

“Shut up,” Lucifer grumbled, a whine of feedback betraying how much he was truly enjoying the way Alastor spoke to him. He finally pulled himself out, and Alastor’s grin wavered a moment as he realized the size difference.

While it was average proportionally to his body… Well, he was also two feet taller than Lucifer’s body was. Not that that really meant much— there was no real correlation between those two things, Lucifer knew— but what was proportional on this body was much larger than what it would be on his usual body. When Lucifer pressed the length of his dick down against Alastor’s stomach with a flat palm, the head laid above his navel.

Moreover, while he normally had a more humanoid dick, Alastor’s dick sat just shy of that. The tip formed a gentle point, and near the base, Lucifer knew instinctively a knot would swell once he reached orgasm.

“Oh my,” Alastor muttered, one hand moving to cover his mouth, and he flushed further as he averted his eyes. It was almost cute. 

Lucifer snorted a laugh, and something sparked in Alastor’s eyes before it disappeared again— he screwed his eyes shut and whined into his palm when the tentacle inside him glanced off his prostate. With a thought, a second tentacle joined the first, this one with the sole purpose of teasing at his prostate as the other stretched him open.

When Lucifer hit his prostate again, Alastor’s dick twitched where it was pinned between Lucifer’s and his own stomach, and he whimpered.

“Oh, please,” Lucifer said, rolling his eyes playfully. “It can’t feel that good.”

Instead of a snarky reply like he was expecting— the blame game, or an admission of putting on a bit of a show— Alastor just moaned again into his palm. Lucifer couldn’t help the way his claws dug into Alastor’s thigh at the sound.

“Just fuck me already,” Alastor said quickly, sliding his hand down between them and pressing his thumb to the tip of Lucifer’s dick. Lucifer’s breath stuttered at the feeling.

“You sure?” Lucifer asked, tentacles stilling.

“Yes— yes, I’m sure,” Alastor replied, and while usually the repetition indicated his annoyance, all Lucifer heard in his tone now was need. Desire. He withdrew the tentacles back into himself, enjoying the way Alastor shuddered at the loss.

Lucifer pulled away from him just enough that he’d be able to properly line himself up, then spat into his palm in lieu of lube. (He was in the habit of just producing his own when he needed it, so he didn’t exactly keep lube on hand. Maybe he should talk to Angel Dust once this was all sorted back out. He probably had some.)

When he began to press in, he pressed one palm flat to the mattress beside Alastor’s head to steady himself, the other hand firmly gripping Alastor’s hip to hold him in place. Lucifer’s body would be able to take this— he’d taken bigger in his millenia of life. 

“Nom de Djieu,” Alastor gasped when Lucifer was only halfway in, and Lucifer paused, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles over his hip as he gave Alastor time to settle.

“You okay?” he asked softly, and Alastor nodded fervently. His back arched off the mattress.

“I’m— I’m fine,” Alastor insisted. “Just— Give me a moment.”

“Sure, yeah, take all the time you need,” Lucifer said, ignoring the strain beginning to build in his arm from the effort of holding himself up. He could handle a little pain.

Alastor only took a few moments to gather himself, then shifted his hips impatiently.

“Get on with it, then,” he said, and Lucifer was more than willing to listen. “I— I must say, I’ve never… bottomed before.”

“Don’t worry,” Lucifer said, continuing to push his way in. His grip on Alastor’s hip tightened when Alastor clamped down on him, and his breath stuttered. “I’ll be gentle. Maybe.”

Alastor tsked, rolling his eyes in exaggerated annoyance. When Lucifer finally bottomed out a moment later, Alastor’s breath shook, and he pressed a palm over the bulge in his stomach. 

“God, it’s enormous,” he said after a moment, head falling back to the mattress, and Lucifer giggled under his breath.

“So humble,” Lucifer teased, echoing Alastor’s earlier words.

“I feel you in my lungs,” Alastor managed, wrapping his fingers around one of Lucifer’s antlers and pulling him down with strength that surprised Lucifer. Alastor buried him in the crook of his neck, in those deep yellow bruises he’d left earlier, and Lucifer was so tempted to mark him up a little more.

