Lucifer never really experienced fear, at least not in the physical sense of the word.
Even during the fight with Adam, any of his fears were for Charlie, not himself. Hurting him physically would take a lot, both power-wise and effort, which was not to say he didn't have fears, heh, no, how long do you have to listen because if you unrolled that list, it would be down the stairs and out the door. But mostly his fears were of the cerebral style and not that Lucifer wanted to discount those who were afraid of dismemberment and whatnot, it just wasn't on his radar.
Which made it absurd how scared he felt inside right now.
In the back of his head was a ticking time bomb, one that led a path directly to his bedroom door and when the timer went off, it wouldn't explode, oh, no, he'd be so lucky. No, what would happen is it would wave a white flag and he'd be expected to flip his wings out for inspection by the one person who'd ever asked to see them who by coincidence was also the same person Lucifer was hate-fucking right around two weeks ago.
Even one week ago if someone told him he'd be mentally prepping for letting Alastor get his hands on his personal dust catchers, Lucifer would have laughed at them and maybe sent them off to experience the joys of cleaning out the ancient hellhound cages with a teaspoon.
Tick tock, time was marching on and the moment was coming, and Lucifer was starting to think the universe wanted him to experience the thrills of vomiting at least once in his life because he'd never come closer than he had this week, and more than once.
Take now for instance. Here he was sitting with a plateful of rice smothered in delicious smelling e-toffee and he could only pick at it, his stomach declaring off limits due to anxiety.
Everyone else was digging in, including Alastor who was sitting right next to him and any second now either he or Charlie was going to question his lack of consumption and he'd either be dealing with humiliating kindness or insulting levels of mocking, and whichever the universe sent his way, it would be in front of an audience. So, Lucifer forced himself to spear a shrimp with his fork, shearing it in half with his sharp teeth.
The delicious taste was in direct contrast with the churning in his stomach. He'd told Alastor he could see his wings and he'd meant it, but just lately his emotions felt as if they were on a swinging door, slamming from confidence to fearful to confusion and hitting every other emotion in-between.
For every piece of himself that was afraid for Alastor to touch his wings, there was another that timidly wanted it, he wanted Alastor to touch him, always, wanted Alastor's attention and affection he…he wanted Alastor to find him beautiful and his wings were the prettiest thing about him, always had been.
Yes/no, maybe so, red light, green light, stop and go, his fears were rattling back and forth like the swinging pendulum on an old clock.
That left him here at the table with the rest of the hotel staff, caught up in the turmoil inside his head while everyone else enjoyed their fancy shrimp gravy and rice.
But hey, other than his soul-deep wrenching fears, dinner was going great. No one said a thing about him and Alastor sitting next to each other, not a single teasing word or sideways glance. Further proof that while this entire event was constantly in the forefront of Lucifer's mind, other people were their own main characters with their own shit to worry about. He and Alastor were yesterday's news, no one cared, and Lucifer was starting to wonder why he'd been so certain they would.
Oh, the irony of him falling to his pride.
At one point Lucifer cautiously set his free hand on Alastor's knee and Alastor said nothing, no one did, the walls didn't come crashing down, the Pride Ring didn't collapse into itself like a dying neutron star because he was touching his…um.
He really needed a word for it, this relationship of theirs. Boyfriend sounded like it shouldn't be anywhere near Alastor, lover felt a little too…soft? Partner, maybe? Didn't matter, he was touching Alastor while they were eating dinner with the others, and no one cared. It was. It was nice. Really nice.
After a few minutes, hesitant fingers skimmed across the back of his hand, then grew bolder when he didn't move it away, sliding in between his own until they were holding hands, their fingers stiff and awkward against each other. Good god almighty, this was fucking embarrassing was what this was, they'd both had their mouths in several utterly obscene places on each other in private and holding hands in public was what made the self-consciousness crop up?
Even more embarrassing was how much it made Lucifer want to hold on to him even more.
And no one else at the table paid one damn bit of attention to the entire incident. Their faces were planted firmly in their food and Lucifer was forced to endure the mortifying ordeal of being unnoticed.
Oh, well. At least they were enjoying the chow.
"This is pretty good, Charls," Angel said around a mouthful and Charlie all but glowed with happiness.
"Thank you!" Charlie beamed. "Alastor helped!"
Everyone at the table paused, the contents of their forks being studied suspiciously, and Alastor heaved out a long-suffering sigh, "With the cooking, not with the ingredient list. There's nothing and no one unusual in the dish unless you make a habit of befriending the local seafood."
Eating resumed.
"Ooh," Charlie piped up. "Before I forget or things get sidetracked, I wanted to let everyone know we're opening up a second yoga class and thank you, again, Alastor for our wonderful outdoor area, it's really been a lovely atmosphere for our guests."
"One contributes where one can," Alastor preened. His grin widened, just shy of wicked, "I could always encourage new varieties of foliage to spice up the view, I'm sure a few of the more vigorous hellborne ones would be most inspiring!"
Yeah, because the guests would surely be eager to get into the downward dog pose when they were worried about the flower garden giving them a literal bite on the ass. But this was a familiar game, Alastor would gleefully offer something no one would ever possibly want and then watch Charlie struggle to find a way to politely turn it down.
As entertainments went, it was fairly mild, but still a dick move.
Alastor's expression didn't change when Lucifer pinched the inside of his thigh in punishment for his asshole ways, but he did tighten his hold on Lucifer's hand, pulling it firmly back to his knee and away from more delicate areas.
"Thank you, Alastor," Charlie said with only the slightest of hesitation, and hey, that was his girl, she was getting the hang of dealing with copious amounts of bullshit, that was a leadership skill right there. "But what we have is good for now. New class starts tomorrow at 1pm and there's a group therapy class at the same time, so that should give you a chance to take a break, Husk. Any questions?"
