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Lucifer doesn't think he's been in this much pain since... Since... A long time! A really long time! And boy does it suck! He's so exhausted, too, bone-tired from being juiced like a fucking angelic lemon and then crawling his way out of that stupid box and getting above ground. He doesn't really have it in him to move on purpose, but some of his muscles spasm at random, like stray electrical impulses are still squirming their way out of him. The closest thing to an up-side he can see is that it's a purely physical exhaustion, and not the Sad Exhaustion he usually gets. He doesn’t have enough energy to be sad right now.
Ugh, he wishes his body would just heal already. Fuck angelic steel, why couldn't Heaven keep that shit to itself? Haven't they done enough to him without leaving powerful magical artifacts all around Hell where any old sinner can find them and build an angel-powered death ray? These are the natural consequences of littering around sinners!
Vaguely, Lucifer can hear the sounds of happy chattering all around him as people celebrate not being double-dead and the revelation that redemption is possible. Charlie's voice is mixed in there too, triumphant now that all of Hell has seen she's been right the whole time. Lucifer loves that for her, he really does, but he would also reeeeeeaaaalllly appreciate it if someone scraped him off the ground right about now. It's hard and cold and he's like, injured? It's all very embarrassing, or at least it would be if he gave a shit about sinners and their worthless opinions. Whatever, it's fine, he's so tired he could just fall asleep right where he is. Someone will probably get him eventually, and if not, well, he's gonna heal eventually and he can drag himself home then.
Lucifer's hovering between conscious and unconscious when he hears the worst thing ever: radio static.
Ugh, just what he needs, the Radio Demon, no doubt here to kick him while he's down.
"My, oh my," the fuckin'....red guy's voice is coming from somewhere, somewhere close. Lucifer summons up the dregs of what little survival instinct he has to crack his eyes open. Alastor's face is above his, bloodied and bruised and looking way too happy for Lucifer's liking. Lucifer feels a warm hand on his face, cupping his cheek, and assumes it's Bambi’s. His touch is surprisingly gentle.
"We really are surrounded by fools, aren't we?" Big Red murmurs through a strange smile, eyes feverishly bright. His thumb strokes idly over Lucifer's sweat-damp cheek. "For them to leave you here, unguarded and vulnerable, after we've all just seen what you're capable of? They must be."
"Dun--dun tahlk umbout Char-Char li'e that," Lucifer manages, though he's so dizzy he has to close his eyes again to do it.
Alastor lets out a mean little chuckle. "How sweet of you to defend her! Shame she's left you defenseless, hm?"
Fuck this guy,’ Lucifer thinks as loudly as he can, mostly because it’s all he can do to override the self-loathing part of his brain that wants to immediately latch onto that, to let it drag him down into the depths of despair. He's fine, a little banged up and tired but he doesn't need coddling, and Charlie’s got a whole disaster zone to manage. He can wait. She'll get him eventually.
Probably. If she's not mad at him for getting captured and almost blowing up half of Hell.
Again, FUCK this guy.
"Now, now," Alastor says, all mock-sympathy. He even has the gall to boop Lucifer on the nose. "No need to get upset sweetheart. I've got you now, and I'll be sure to take great care of you."
‘Uh-oh,’ Lucifer thinks, ‘That sounds bad.’
Lucifer knows he should probably open his eyes or something, maybe shout for help or try to move, but his body just feels so heavy, like it's sinking through the ground. When he finally manages to crack one eye open it's just dark, dark, dark, so much so that he might as well have not even bothered. What a waste of energy.
Everything is cold now, wherever he is; his body gives an uncontrollable shiver and can't seem to stop, until suddenly--suddenly he realizes he's not on the ground anymore, and there's two blazing hot supports under him, one at his back, the other under his knees, and a plain of solid heat pressed up against his side. He leans into it more, desperate for warmth. Whatever he's up against smells of blood, and vibrates as a cheery little tune fills the air.
Humming. Someone is humming.
Before Lucifer knows it, the air changes again, now warm and increasingly muggy. The scent of magic and brackish water tickles his nose, and when he opens his eyes again he's somewhere...blue.
Green too, and positively lush with life. He finds himself under a tree, its branches weeping Spanish moss and dotted with the flickering of fireflies. It doesn't look like any part of the Pride Ring, but when his head rolls up he sees the Loudspeaker is still with him and--oh shit, the warm thing IS the Loudspeaker, fuck, oh fuck--
"None of that now," Alastor says, his grip on Lucifer tightening against his weak squirming, "Unless you Want me to drop you?"
"Uh-huh," Lucifer says, "Drop." Fuck, talking is so exhausting. Why is he still awake? How is he still awake?
Alastor scoffs and rolls his eyes, but much to Lucifer's surprise Alastor does lower him onto the ground, only it's different ground, soft and grassy. He has no idea where he is. Maybe he's not really anywhere.