“You’re so tense,” Lucifer purred against Alastor’s neck. He didn’t mind the discomfort of being nearly folded in half like this. It was either that or Alastor being buried in his own chest, and Lucifer couldn’t tease Alastor like that. 

Alastor shifted his hips impatiently, and Lucifer wasn’t stupid— he could take a hint. His claws dug into Alastor’s hip, and he pulled the two of them into a position more comfortable for himself, with Lucifer’s knees digging into the mattress and Alastor’s legs held around his hips with a few shadowy tentacles. He pulled out slowly, almost completely, before pushing back in quickly enough that a moan was punched out of Alastor.

Then he did it again. And again. Slow, almost torturously so, and it was both to get Alastor used to the feeling and to tease him. 

Alastor’s back arched, and he whimpered almost pathetically, wings flaring and claws finding a home in Lucifer’s scalp.

“Faster,” he managed, and Lucifer smiled. 

“What’s the magic word?” he teased, slowing further, despite the way his body protested.

“Lucifer,” Alastor ground out, claws tightening further into Lucifer’s scalp. “If you don’t go— Fuck.”

Lucifer cut him off, picking up his pace and pulling a loud moan from Alastor’s chest, the sound shaky and rolling within his chest. Alastor’s head fell back against the mattress. He loved the way Alastor shivered beneath him, how his wings flexed and flared when Lucifer dragged himself over his prostate.

“There y’go,” he purred, trying to keep his voice steady. 

All he got in reply was a moan and a buck of Alastor’s hips, and he drove himself quicker into Alastor. The way he melted under Lucifer was delicious— arousal twisted its claws further into his gut. His feedback spiked again with his desire, a ringing set alight in his ears.

He willed another tentacle from his back, wrapping around Alastor’s cock to pump in time with each thrust of his hips. The movement earned another moan from Alastor.

Lucifer craned his head down, digging his teeth into Alastor’s neck again, and let out an animalistic growl when Alastor’s blood hit his tongue again. The ringing in his ears receded, his senses sharpening with each swipe of his tongue over wounds oozing golden blood.

His hips quickened, cock twitching inside Alastor as the taste of himself stoked his arousal higher. The tentacle tightly coiled around Alastor’s left thigh yanked at the limb aggressively, pressing it roughly against Alastor’s chest, allowing Lucifer to drive into him, even further and even quicker than he had been before. 

“Oh, fuck,” Alastor moaned, and Lucifer pulled away from his neck to fix his gaze on Alastor’s face. Alastor’s eyes rolled back into his skull when Lucifer quickened again. “Do that again.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucifer said with a smile, the words difficult to force out through the fog of arousal that was properly clouding his mind now. He bent back down, laving his tongue over the column of his throat before settling opposite the bite marks from earlier and sinking teeth in. 

With each movement, Alastor whined pathetically. Lucifer wasn’t much better off with how his breath caught each time Alastor teased at his antlers. 

“Oh my God, Lucifer— Luci,” Alastor whimpered, and it bled into a breaking moan when Lucifer’s tentacles tightened around his limbs. The way Alastor said his name made his head spin and his fingers twitch. 

“You close?” he cooed, straightening his back. He was dizzy, drunk off arousal and blood and Alastor. 

Alastor managed a nod, eyes screwing shut, and the hand that wasn’t teasing at Lucifer’s antlers covered his mouth, embarrassed.

The arousal in Lucifer’s core coiled tighter. He had done that. Alastor was usually so composed, and here he was, flustered beyond words, probably so horny he couldn’t think straight, and it was because of him. It sent a thrill through him. He felt his knot beginning to swell, the additional pressure making a spark of pleasure burst like a firework in his head.

“Fuck, please,” Alastor moaned finally, hand darting from his face to dig sharp claws into Lucifer’s shoulder. “Please—”

Lucifer groaned in response. “What? What do you need, hon?” he asked, tone wavering, words catching and slurring with one another. The ringing in his ears had returned, and his ear twitched.

“Can I— Am I allowed to—” Alastor tried, flushing brighter as he spoke, wings flaring.

“Go on,” Lucifer affirmed. He knew what Alastor was getting at. “Whenever you’re ready.”