Niffty's hand shot up.
"Oh." Charlie recovered from her surprise quickly. "Niffty?"
Lucifer would admit to being morbidly curious what questions Niffty could have about yoga, but instead of asking about cleaning the mats or mowing what lawn existed, Niffty turned immediately to Alastor and asked, "When you sleep together at night, do you ever worry you'll poke his eyeballs out with your antlers?"
Several sets of eyes swung their way, a veritable cornucopia of expressions split between too involved, cringing, uncaring, and a single eye that looked as if it was wishing for a little gouging of its own.
Yeah, okay, so much for no one being interested in them.
Alastor only took another bite from his plate, chewing politely and swallowing before he said, "Niffty, my dear, there's an open bottle of wine in the kitchen. Fetch it for me, won't you?"
"'Kay!!" She scrambled off happily and that should be the end of it, done deal, yay! Should, but fuck it, if anyone could legit say they had a devilish impulse, it was Lucifer, right?
Lucifer nudged Alastor with an elbow and said, slyly, "You didn't answer her."
Oh, that look was so richly dark Lucifer could eat it with a spoon. "She has the attention span of one of the bugs she so delights in skewering. You simply lack manners."
Lucifer pushed his plate aside and propped an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand, hey, Alastor wasn't the only one who could be a little shit. "I was created before manners existed, I get an exemption," Lucifer decided, "and I think I deserve an answer, it's my eyeballs at stake. C'mon, boss, tell us, how do you plan on protecting me from those little head twigs, hm?"
The table was silent, Angel sat frozen with his fork halfway to his mouth, watching avidly. Husk was slumped back in his chair, gulping from his pocket flask, and Lucifer was determinedly not looking at Charlie or Vaggie; he couldn't break eye contact with Alastor, who was glaring at him through narrowed eyes, the grimacing twist of his smile a match to the painful grip of his fingers around Lucifer's.
Then his smile eased, the pink tip of his tongue flicking over his lips before Alastor leaned over to murmur close to his ear. "Are you sure you want to discuss our bedroom habits at the dinner table? Because I for one would delight in describing your more, shall we say, voracious sexual appetites. In fact, considering you've already presented a visual of sorts about our bedroom to Hell at large, I believe it's only fair we bring that vision to the proper medium for entertainment, perhaps a demonstration during a live broadcast—"
"Yep, okay, moving on," Lucifer said loudly, scooting back away from him. But not so far as to let go of his hand.
"We gonna have to watch them flirt every time we have dinner?" Husk grumbled, shoving his plate aside, "Make a guy lose his appetite."
"Eh, shut it, sourpuss," Angel snorted. He plucked a shrimp from Husk's abandoned plate, biting into it at the same time he mumbled, "s'cute."
Charlie looked like she was trying to decide who to agree with when Niffty came running back in with a wine bottle hoisted triumphantly over her head. None of them commented that it was obviously not from the kitchen nor was it from their stores, dusty and old with an impressive label that made Lucifer raise his eyebrows and Alastor hum appreciation as he pulled out the cork, pouring for anyone at the table who held out a glass. Lucifer was one of them. Wherever Niffty got a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in Hell, he did not know and sometimes? It was better to enjoy life and not to ask.
Dinner wound down shortly after and left Lucifer and Charlie alone again with the dirty plates and empty glasses as the others one at a time abandoned them to their fate.
Nice to see that Alastor's tendency to let others handle the cleanup extended outside the bedroom. Couldn't blame him too much though, everyone else had a disappearing act of their own when it came to washing dishes. Even Niffty.
Charlie was scraping the plates into her little compost bucket, stacking them on the table when she said, wryly, "You know, dad, when I told you I knew about you and Alastor, I didn't mean the two of you had to provide live entertainment for us."
Lucifer winced, yeah, okay, it was entirely possible he'd gone a liiiiittle overboard for their first real semi-public appearance.
"Sorry, kiddo," Lucifer said meekly, "I didn't mean to make things awkward at dinner."
"You didn't," Charlie said firmly and whether that was true, Lucifer did not know, but he loved her for it either way. "And you might want to rethink whether he makes you happy because you really looked it."
Thinking about this was always where he got in trouble to begin with. "You should go on, call it for the night."
Charlie blinked and looked at the table, still covered with glasses and serving bowls. "Oh, but the dishes."
"I've got them." Lucifer snapped his fingers and plates began bouncing off the table, rolling into the kitchen and plopping into the sink of soapy water.
Charlie watched them bop along, amused, "Couldn't you just snap your fingers and they'd be clean?"
"Yeah, but this is more fun. Saw it in a movie once. G'wan, now," Lucifer flapped a hand at the door, "go spend some time with your girl, I can finish cleaning up."
That idea must've appealed —who knew how much time those two actually got to spend with each other— because Charlie took a step towards the door before she hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Lucifer said, watching the scrub brushes were attacking the pans with vigor. "Wager was only for cooking not for dishes, this won't take me long."
Convinced, Charlie only gave him a hasty hug and was out the door.
Which was fine, what Lucifer said was true enough; cleaning the dishes didn't take long but there always seemed to be a cumulative effect.
First washing the dishes, then they needed dried. After that you really should put them away and huh, gotta wipe off the counter and once you did that, the floor needed swept and probably mopped and Lucifer was watching the mop dance a solo across the floor when he heard the door open, felt the weight of a gaze on his shoulders.
He didn't turn around. He didn't need to, he knew exactly who it was without the lively waltz that came to life in the air, matching the movements of the mop.