Is he still awake? It makes more sense, actually, for this to be a dream. Alley cat wouldn't touch him in a nice way otherwise--and he is touching Lucifer, like all over. It's hard to keep track of his whole body at the same time right now, but he thinks he feels hands doing...something at his chest, and then he's being lifted into a sitting position and oh, that's his coat now gone, why's his coat gone?
"It's filthy dear," Alastor says, which means Lucifer's saying stuff out loud without meaning to. "Filthy and in my way."
Lucifer doesn't know what that means, only knows that his stomach swoops in a weird way in response. He opens his eyes again and tries to keep them that way. His head rolls forward, his chin to his chest, his whole body ragdoll limp as he watches the Radio Demon’s claws run down the front of his waistcoat, plucking open the buttons.
"Oh dear," that static-laden voice murmurs in his ear, "So much blood! I hope it's still flowing. You haven't put too much effort into healing yet, have you?"
Large splashes of gold litter Lucifer's now-uncovered dress shirt, saturating the fabric and making it stick unpleasantly to his skin. He can't tell for sure, but he thinks he feels the warm slide of fresh blood oozing down his torso from his puncture wounds.
Belatedly, Lucid realizes he must be leaning back against Bambi’s chest. He tries again to free himself, but can't even get his legs to bend. Even so, Alastor's arms wrap around him, strong and warm and when Lucifer closes his eyes it could be anyone, he could be anywhere, he's just floating in the depths of torpor and it feels so nice to be held, when his eyes are closed.
"There, there, that's a good devil," Alastor's voice is so soft and is saying Lucifer's good and yeah he's gotta be dreaming, why else would Big Red be unbuttoning his shirt? "You should feel honored, it's not everyday I take only a taste of someone and not a bite."
Well that doesn't sound good. It doesn't, right? Lucifer's manhandled again as his shirt and vest are removed, leaving him bare down to the waist. Distantly, he thinks he should be upset about this. He doesn't understand why this is happening, or what's happening for that matter, and what he does know is that someone he DOES NOT like has brought him somewhere he doesn’t recognize and is now stripping him down. But outrage takes energy, and Lucifer? He’s fresh outta that.
At least Alastor is warm against him, around him. Lucifer feels Alastor's inquisitive hum thrum against his back as once more clawed hands skim up and down his torso, barely brushing over the puncture wounds that are indeed still pumping out slick lines of blood, leaving his skin a marbled mess of white and gold. The lightest touch makes Lucifer whine with discomfort, and when Alastor dips the tip of one claw into the wound over his ribs he lets out the most pathetic keening sound that's ever left his mouth, probably.
"No-" 'No more pain,' he wants to say, 'Please, I'm so tired,’ but he can't get the words out. He feels a fresh gush of blood come out of him, watches it well up around Alastor's claw, before the other takes it out and brings it up, toward his face. For a moment Lucifer thinks Alastor's going to try and feed it to him, but--no, the filthy claw passes Lucifer's face, leaving a streak of blood on his cheek, and he hears the barely-there wet sound of Alastor’s mouth opening, of his tongue lapping up what he's stolen.
"Mmm," Alastor purrs, his voice full of deep satisfaction, "Even better than I anticipated."
Alastor punctuates the remark by licking the blood from Lucifer's cheek. Lucifer manages a soft gasp at the feeling, unexpected as it is, and once more tries to struggle out of Alastor's hold. He manages a tiny wiggle, maybe, and it saps all the energy out of him, forcing him to close his eyes against a new wave of dizziness. This isn't happening, Lucifer thinks, this isn't real. It doesn't feel real. Unreality is so familiar to him.
When he next has the wherewithal to open his eyes, he thinks Bambi’s hands have gotten bigger. They're so large that it's comical to watch them try and undo the top button of his pants. He's too tired to be alarmed, too drunk on fatigue to do more than shake with barely-there giggles. He hears a growl by his ear, feels the rumble of it against his back, and realizes dimly that at some point Alastor hooked his chin over Lucifer's shoulder, the better to see his work.
Maybe he sees the same lost cause Lucifer does, because he gives up on the button in favor of slashing through the fabric with his claws, shredding his trousers and underwear until all that remains of them are useless scraps of fabric. Lucifer finds the energy to snort at how ridiculous this dream is. He's gotta stop reading those dark romantacies, they're infiltrating his dreams in dumb ways.
"Do you dream of me?" Alastor asks, in a voice that's soft like a house cat's belly--so lovely and so promising of danger. "Well I do hope the reality doesn't disappoint."
Pft, reality. In what reality does Alastor strip Lucifer down and cradle him in his arms? Lucifer floats, feeling just outside of his body, like he's hovering over his own skin. The demon behind him is warm and shockingly comfortable to lean against, and the air is so different here, heavy in the softest way. There's a light breeze moving through the trees and the cattails, and the sound of slow-moving water comes from nearby. It's all so peaceful here.