It wasn’t long after he gave the go-ahead that Alastor let out a moan, his wings shuddering as his orgasm washed over him. He clamped down hard on Lucifer’s knot like a vice, so tight that Lucifer couldn’t move, leaving him buried to the hilt while Alastor pulsed around him—

Which was enough to drive him into his own orgasm. He screwed his eyes shut as the world faded away from around him with the intensity of it, blood rushing in his ears.

When he opened his eyes, it was to a flash of golden light, and as he came down from his orgasm and reoriented himself…

“What the fuck?” he said as the headache hit him— and faltered when he was met with his own voice rather than the static-laced voice of Alastor. He felt like his brain was going to melt out of his ears. He flexed his wings, then looked down to his stomach.

Alastor was buried inside him, knotted so deep that, if Lucifer had been shifted to a more feminine form, the knot alone would probably be hitting his cervix.

“Nn…?” Alastor hummed, his own eyes opening, and he hesitated a long moment before his face flushed.

“That was all it took?” Lucifer asked as he accustomed himself to what was undeniably a horrible hangover. Alastor hadn’t been as hungover as he was, he supposed…

Then the memories flashed back to him, his mind seeming to get the memo that this was actually him now, and it was his turn to blush. He dismissed his wings to their pocket dimension so he could more comfortably lay back against the bed, hiding his face in his hands.

“...I suppose it was,” Alastor managed, words slurred, gaze a bit glassy. 

“I think— I think I just figured out how… all this… happened to begin with,” Lucifer admitted, muffled in his hands. Alastor hummed, fingers erratically loosening and tightening against his hip. “So I got really drunk last night, and, uh— I’m a horny drunk—”

Alastor tried to pull away as Lucifer was speaking, but as soon as he tried, both of them let out an overstimulated yelp, Alastor’s knot grinding awkwardly against Lucifer’s prostate.

“I was jerking off last night and I thought of you,” Lucifer admitted. “And— And sometimes, when I’m drunk and horny, my magic misfires…”

For a long moment, they sat in the stillness. Alastor said nothing. Lucifer said nothing. And then—

“...You did it by accident,” Alastor concluded, brows furrowed in contemplation. Lucifer nodded hesitantly. He knew how powerful Alastor was, and while he couldn’t kill Lucifer… well, he could come close. This entire thing had been upsetting for both of them, and it had taken this— sex, something well outside Alastor’s usual boundaries— to fix it. Hell, Lucifer would understandably be pissed too.

But instead of getting upset, Alastor began to laugh. Hard. He was practically cackling— loud, awkward, and admittedly, it wasn’t a pretty laugh, and yet Lucifer thought it was divine. Seeing Alastor actually, genuinely laughing, the way his eyes and nose crinkled, it was like seeing the sun again after all this time.

“Oh, wow, Lucifer,” Alastor said, shoulders shaking as he wiped at one of his watering eyes, before he took a steadying breath. “Oh, you truly are something else.”

“Don’t laugh!” Lucifer said, propping himself up on his elbows.

“But why shouldn’t I?” he asked, words still slurring. “It’s objectively funny.”

“Are you drunk? What is this?” Lucifer asked. Alastor’s smile tightened, twitching further up as if against his will. 

“Ah, no, just an episode,” Alastor said with a dismissive wave. “They occur sometimes. No need to worry, my dear king, I’m perfectly sober.”

Lucifer blinked. “...An episode,” he echoed.

“Yes,” Alastor said, smile softening. He bent down until their noses brushed against one another. “It isn’t as bad as usual, though. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I’d venture a guess that the healing properties of your blood helped to alleviate my symptoms.”

“Symptoms of what? Actually, y’know what, don’t answer that,” Lucifer said, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. At least Alastor’s knot was beginning to go down, so he should be able to pull out in a few minutes. “How do we, uh… how do we explain this to Charlie?”

Alastor hummed a noncommittal sound, shrugging and already back to his playful self. “We could always just tell her that I figured out your powers and fixed the situation.”

“...I dunno,” Lucifer groaned. “I don’t like lying to her.”