It would have been churlish to struggle away from the hand that suddenly took his own, worse than that to ignore Alastor's bow before he pulled Lucifer into his arms and spun him in a few quick circles, and no matter what else you said about Alastor, (probably all of it was true) the man could dance. His smile was easy, close-mouthed and real, and Lucifer sighed and gave in, effortlessly following his lead, and trying not to bask too obviously in the feel of his arms. "If you wanted to go out dancing, you should have said so."
"I'm afraid none of the current juke joints measure up to my standards." Alastor twirled him and Lucifer couldn't help laughing. "We'll have to attend one of Rosie's soirees if you'd really like to dance."
Or one of the grand balls that Beez liked to throw from time to time and Lucifer could already see it, certainly Alastor of all people would appreciate a chance to put on the ritz and they'd be quite the sight, the two of them attending together, the way he had with Lilith—
He shut down that line of thought instantly, but maybe Alastor sensed something in his silence. He let Lucifer go after only a few more steps, something Lucifer refused to be disappointed about, and gestured at the mop still twirling away. "Are you nearly finished? I was about to go upstairs if you'd care to join me."
The Jeopardy theme music started up and Lucifer almost choked on a laugh. "That seems more like it belongs on the despised picture box than in your catalogue."
"It is nonetheless appropriate."
Lucifer took a steadying breath, because even he could admit hiding out in the kitchen was not the way to handle this. The place between his shoulders started to itch, like his wings themselves were growing nervous. "Yeah, let's go."
Walking upstairs together was even weirder than dinner. For one, it didn't seem like anyone was around, but Lucifer had no doubt someone was out there, Dill, maybe, or someone else, taking pictures of them together to send to Box, and so what if they did. Alastor wasn't even touching him, there was a good foot between them as they went up the stairs. Alastor was humming softly, a tuneless little meander of sound and Lucifer wished he could feel that sense of ease.
Alastor held open the door like the gentleman he pretended to be and Lucifer wasn't saying no, not now, he wasn't, hands clenching into fists to hide the tremor in them. He'd said they could do this and they would. He could do this.
Only, Alastor caught him by the elbow before he could make his way to the bed, pulling him in the direction of the bathroom.
He closed the door behind them and immediately started to unbuttoned Lucifer's vest, draping it over the lid of the commode, and Lucifer let him, pretended his heartbeat wasn't thundering loudly in his ears in an unearthly drum. The rest of his clothes quickly followed, and Lucifer stood there bare to the skin while Alastor turned on the shower. He tested the water temperature, humming in satisfaction even as steam began filling the room.
"Um," Lucifer swallowed hard, "The feathers aren't going to be as much fun to touch when they're soggy."
"Unquestionably," Alastor said, and he started to unbutton his own shirt, "so I suggest you keep them put away for now."
The shower was a separate cubicle away from the bathtub and it wasn't really made for a crowd, but they were both slim enough that when Alastor stepped in and pulled Lucifer after him it was more tantalizing than uncomfortable, their bare limbs occasionally brushing. The spray came down like a waterfall and Lucifer found he was relaxing into the lovely warmth of it. It was the perfect temp of right below lava flow and he closed his eyes, let the pounding force of it beat his tension away. Until the press of lips against the nape of his neck startled him so badly, he nearly slipped, only saved by Alastor catching hold of him and settling him back on his feet.
"Calm down," Alastor said, simply. There was a bath pouf hanging in one corner and watching Alastor wet the thing and soap it up was surreality at its finest. "I'm not about to make you do anything."
"What? I'm not—of course you won't—this isn't—I'm calm! Why wouldn't I be calm?" Lucifer sputtered, his voice echoing in the small stall, and never mind that he sounded the exact opposite of calm, there was no calm here, only borderline panic. Another soft kiss, this time on his lips, silenced him and Lucifer leaned into it, hating that he was shivering a little even beneath the heat of the water.
"No, you aren't," Alastor said. He ran the pouf down Lucifer's arms and he couldn't help relaxing a little at the familiar scratch-scrubby feeling dragging over him. "You've been about to leap out of your skin all night and while one might think I would find such a thing appealing, let me assure you that I prefer to source my ingredients outside of the bedroom." Only Alastor could make Lucifer snort with amusement by joking about his cannibalistic tendencies. "So again, calm yourself. I can be patient if you're not ready. I may not know your reasons why, but I do understand now that this has some gravitas to you."
"Kind of," Lucifer said weakly. "It's hard to explain."
"I'll listen if you wish, but you don't need to try," Alastor said. He was quiet for a moment and when he spoke again, it was softer yet still cut through the sound of falling water. "You do know I'm not going to hurt you, don't you?"
"Yes," Lucifer said, too quickly, and tried not to let it be a question, tried to make it sound like he did believe. Because he did, he didn't really think Alastor meant to hurt him, he never had before, not physically, which was shamefully not something Lucifer could say about himself. But…he could. But he might. But, but, but.
His expression never changed, Alastor only watched the path of the pouf as he guided it across Lucifer's shoulders, trails of white suds trekking down his back and chest. "I'll make it a deal, if you like; you show me your wings in exchange for me not hurting you while you do."
Oh.
Oh, that would tie him, bind him, Alastor wouldn't be able to break the deal, bound by the terms of the agreement.
And it would be glaring proof that Lucifer didn't trust him. Proof that no matter what Alastor did, he wasn't believed, and Lucifer couldn't do that, not even to soothe his own fears.
He couldn't.
"I don't need a deal," Lucifer said at last, and his voice was only audible over the water because he wanted it to be.
Alastor stopped scrubbing and looked down at him pensively, his lashes spiked and wet. Then he leaned down to kiss Lucifer again and the tenderness of it made Lucifer want to melt.
