Alastor awakens with a muffled groan, squinting in the semi-darkness.
His blurry vision goes white for a moment and he blinks blearily several times to clear the image before his eyes. Lucifer's sleeping face invades his field of view, from much closer than he remembers last night. Fine golden hair has fallen over his forehead and is partly obscuring his closed eyelids, Lucifer's breathing deep and even.
Despite the massive bed and the positions they'd fallen asleep in, it would seem that Lucifer has managed to migrate closer during the night, half-curled up in the very middle, straddling the line between their pillows. To his dismay, Alastor realizes that he's changed positions as well, turned on his side to face Lucifer, his hand lying splayed in the middle, just shy of touching smooth, gray skin of Lucifer's forearm. Jet black fingers are curled up into a loose fist near Lucifer's chin, and he looks like a tucked in child.
Alastor swallows.
Looking at a child should not elicit the kind of twisted up emotion he is currently experiencing.
His fingers twitch, unresponsive to his self-control, fingertips brushing against soft gray skin. The brief point of contact burns across his nerve-endings like a sudden electric shock.
Lucifer doesn't move in the slightest, still fast asleep. Alastor feels a strange compulsion to reach out and brush Lucifer's hair out of his eyes, but the thought of being caught in the act stays his hand. He shouldn't act so hastily without at least a good excuse at the ready. He deems that 'it just looked so soft' isn't an appropriately convincing argument.
Instead, Alastor allows his gaze to caress every place he cannot touch. The disarrayed strands of soft blonde hair, the smooth brow, the lightly-bruised eyelids. The mild curve of Lucifer's mouth, lax in repose, half-obscured by slender black fingers.
"Lucifer," he murmurs, taking in the subtle scent of summer infused into the sheets beneath them.
The angel doesn't stir, undisturbed by Alastor's reckless utterance of his name. Lucifer, restful and still, is a vision. Alastor feels as if he's standing at the top of the highest mountain, where the air is thin and frigid, witnessing a blinding, bone-warming dawn.
Beautiful, echoes in his mind.
Sublime.
"Perfect…" Alastor murmurs, barely audible in the absolute quiet of Lucifer's rooms.
He has been handed a rare opportunity, to act as a weight on Lucifer's balancing scales. They have been dangerously tipped for a long time, and he's made a promise that feels just as binding as any soul deal he's ever made – perhaps even more so, because there's no odious compulsion behind it to remind him that he isn't truly free.
How many more freedoms can Lucifer bestow upon him?
Before him, unaware, lies the chain-breaker, as broken as the fetters he's shattered.
Perhaps it was time to reforge him anew, like the perfect, truth-bringing spear of enlightenment he is.
Alastor could be the tempering fire. The measured strike of a hammer. The quelling pool.
The whetstone.
I will make you into a king fit to rule over all, Alastor promises. I will make them all kneel before you.
Alastor would lead the demonic hosts and purge all of Hell in Lucifer's name.
But first, he had to get Lucifer more stable.
How, though? What could possibly give Lucifer Morningstar, the perpetually depressed and borderline suicidal fallen angel, a real reason and motivation to live? If his marriage and his daughter weren't enough, what could be? Was there even anything he could do?
Hold him accountable. Don't feed into his depression. Make him active and alert.
Distract him.
Alastor could try. With a steady diet of challenge and distraction, it was possible to dislodge Lucifer from his millennia-long rut. As long as Alastor never allowed him to wallow… He could make Lucifer come into his own majesty, like an ugly duckling growing into a beautiful swan.
This isn't the time for idle hesitation. He'll leave that to Lucifer. Besides, if Alastor intends to get anywhere with Lucifer, he cannot afford to remain paralyzed with indecision.
One reluctant person in this arrangement is more than enough.
He needs to show initiative, demonstrate to his king that he is dedicated to his cause.
Their cause.