“Well, mon ange, it’s either that, or we tell your dear girl that we had sex. Would you really like to tell her that?” he asked. Lucifer’s eyes widened, and he felt the color drain from his face.

“No! No, no, I don’t need my daughter knowing about my sex life!” he said quickly, pulling himself further up on his elbows, and Alastor wrapped his arms around Lucifer’s waist, then shifted to sit back on his haunches and pulled Lucifer into his lap. 

Lucifer only groaned and hid his face in Alastor’s collarbone. 

“These marks will probably last a while,” Alastor noted, claws tenderly and unsteadily running over the deep yellow bruises on Lucifer’s neck. The color of the marks was so dark, they nearly looked an olive-y green. “Maybe we won’t need to tell her.”

“Shut up,” Lucifer complained, then stretched his arms up to sling them over Alastor’s shoulders. His joints popped pleasurably. “Ugh. I’m so tired.”

“Yes, fucking you is exhausting, I’m sure, my liege,” Alastor said. Lucifer wasn’t looking, but he could practically hear the way Alastor rolled his eyes. “Can you at least stay awake long enough for us to clean up?”

Lucifer groaned, annoyed, and buried his face further into Alastor’s collar. He flicked his tail, and with a flash of golden light, the two of them were cleaned up— as were the sheets.

“There. Cleaned up,” he said. “Nap time.”

Alastor sighed. “Yes, yes, Your Majesty,” he conceded, then twisted to lay back on the bed, Lucifer still perched atop him, still stuffed with his cock. “Sleep well.”

—

When dinner rolled around several hours later, Alastor took a seat at the table with the other primary hotel residents and staff. He hadn’t felt this steady in ages. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been coherent during an episode, and he’d been able to hold a full conversation during one earlier.

“So, I take it you and the king are on good terms again?” Husk asked as he sat nearby.

“That’s right,” Alastor affirmed, taking a sip of his drink. “What gave it away?”

“Y’haven’t insulted each other once since the two of you came downstairs— together— and it’s been, like, ten minutes,” Husk said. “I know it’s none of my business, so I won’t go pryin’, or nothin’, but I can’t help but wonder how you did it.”

“You’re right, Husker, it is none of your business,” Alastor responded cheerily as Angel Dust sat on the other side of Husk. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

Angel laughed knowingly, eyes darting between Alastor and where Lucifer was hushedly explaining to Charlie across the room. 

“Took my advice?” he joked, and Husk batted at him.

“Perhaps I did,” Alastor returned easily, busying himself with his drink as the two of them froze. They were too easy to mess with. (Though, could it really be called ‘messing with’ if it was just the truth?) 

Charlie decided that was the perfect moment to pull Lucifer over to the three of them for a proper dinner. 

“I’m so happy the two of you were able to fix your problem!” Charlie beamed as she ushered Lucifer into a seat across from Alastor. She sighed wistfully, clasping her hands in front of her. “At last, there is peace in the hotel.”

“Alastor had sex with your dad,” Angel blurted out after a moment, then clapped a hand over his mouth, as if he hadn’t meant to say it. Alastor faltered, shooting him a glare, but Angel either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Charlie froze, expression tightening. “Is that so?” she asked, turning her head towards Alastor, then to Lucifer.

Alastor gave Lucifer a knowing look, then smiled and shrugged nymphishly.

“Wh— That—” Lucifer stammered out, beginning to look like he’d rather be somewhere else right now, hands raised in surrender. “That’s ridiculous, Char, c’mon…”

“We did,” Alastor affirmed, sower of chaos that he was. Lucifer squawked, wings springing free from wherever Lucifer kept them and flaring outward indignantly.

“I told you I didn’t want her to know about that,” he complained, his fist meeting the wood of the table. “Char, I—”

“Oh my God!” Charlie said, clapping her hands over her ears. “Dad! Ew! Him?”

Alastor raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with me, darling?”

“I— I need to have dinner in my office!” she said, grabbing her plate. “Hah! I never finished budgeting for the next quarter! I’ll— I’ll see you all tomorrow, bye—!” 

Before anybody could say anything, she was leaving, power-walking through the hotel towards her office.

“Well!” Alastor said, leaning forward. “How was everyone else’s day?”