He nearly did when Alastor shifted to murmur close to his ear, "I do believe that's the first time I've ever been relieved to not complete a deal."
"Oh," Lucifer said, a little helplessly, and kissed him again. A brief touch of tongues before Alastor pulled away.
Alastor folded down to the floor, not kneeling but sitting on the tiles and he was still tall enough to press his mouth low on Lucifer's belly. No treasure trail for him, his pubic hair was a thatch of golden curls that started and ended at the base of his cock. He didn't have a navel, either, and the head of his cock bumped against Alastor's chin as if it had a mind of its own, already hardening and demanding attention.
"You do have a pretty cock," Alastor told him, barely able to be heard over the falling water.
"Thank you?" Lucifer said, because what the hell else did you even say to that? He didn't have time to come up with anything better before Alastor cupped his hips in both hands. Thumbs rubbed over the narrow crests of bone before Alastor moved to swallow Lucifer down, his mouth hotter than the water as he sucked him with indulgent delight.
"Oh, fuck," Lucifer groaned, sagging back against the cool wall tiles. He reached thoughtlessly for Alastor's head and forget eyeballs, he nearly impaled a hand on one of those spiky little antlers. He caught hold of them instead, a set of peculiar joysticks and wouldn't Alastor just love that comparison. He followed the bony jut of them down to silky-wet hair, filled his hands with it and choked on a cry when Alastor hummed his pleasure.
Alastor kept his movements slow, sucking softly, the tip of his tongue playing gently at the head, and Lucifer thought it might be the gentlest blowjob he'd ever gotten. Lucifer tipped his face up into the spray, let it wash away the prickle of tears in his eyes as he cupped the precious curve of Alastor's skull in his wet hands, following along with the bob of his head.
The curl of tongue around the shaft made Lucifer gasp, unheard over the pouring water and he couldn't hear Alastor either, but he could feel him, the vibration of moans as he worked to break Lucifer's control and too quickly at that.
"Close," Lucifer moaned out, then louder when Alastor took him deep, sucking strongly, the wet pad of his tongue pressing up against the underside of his shaft as he pulsed and shivered and came. Through the water blurring his vision, he could see Alastor watching him, crimson eyes narrowed against the spray of hot water trickling wet down his cheeks, and his gaze was hotter, volcanic, avid and eager as he took in the sight of what he did to Lucifer.
God, so good, drowning in pleasure while water poured over him and the feel of Alastor swallowing around his cock made him quiver with oversensitivity, trying not to pull his hair as his hands reflexively clenched.
Alastor barely pulled off when Lucifer's legs betrayed him, hoofy toes sliding on slick tiles as he sank down. Alastor guided him into his lap and kissed him with swollen lips, his mouth salt-sweet, tainted with the tang of apples and the steamy water poured over them, an obscene mimicry of baptism.
Well, this wasn't quite the way Lucifer expected tonight to go, but fuck it, that was the perfect way to describe their entire relationship, now wasn't it? But the clench of panic in his chest was gone, only the faint pull of nervousness remained, wrapped around a core of anticipation.
"Let me show you my wings," Lucifer said, simply, and it wasn't 'I love you', but it felt the same in his mouth.
He didn't know if Alastor heard anything except the spoken words, but his smile was a true one and he nodded, helping Lucifer to his feet and pulling him in for a last kiss before he murmured, "After you, my dear."
-finis-
Text:Lucifer would stand by his assessment that showers were one of the best things humanity ever created. True, there were days when you knew you needed one and didn't want to go through the effort of climbing in; Lucifer could admit to a few days in his past where just snapping his fingers to get rid of his clothes felt like his own personal attempt to push a boulder uphill. But it was always worth it in the end, once he was in the shower with that gorgeously hot water pouring down on him, he never wanted to get out.
(He'd done that a few times before, too, right after Lil left. Stayed in the shower for days before dragging his waterlogged ass back out. Wasn't like there was anyone to stop him.)
Unfortunately, the healing powers of a shower were temporary, a fact proven yet again after Alastor's attempt to soothe his wing-related stress.
By the time they were out of the shower and toweled dry, Lucifer's nerves were starting to return. Every movement felt brittle, jittery, and fuck it, whether this was going to end up being a good or a bad thing he was ready to get it over with and be done. If he was going to wind up regretting this, may as well get started on the trauma, right?
Lucifer liked to have plenty of extra time to regret his life choices.
He kept the towel tucked around his hips as he walked out of the bathroom first and did what he always did when he had no idea what the fuck he was doing; dive headfirst into overconfidence.
"Okay, let's get this show on the road!" Lucifer said heartily. He whirled around to give Alastor, who was pulling on his pajamas, his very best smarmy leer, "How do you want me?"
Maybe it was meant as a kindness that Alastor ignored the obvious innuendo. He finished putting on his pajamas and, wonder of wonders, pulled his damp hair up into a little tuft of a ponytail so it was out of his face. Strange how it altered his appearance, brought out the angular line of his jaw and how much it begged for teeth to nibble along it.
That distraction lasted as long as it took for Alastor to step into the middle of the room and conjure a stool in a burst of green light. He patted the seat patronizingly, like the shit that he was. "Here. Sit, there's a good boy."
Oh. Uh. Okay. He'd assumed they'd be on the bed; even if this wasn't sexual, it was intimate, right? But this was at Alastor's request, so he'd do it the way he wanted. Maybe Alastor was getting a little over-intimacy-ed and wanted some distance or maybe it would be easier to keep from being distracted if he was out of reach of Lucifer's grabby hands. Whatever it was, he was calling the shots, for now, and Lucifer would go along.
That didn't mean Lucifer was above giving him a little shit for it.