Alastor reaches out, fingers brushing the soft strands of hair away from Lucifer's face. This is acceptable, he thinks, putting his worries to rest. After all, Lucifer enjoyed this the previous morning – being touched as he slumbered. Alastor trails his knuckles down the smooth curve of Lucifer's cheek, his skin prickling at the sensation, so warm and smooth. Lucifer complexion is clear like the finest porcelain, and the feeling of it against his fingertips is incongruous – porcelain should be cold and stiff. Exquisite softness greets him instead, as warm as a downy pillow warmed by a full night's rest.
Lucifer's mouth opens a fraction and he squirms under the caress, making a subtle purring noise somewhere in the back of his throat.
Alastor drinks him in, sleepy and squirming, and runs his fingers through Lucifer's sinfully silky hair. Lucifer mewls softly and Alastor feels himself stirring in response. It should be punishable by law, this level of unintentional and unaffected beauty. No one should be this endearing while so utterly defenseless. Alastor suppresses the groan at the involuntary response he can feel transpiring under the covers. To be so affected with Lucifer doing absolutely nothing…
Alastor should honestly resent it more, but he takes comfort in the fact that Lucifer is entirely unaware. Besides, having Lucifer entirely at his mercy, so pliant and trusting in his grasp… it feels…powerful.
"Good morning," Alastor murmurs softly. An endearment hovers at the tip of the tongue, but he swallows it down. "Lucifer…"
"Mmm…" Lucifer moans impossibly softly as Alastor caresses his neck.
The skin is unbroken, Alastor reminds himself as he shivers – there's no blood, no injury to be found.
"Wake up–" darling.
"Hnnnh," Lucifer groans and his eyelids flutter open.
"There you are," Alastor murmurs in a low voice. Sweetheart.
Lucifer blinks and awareness slowly creeps in, a soft smile blooming on his face as he mutters a tired little: "You."
Alastor's heart stutters in his chest.
"Less disappointed today, I see." Alastor says smugly.
"Nnh, shut up." Lucifer huffs and closes his eyes once more. "S' too early for banter."
"Is that so–" Alastor croons sweetly, "–your Majesty?"
Lucifer snorts into his pillow and cracks an eye open. "Too early for shitty role-play, too."
"Role-what?" Alastor asks, unfamiliar with the term Lucifer used.
"Look it up." Lucifer giggles.
"Fine, keep your secrets…" Alastor grins lazily at him.
Lucifer stretches, cracking a yawn so big Alastor can see the forked tongue in his mouth.
"Unh, what time is it?" Lucifer asks.
"Don't know," Alastor drawls. "Don't care."
Lucifer snort laughs and swats at Alastor's hand lightly. Undeterred, Alastor captures Lucifer's errant hand by entwining their fingers. Lucifer's eyes go wide for a moment.
"Why, are you having breakfast with Charlie again?" Alastor inquires, pulling Lucifer's hand closer to himself.
Lucifer looks at him through half-lidded eyes and allows the minor manhandling.
"No, we only do that once a week. I'm pretty sure me monopolizing her mornings would cramp Vaggie's style – I'm not that cruel."
"How sweet," Alastor croons and kisses Lucifer's knuckles. "Looking out for your child's love life."
"I was young and in love, once." Lucifer says mildly.
Alastor feels his smile slip at the statement. He hopes Lucifer hasn't noticed as he forces it wider and kisses Lucifer's fingers before relinquishing his hold.
"This is nice," Lucifer murmurs. "But we should probably get up."
"Have any pressing appointments?" Alastor asks, only mildly needling.
Lucifer glares at him, unimpressed. "Yeah, with my toothbrush."
Despite himself, Alastor snickers at the awful joke.
"Feel free to laze around for a bit longer," Lucifer says with a little smirk.
"Oh my," Alastor lounges on the bed, hands behind his head like he owns the place. "I do believe I'm going to take you up on such a generous offer."
Lucifer snorts and clambers out of the bed, muttering what sounds suspiciously like: "Smug prick…" under his breath.
Alastor watches him go with an avid gaze and a blinding smirk.
The door to the bathroom closes behind Lucifer and Alastor enjoys himself for the moment, sinking deeper into the decadently soft pillows. There's a sound of running water from the bathroom and if he really strains his ears, barely audible brushing that follows.