Lucifer closes his eyes again.
They fly back open at the sensation of a tongue running up his neck, hot and wet and far longer than a tongue usually is. "Wuh?" He mumbles, as he feels the tongue--Alastor's tongue?--lap at his neck, at his jaw, at the dip of his clavicle. It's--weird, it's so weird, and weirdly methodical, what is happening??
Every press of Alastor's tongue against his skin feels brand-hot, which just makes the cool wetness left in its wake that much more pronounced. Lucifer shivers again, his body unsure of how to react, of how it even can react right now with weariness clinging to him so tightly. He's just stuck in the circle of Alastor's arms, forced to feel what's being done to him.
Alastor continues on with his task, making low sounds of enjoyment, pleased little hums and purrs, and even a moan when his tongue finds the wound on his shoulder and starts lapping at it.
Lucifer feels...something, hearing it all, feeling how his body is touched and manipulated. He's helpless, he realizes, for the first time in a long time he's really, truly helpless. It's a nice thought, almost.
Lucifer closes his eyes again as the world shifts around him. Alastor is moving, lowering him fully to the ground and then there's a weight above him, warm across his thighs, over his belly, and then--
Hot, a hot mouth latching onto one of the wounds on his chest and sucking and fuck, fuck, that feels--he doesn't know how it feels, he just feels it down to his toes. He thinks he makes a sound, thinks he might move--toward or away from the mouth, he's not sure. The sucking turns to licks soon enough, first over the wound, then around it, over his entire exposed pectoral. There's an inquisitive flick at his nipple that makes his breath catch in his throat, but Alastor doesn't linger, just licks his way over to the other side of Lucifer's chest. He finds another wound and gives it the same treatment as the first.
Lucifer pants against the sensations, his overwrought nerves firing signals that his body and brain are both too overwhelmed to parse. He’s so drained that his body is barely capable of even reflexive responses but it tries, his muscles twitching and jumping at every touch. He thinks he might be crying.
None of it matters to the creature above him. Lucifer looks up and sees that Alastor has grown, his antlers branching over Lucifer like the bars of a cage, his face and body several times larger than usual. His eyes have lost all semblance of humanity and when his tongue laves over Lucifer again it's nearly half as wide as his torso. Lucifer finds himself scooped up by large hands that hold him so, so gently in their cupped palms.
He stares down Alastor’s now massive mouth, and wonders if Alastor's going to eat him. Didn't he say something about biting earlier? Or not biting? How would that even work--
Alastor's tongue runs between his legs, and what little of Lucifer's brain is still running short-circuits. He's way too exhausted to get hard, but it feels mostly nice, all warm and soft and not-quite-smooth, especially compared to all the pain he was in earlier. Lucifer wonders how sensitive Alastor's tongue is, if he can feel the tremors and twitches he's coaxing from Lucifer's body. Wonders if that adds anything to the experience for him.
Lucifer stops wondering, certain this must be a hallucination, when Alastor takes a break from licking him clean to run the tip of his nose over Lucifer’s soft, exposed belly. It's such an absurdly sweet gesture to drop into the middle of what ought to be a nightmare, only a mind as lonely and desperate as Lucifer’s would think it up. That certainty aches under his ribs, pushes a choked up little sob out of him. He doesn't have the energy to deny to himself he might need this gentle handling, bizarre and horrifying as it is coming from Alastor. Even if it’s strange, at least he has it in his dreams.
At some point Lucifer must've drifted off again, into the liminal space between waking and sleeping, for he's tumbled closer to awareness by the sense of his body once more being moved, and he finds himself now laying on his front.
Alastor's warm breath fans over him before his tongue touches down on Lucifer's backside. This is how Lucifer becomes aware of the wound on his left asscheek, which Alastor prods at with the tip of his tongue. There's a wrong hole joke to be made here, Lucifer thinks, and also an ass-eating joke, and actually this entire thing is so absurd it's funny. Lucifer feels himself shaking with quiet laughter once more, though it only comes out as little staccato huffs of breath.
Lucifer doesn't know how much longer this goes on; time has abandoned him to a whirlpool of pain and strange, soft touch, to smears of blue and green, to the heavy scent of brackish water and to Alastor's tender mercies.
The next time Lucifer touches base with reality, he's back on the grass, and there's something soft and warm covering him. It smells like spice and blood, and he manages to curl up under it enough to pull his hooves under the fabric. His head is the only part of him that's exposed now, which is great because there's fingers carding through his messy hair; the feeling of sharp claws dragging over his scalp is delicate and delicious.
"You're nearly charming like this, Sire," the radio voice says, only it's not very radio-y at all right now.
Lucifer butts his head up against the hand in his hair, the clearest way he can think to say less talking, more petting.