"Woof," Lucifer grumbled as he tossed aside the towel and sat. Wasn't like Alastor hadn't seen him naked before and as recently as two minutes ago. He had a chance to regret his hubris almost immediately, har har, wasn't that a trend. The stool was wooden and the seat was cold enough against his bare ass that he winced, fuck's sake, did Alastor conjure his objects out of a freezer? It warmed quickly enough, though, and Lucifer settled on his perch, not even complaining that his feet barely touched the ground, see how accommodating he was being? See?
Alastor only stood there, ears perked high, his smile easy and hands clasped in front of him; he was the very picture of patiently waiting and, yeah, yeah, Lucifer could take a hint.
Here it was. Lucifer took a deep breath and extended his wings.
He couldn't help groaning, arching his back as they unfolded from the dimensional pocket they went into when he didn't have them on display; honestly, he should pull them out more often. The deep stretch was more than physical, it extended into the depths of his metaphysical being and it felt incredibly good to shake them out, splaying them with a fluttering wave of feathers.
They weren't any old angel wings, either, six wings lined in two rows on either side of his spine. His wings were those of a seraph, feathers still gleaming with ethereal light, the pearly luminescent of the primary feathers and the deep crimson of their underside. Once they were fanned open, from wingtip to wingtip they spread far enough for the flight feathers to brush the walls, nearly knocking down a painting of a crying clown that somehow found itself on Lucifer's wall.
Wings granted to him at his creation, once the most beloved of God…but that was a long, long time ago.
Back then he couldn't have imagined loving anything but God, sheltering in the glory of Their light, and look at him now, sitting naked on a stool being examined by a sinner demon with blood on his hands and more on his teeth, and Lucifer didn't care one bit. If Heaven were spying right now, he'd give them the finger and a show.
But there was only one person here to enjoy the display and he wasn't yet talking.
Alastor walked a full circle around him, and Lucifer only sat there, trying not to shiver in the growing chill while one leg jittered nervously up and down. This wasn't quite what he'd been hoping for, this…this inspection; he felt like a specimen, a butterfly being prepped for taxidermy and Alastor was searching for the perfect place to put the first pin.
No familiar static, no music, only the soft scuff of Alastor's bare feet on the floor, the tap of hoofy toes as he circled Lucifer once, twice, and started on a third time around.
It was a very specific sort of torture and finally the silence became too much, Lucifer bursting out, "Well?"
Alastor halted, his head tipping to the side in that cringy neck-cracking way he had. His eyes were still on the wings, tracing the outline with his gaze as if mapping the entire breadth of them.
"Interesting," Alastor said at last.
Ah.
Yeah, okay, to call that a letdown was to suggest his fall from Heaven was a bit of a tumble, and he should've dusted himself off and got back into the game.
"Interesting," Lucifer repeated in disbelief, "that's it?"
All his frail hopes were collapsing in on themselves and reforming into his fears, dragged to the forefront of his mind from the corners where they lurked, dark and miserable. He should have known better, this was where hoping always got him, and what the fuck had he expected? What he felt for Alastor wasn't necessarily reflected back at him, why would it be? They'd known each other a matter of months, only been sleeping together a little longer, and as many talents as Alastor had, mind reading was not among them. He had no idea Lucifer…that he…how could he possibly know?
It was unreasonable, irrational to be hurt by the lack, Lucifer knew that. It didn't stop him from feeling it.
Heaven showed him a very long time ago that he was difficult to love, you'd think he would've learned the lesson by now. It was his worst failing, why he was cast out and away from everything he'd ever known at the beginning, away from God's light.
None of that was Alastor's fault, not really. He gave Lucifer sex and company and, occasionally, surprising tenderness. It wasn't his fault that Lucifer was—
(unlovable)
--greedy.
Not his fault but Lucifer found he was perversely angry with him, anyway. This was all his idea, they could've stuck with sex and cooking and maybe the occasional take-out dinner but oh, no, Alastor had to challenge him to see his wings, dangling his own desires in front of him in offering and there were plenty who would get a chuckle about that upstairs, to see him falling to temptations.
His wings snapped up instinctively, reflecting his mood and Alastor stepped smoothly aside before one of them could smack him upside the head. His brow furrowed, his smile curious, "Were you expecting something more specific?"
"No! Yes! I don't know!" Lucifer snapped. He hunched over, his lowermost wings curling around him to hide some the nakedness that Lucifer was suddenly feeling. "It doesn't matter because all I got was interesting. Not even going to compare me to…to a homeless pigeon or a lackluster vulture or something?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor said, waving an idle hand, painfully dismissive, "the comparison is hardly apt, you're an angel."
"A fallen angel."
"I'm afraid the distinction eludes me when it comes to the visual." Alastor stepped around him again and Lucifer ducked his head, didn't watch his indifferent examination.
Eludes him. Right.
Lucifer drew in a long, shaky breath and exhaled it slowly. Ridiculous to feel so hurt, he knew by now that Alastor did not damn with faint praise. He'd never pretended to be anything else than who he was, so why did Lucifer bother expecting it? He looked down, blinking hard, and settled in to deal with his disappointment. He'd said Alastor could see them so, fine, let him look his fill.
He would simply brace himself to endure this to the end, drawing up his legs and setting his heels on the seat of the stool so he could bury his face in his knees to hide the burn of tears.
Alastor was still walking around him and Lucifer drew all his wings in a little, curving them closer around him and Alastor made a sound of interest at the flex of them in triplicate.
"Hm, yes," Alastor mused, "Truly remarkable, as lovely as I remember."
Remarkable, gee, he got an upgrade, how kind and…
…wait, what?
Lucifer raised his head, unsure he'd heard him right. "What?"
Alastor glanced at him briefly as he passed by on another loop. "I said they are remarkable."
This fucking guy, such a pain in the ass. "No, after that?"
"Lovely?" Alastor said dismissively. His eyes traced along the outline of the wings again, lingering. "Of course you are, as I said, you're an angel. I'd heard it rumored when I first came to Hell that you were the most beautiful one of all. It was good to have that rumor confirmed the first moment we met, although I admit, the height was something of a surprise. But the fact that you're even more lovely with the addition of wings is not."
Oh.
Oh, that was…
"You think I'm beautiful?" Now Lucifer was blinking back tears for an entirely different reason. Pathetic, maybe, but he wanted to hear it, he wanted Alastor to say it.
Alastor made a sound like rolling radio static; it was his frustration noise, another fragment of his language learned. "I don't think it, I know it. And what does it matter what I think? You're Lucifer Morningstar, it would be absurd to consider you anything other than beautiful." A tear escaped and ran down Lucifer's cheek before he could wipe it away and Alastor's expression changed to dismay. "I've upset you. But why? I was only telling you the truth."
"I'm not upset with you." How to explain that it did matter what Alastor thought, so very much. How could Alastor be so talented at manipulating people and still so terrible at this, the both of them always fumbling along, blundering through boundaries, and trampling over expectations. "You've never treated me like Lucifer Morningstar."
Alastor paused, brow creasing and his head tipping to the side as if he were tuning into an unheard radio. "How do you mean?"
Lucifer struggled, searching for the words in Alastor's language. "You treat me like I'm just…me. You aren't trying to—to get something from me or bluster around to hide that you're afraid of me or treating me like an old pal just so you can get close. You insult me and push me and," his voice lowered to a whisper, a choked thread of sound, "and you kiss me."
"I do enjoy kissing you," Alastor admitted. He looked discomfited by the confession, hands moving restlessly, searchingly, opening and closing on emptiness. "I don't believe I treat you very much differently than I do anyone. Those who aren't beneath my notice, of course."
It was a horrible thing to say, and Lucifer smiled anyway, helplessly, because it was so very Alastor. "Of course. But I'm not upset, this is just the first time you've ever called me beautiful."
"But of course you're beautiful," Alastor said, perplexed, "how could you be anything else? Even with your ridiculous clothes and your oversized hat, you stun the eyes with your loveliness. The sight of you is like a memory of the living sun, akin to the star of morning you were named for. How could you not know that?"
So matter of fact, as if the state of his appearance couldn't possibly be up for questioning. A simple truth as Alastor saw it: water was wet, the sky was red, and Lucifer was beautiful.
Lucifer had to close his eyes briefly to properly absorb that, snatching up the memory of it and tucking it away into the back of his mind to bring out later so he could relive Alastor saying it again and again.
"Maybe so," Lucifer managed. He cleared his throat, trying to rally at least a little dignity. "It's still nice to hear. You certainly seem to like hearing it when I call you gorgeous."
"Because I am." The arrogance was impressivelynarcissistic, some things never changed. "But I'm not colloquially known as one of the most tempting creatures in all of creation. That said, I'll keep it in mind."
Alastor turned away then, his head ducked in contemplation. "It's terribly confusing at times, all this. Navigating blind through a labyrinth, feeling my way." He looked back over his shoulder and his smile went sly. "Not that you've objected to that."
Those words swelled again inside Lucifer and he forced them back. As much as he wasn't ready to say them now, he was double-sure Alastor wasn't ready to hear them. But there was no rush for it, right? They could simmer a little while longer, no reason to spill all his messy emotions into the mixing bowl when Alastor was actually leaving himself vulnerable too, pulling himself open and giving Lucifer a glimpse inside.
Better to latch onto the flirting instead. "Nope, I'm pretty good with the touch and stay method."
That smile widened to wickedness and Alastor strode around behind him, out of view. "Then let me continue it."
"What do you—" mean, "--nnng!!" Any ability to create language left him as Alastor unexpectedly touched him, laid his hands on the crests of Lucifer's uppermost wings and there was no time to brace himself for it, it was happening now.
That light touch sang through him like electricity, a rippling rush of sensation as Alastor slid his fingers through feathers, nothing but slender tools of blood and bone reaching into him and meeting the ethereal sting of his tarnished grace.
Lucifer tipped his head back and cried out, his cock rising at the first touch and already achingly hard in seconds, holy fuck, so much for this not being sexual.
"Oh," Alastor murmured, breathily avid and static delight, "I can feel that."
"Yeah," Lucifer gasped. "Yeah, me too." He struggled for control, braced against the heady sensation of it when Alastor ran his hands down the primaries of the uppermost pair of wings. Lucifer couldn't hold back an involuntary shiver, strangling on the flood of sounds that wanted to escape, oh, fuck, that felt—he'd never felt anything like that.
"Ah, I see. You're sensitive," Alastor said, slyly, "I know the feeling." Those teasing fingertips reached deeper, danced along the silky underlayer of crimson feathers. "This is better than I dared hope. You might have said."
"Told you, no one has ever…nnng!!" Alastor dragged his fingers through the primary flight feathers again, feathers parting under his touch. The unholy pleasure of it nearly verged into pain and Lucifer could only let out a choked little whimper and let him.
Lucifer didn't have a taste for physical pain, giving or receiving, but this was different. Less about his wings and more Alastor fondling his inner core, his essence and whether or not an angel created in heaven possessed a soul was an argument for the philosophers. It was him, and Alastor was playing his fingers in him like he played the piano, with terrifying skill. Nothing in his long life ever prepared him for Alastor's hands moving inside his wings, marking a defiled communion across the downy barbs, his fingertips dancing unholy hymns along the grace of his plumage.