Alastor seems to get the message, for he says, "So spoiled, but I suppose you've earned it," and continues on giving truly excellent scritches. After all that's happened, the captivity, the torture, the very literal burn-out and the weird as hell tongue bath, this little, simple touch is perfect, and perfectly soothing. Lucifer feels himself falling into darkness yet again, and this time he’s pretty sure he’s heading toward more than just a cat nap.
When Lucifer finally drifts to sleep, he stays there for a long, long time.
---
Lucifer wakes up in his bed at the hotel, in his own pajamas, with no memory of how he got there. The last truly clear memory he has is of being in that shitty box thing; everything after is a strange kaleidoscope of pain and cold and red-blue-green, teeth and tongue and nothingness. Snatches of voice too, of radio static and teases that couldn't be real. Why are dreams always so weird?
"Dad?" Charlie's voice calls from his bedside, and Lucifer is pleased to find that when he tells his head to move it does. He is still tired, still achy, but it seems he can move under his own power again (when was it that he couldn't?).
"Dad! You're awake, oh thank goodness!" Charlie throws herself at him, gathering him up into a tight hug, which he weakly reciprocates. He remembers arms around him, hands on him, but the memory is more of an impression than anything solid, and slips through his fingers like water.
"I'm alright sweetie," he says, when he stops trying to chase that phantom embrace long enough to realize Charlie's babbling a mile a minute, asking him many probing questions about how he feels. It surprises him, actually, and belatedly he remembers that she's upset with him, or at least she should be. "You're not mad?"
"Mad?" She pulls back, brows furrowed in confusion before guilty remembrance twists her features. "No! I'm, I'm so sorry Dad, I shouldn't have--"
"It's okay," Lucifer says, mostly because he doesn't think he's got the energy for whatever conversation it is they need to have about all of this. "Can we talk about it later?"
"Of course!" Charlie says, "You must be so exhausted, Alastor said you were totally out of it when he found you, and after everything you went through..."
Wait, what?
"Who did you say..." Lucifer asks, as a bizarre jumble of images and sensations try to climb out of the muck of his fatigued memory.
No. Not a memory, it is definitely not a memory. It was just some weird dream--
"Alastor...?" Charlie repeats with a wince, before rushing to reassure him, "He was just being....nice? I guess? He does that sometimes!"
Lucifer feels the ghost of fingers carding through his hair and thinks, 'In my dreams maybe.’
Because that's all it was, a dream. Anyone would have a weird dream or two after being used as the angelic battery for a giant laser.
Shaking the thought off, Lucifer tries to focus on the here and now. He and Charlie chat for a bit longer, catching up on all that's happened while he's been asleep, until a knock on the door interrupts them. The knock is more of a warning than a request, as immediately afterward Bambi lets himself into the room.
"Charlie dear," he says as he strolls over to the bed, clearly unconcerned with whether or not his presence is welcome, "I believe you asked to be retrieved before circle time?"
Red guy's eyes stay on Charlie as he speaks, but Lucifer feels watched by him all the same.
"Oh, right!" Charlie says, jumping out of her seat, "Sorry, I've got to go, lots of new guests to settle in! But I'll see you for dinner, okay?"
Lucifer gives her the best smile he can, happy to know she's making time for him when she doesn't have to. "Okay, see you then sweetie," he says, and waves as she leaves the room.
Which just leaves him with the loudspeaker. At some point, the guy made it all the way up to Lucifer's bedside without him noticing.
"I see you're well on your way to a full recovery!" Bambi says, as if he gives a shit. Lucifer can't stop looking at his mouth, can't stop wondering if he'd really felt it against his skin.
Lucifer watches as the other's smile grows smug. "Do I have something in my teeth?" Big Red asks.
Lucifer shakes himself out of his weird little trance. The guy is inscrutable; absolutely nothing about how he carries himself gives any indication of whether or not he's recently spent an indeterminate amount of time shamelessly tonguing at Lucifer's entire body. That feels like the kind of thing that should show on a guy's face, at least a little.
Whatever. Lucifer gives up trying to figure it out in favor of turning his back to the other and curling up under his blankets.
"'M tired, go away."
"Such ingratitude," Bambi says, sounding not at all offended. "But if you insist...oh."
'Oh what?' Lucifer resists the urge to say, not wanting to encourage Alastor to stick around. He screws his eyes shut as if that alone will banish the other.
In that dark place behind his eyelids, the one so like that strange tumbling unreality, the fingers that run through his hair feel like a dream. He's frozen, struck helpless once more as claws ghost over his scalp, pushing his hair away from the nape of his neck.
"Looks like I missed a spot," Alastor murmurs, too close, and then--warm breath, and a familiar tongue licking up the line of his neck.
It happened, Lucifer realizes then. All of it. It really happened.
And Alastor will never let him forget it.