Damnation was never, ever so glorious.
Alastor was holding the all of him, his very essence, in his devilish hands and Lucifer couldn't remember a single word except his name, pulled from him in a low sob.
"Easy," Alastor crooned, "I have you, my dear, I have you." Only to rake his fingertips across the upper crest again and Lucifer's soundless shriek shattered the glass sitting on the nightstand, sending a mess of shards and water splattering to the floor. Alastor didn't even glance towards it, his crimson eyes were locked on Lucifer who was suddenly seeing with too many eyes, the blur of angelic vision through dimensions. "I'm curious how you can stand to fly if they're so sensitive."
"It's—" Lucifer tried to bite back a cry, uselessly, it still escaped as a hiss through his clenched teeth. Those tormenting fingers obligingly paused, shifting to the safety of his shoulders and Lucifer managed to croak out, "It's not the same."
"No? Hm." One slender finger traced along his spine, pausing to rub against the join of each wingbase, and the tease of it was an exquisite agony. "And no one else has ever touched them?"
"No," Lucifer whimpered, why the fuck did Alastor want to chat now while he was practically wrist-deep inside him? "No, no one, Alastor, please!"
He wanted Alastor to stop, he wanted him to never stop, and when his hands paused again, Lucifer was able to think for a brief second and his only thoughts were to mourn the loss.
"Not even another angel?" Alastor persisted. His fingers flexed, sharp nails prickling tantalizingly against his skin, not quite digging in.
Lucifer shook his head wildly, tasting the sweetness of his own sweat as he let out a raw laugh. "Funnily enough, created angels aren't exactly known for their tendency to fondle each other."
"True," Alastor allowed, "So that makes me the first." His voice dropped low, the staticy gravel of it carrying through the air. "Then this is rather like taking your virginity, in a way. Isn't it."
"It really isn't—ggk!" The room around him went fuzzy, dizzily distant as Alastor chose his secondary wings for his attention, giving them the same unyielding devotion as he had the upper set and the unbearable sweetness of his touch drew taut, a subsonic whine ringing in Lucifer's ears. He could hear still Alastor talking, the radio static of his voice cutting through the unholy ethereal buzz inside his head.
"Defiling such purity with my touch," Alastor cooed, even as Lucifer's wings pushed into his hands, all six at once vying for attention and he tried to oblige them, the stinging glory of his fingertips raking along fluffed up feathers and Lucifer could feel all of it, down to the very atoms, dragging together with microscopic intensity. The sound of Alastor's voice echoed through him, a raw, glorious touch of its own, "Desecrating your ethereal glory with my demonic essence."
Lucifer's angelic glory was desecrated the moment he hit the ground after his Fall, but he wasn't about to ruin Alastor's fiendish glee, not a chance in all of Hell. He only embraced it, his wings moving in shuddery flaps, silently imploring for Alastor to sully him to his dark heart's delight.
Then Alastor caught hold of the middle pair of wings, gripping him tightly, feather scrunching beneath the ferocity of his grasp. He dragged Lucifer to the very edge of the stool as he buried his face into the wide expanse of feathers of one upper wing, the hot press of his cheek and the flutter of his eyelashes only a brief distraction before Lucifer's vision went white-hot, the explosion of static around him going supernova, so much of Alastor against him, inside him, the demonic burn of him pressed tight against Lucifer's angelic grace and he couldn't…he couldn't…couldn't bear the profane bliss of it.
This time Lucifer was unafraid of falling and had no memory of hitting the ground.
When Lucifer finally relearned how to open his eyes, he looked around blearily, trying to remember this room. Everything returned with a jolt and he saw they were now on the bed and he had no idea when that happened. They? Yeah, it was they, he was lying in the circle of Alastor's arms, his face buried at the join of his neck and shoulder, his cheek wet where his mouth was pressed to Alastor's skin.
He was on the verge of apologizing for his unconscious drooling, although how he could have prevented it Lucifer had no idea, he couldn't even feel his legs right now. Then he noticed how Alastor was holding him, nearly too tight, his grip digging in painfully, and his breathing too-fast and agitated where his mouth was against Lucifer's ear.
"'lastor?" Lucifer said, blurrily cautious.
"Thank you," breathed against his ear, layered in frenzied gratitude, "thank you."
Lucifer closed his eyes, pained. "Don't thank me for that."
Thanking him felt wrong, obscene, after sharing that between them, his expectations of intimacy stretched far beyond any nervously considered daydream, miles past, galaxies. His wings were still out, draped limply across the bed in a quivering rustle of feathers. Lucifer sat up enough to put them away, wincing; he'd drag them out again later for a good grooming, right now the sensation of them simply existing was almost too much.
Fucking hell, that was…that was something, wasn't it? He wouldn't want it every day, really not, but it sure made for one hell of an evening.
Alastor slowly raised his head and there was something overwhelmed in his expression, his eyes unguarded and soft. He gathered himself visibly, masking it behind a smile and Lucifer only felt a tinge of regret at the loss. Knowing Alastor, he was lucky he'd seen it at all.
Instead, he reached up and cupped Alastor's cheek in one hand. "You know, I could take you flying sometime, if you like?"
Alastor's bright eyes went unexpectedly wide and he said, a little too quickly, "That won't be necessary."
Oh, well, now, what's this? Dear me, that sounded like ammunition, delicious vulnerability gathered up and served on a silver platter, now, didn't it. Alastor had so few buttons you could really push, and that one seemed like it needed hammered on. Like, a lot.
"I don't mind," Lucifer said, lazily. "Whenever you like. Pentagram City is a whole new experience when you see it from above. We can go up high, take in the view."
Now Alastor looked properly horrified. "Be that as it may. I prefer the old experience of seeing it from the ground, thank you."
His expression said very clearly that he would be ever so grateful if Lucifer let the subject drop, thanks much, which was exactly why he didn't. Alastor wasn't the only one who could grin with fiendish delight. "You wouldn't be afraid of heights or something, would you, Al."
"Don't call me that. And heights are not an issue, it's falling from them that gives me concern." The twist of his smile was a warning he was about to start sulking and that was the last thing Lucifer wanted. Not after all…that.
So he leaned up to press his mouth to Alastor's petulant smile, persisting until he finally parted his lips with a sigh, greeting the soft press of Lucifer's tongue with his own, allowing himself to be coaxed into playing.
When Lucifer finally pulled away, that sulk had migrated into resigned wryness, "You are impressively bratty for as old as you are."
"Age is just a number," Lucifer said airily.
"In your case, a very large one."
"Babe, I am in no condition to discuss large things." Lucifer sat up with a wince, giving Alastor a last quick kiss before he scooted to the edge of the bed. "The only thing I want now is to wash up and wash out."
"I'd agree." Alastor sank back against the pillows, his eyes closing, and Lucifer made a hasty journey to the bathroom, not wanting him to get too deeply asleep before Lucifer could claim his stake as the big spoon.
One hasty scrub of his face and hands later and Lucifer was on his way back to the bed. He paused as he saw the state of the floor around the empty stool, frowning at the mess. Downy feathers were scattered everywhere, it looked like the aftermath of a particularly vicious pillow fight and Lucifer took a brief detour to reabsorb all the fallen soldiers. Each one had a tiny mote of his power, about as significant as losing an eyelash, but still. He didn't like having them lying around all willy and nilly.
Angel feathers were a top tier ingredient when it came to creating a cursed object and Lucifer wasn't keen on any of his wandering off to fulfill someone's shopping list.
"What are you doing?" Came from the bed, sleepily curious, and Lucifer glanced over to see Alastor leaning up on one elbow, watching him.
"What does it look like?" Lucifer asked lightly. He turned a circle to check the room, make sure none of them floated off into any of the corners.
"I know what it looks like," Alastor said. He flopped back down into the pillows, curling up on his side and there was an invitation in that position that Lucifer was going to take as soon as he was done. "I was more curious why you're doing it now. I seem to recall you extolling the benefits of the afterglow more than once in the past."
"First of all, that was because you didn't just get up, you left the entire room. Second, it kind of icks me out to see them all over. They're a part of me." Lucifer found a few feathers scattered under the coffee table and extended a hand to them. They swirled through the air towards him, winking out in tiny bursts of light. "Do you leave parts of yourself lying around?"
"Not my own parts, no."
Ugh.
"Well, that's a habit you're welcome to keep out of our bedroom," Lucifer declared, "What I mean is, I wouldn't leave a pile of fingernail clippings around, either, so I'm cleaning up." The room was cleared, he noted with satisfaction, and he turned to squint at Alastor suspiciously. "You didn't take any, did you?"
One crimson eye opened and Lucifer did not squirm at the scathing disinterest in that singular gaze, "Are you asking if I had the urge to claim a souvenir in the midst of all your caterwauling?"
"Excuse me, I was not catting or walling, thank you."
"Perhaps you think I had a sudden urge to make a down pillow for our bed?" Alastor went on, bone-dry, "Would you care to search me? Give me a thorough pat-down?" He lifted one arm, let it dangle limply in offering and Lucifer made his way back to the bed before the snit he could feel brewing ended with him alone on his side of it.
"Oh, stop it," Lucifer said. He crawled into the bed and beneath the blankets, snuggling up against the slender curve of Alastor's back, so gloriously warm against his chilly skin. "It's nothing personal, I wouldn't let anyone keep them."
"Such a shame and there goes my plans for a black-market supply."
He was fairly sure Alastor was joking.
Sleep was beckoning, Lucifer was tired past bones and sinew right into his essence, but his mind wasn't quite ready to settle yet, "Can I ask you something?"
Alastor could sound impressively resigned for an all-powerful Overlord. "Once again, you're assuming I have any ability to stop you."
Fair enough. "So, when you play music when you're asleep, do you choose that before bed or is it like, random? Do you set the radio waves to shuffle or something?"
Alastor shifted, craning his neck in uncomfortable ways to look at Lucifer over his shoulder. There was a long, strange moment silence until he said at last, "I play music when I'm asleep?"
Oh. Guess that answered that. "Must be the Radio Demon equivalent of snoring."
"Perhaps it is." Alastor turned back and settled again into his pillow, "Instead of sawing logs I'm turning the dials. I hope it isn't too bothersome because I've no idea how to stop it."
"No," Lucifer told him, softly, "It's not bothersome at all."
As if in answer, a song began playing, the delicate winding notes of a solo piano and Lucifer settled in himself, his cheek pressed between Alastor's shoulder blades and arm draped around his hips, palm resting on the flat of his belly, as close as he could get to Alastor without actively lying on top of him and don't think the idea didn't appeal.
He could feel when Alastor fell asleep, his breathing going soft and even. Lucifer lay awake a little longer despite his weariness. He wanted this more, the feel of Alastor against him, in his arms, all decadent warmth beneath the blankets of their bed.
I think I love you, Lucifer thought it in the privacy of his own mind, not daring to say it aloud even now; who knew what Alastor's creepy shadow could hear. I think I do. So terribly much.
It could wait to be said and heard out loud, it could. There would be time to actually say it later, right?
After all, there was nothing but time in Hell.
-finis-