Clearly not depressed enough not to keep up with basic hygiene. Maybe that simply didn't fit with Lucifer's image? Perhaps he's simply vain, who knows? They have a sin in common, after all.
Alastor dozes for a moment, enjoying the comfort of Lucifer's outrageously ostentatious bed. It's too soft for his tastes, but still…he wonders how many demons can boast sharing the king's bed?
Is he the only one besides Lilith who ever managed it?
Warm tingles suffuse his flesh.
"You woke up in a good mood," Lucifer drawls and Alastor looks towards the bathroom door, ready to offer a perfectly pointed retort, when his voice utterly betrays him, fizzling out somewhere in the immediate vicinity of his vocal cords. Lucifer is standing in the bathroom doorway, leaning against it, dressed in nothing but Alastor's shirt, closed courtesy of a single button. The shirt reaches halfway down Lucifer's thigh, and the sleeves are rolled up to the elbow. His clavicles are exposed, and the shirt is half-hanging off of Lucifer's left shoulder.
It's way too big for him, obviously.
Alastor's tongue dries out in his mouth.
"Pity you never answered whether you liked the sight of me in your clothes." Lucifer teases from the doorway, the crack in the unbuttoned shirt providing an unintended slit in the material which reveals more of Lucifer's smooth white thigh.
Rallying as best as he's able, Alastor points out: "May I remind you that you have two questions left for today?"
Lucifer inquires, voice more kind than teasing: "Would you mind answering?"
With only a moment's hesitation, Alastor responds. "I would not."
Lucifer peels himself out of the doorway; the door shutting on its own behind him and approaches the bed, gaze locked with Alastor's. "Do you like how I look in your shirt?" Lucifer asks with unexpected intensity.
Alastor sits up in bed, willing the compulsion to ease up, as he has no plans on fighting the terms of their deal, at least not for the moment.
"Yes, I do." Alastor purrs darkly. "My colors look good on you - crimson and black." Alastor stares at the pretty picture Lucifer presents, appreciative despite Lucifer's transgression against his vestments. Lucifer comes to a halt at the edge of the bed and Alastor reaches out to trail fingers along Lucifer's collarbone and down his sternum.
Lucifer shivers.
"Would you mind if I used my third question now?"
"If you must," Alastor says with a suffering sigh, but his heart isn't really into it.
The air between them crackles with static, and it isn't only the radio kind.
"Do you...want to kiss me?" Lucifer murmurs, looking him in the eye.
Alastor feels a tug, a tingle, a shiver at the back of his neck, reminding him that he cannot lie.
"I'm tempted," Alastor admits. "Very tempted." Lucifer shivers in front of him, gaze averted to Alastor's lips, almost as if he's imagining it in advance. "Why, would you let me?"
Lucifer looks up into his eyes and smiles coyly. "I would."
Alastor moves forward, wrestling with the covers to get closer to Lucifer, who's still standing in the same spot, lightly flushed and expectant. Now perched at the edge of the bed, Alastor cups Lucifer's cheek, clawed fingertips teasing the soft skin of Lucifer's neck and draws him in.
The press of Lucifer's lips is soft and gentle, but the touch is electrifying, skittering down Alastor's nerve endings like a fistful of gravel thrown against a window to gain the attention of the person in the room behind it. The kiss is languid and soft, Lucifer melting into it with no reservations, humming and pliant against Alastor's lips. Honoring his preference, Lucifer makes no attempt to deepen the kiss, but makes a lingering, pleased noise while it lasts.
Out of ideas and also slightly out of breath, Alastor breaks the kiss, thumb brushing lightly against the apple of Lucifer's cheek.
"Mmm," Lucifer moans lightly and opens his eyes. "Pity I ran out of questions for the day."
"You could ask anyways." Alastor murmurs, realizing he's working against his own best interests by encouraging it.
Lucifer's gaze is keen and soft. "Did you…enjoy that?"
Alastor wants to lie simply to be contrary, but the truth tumbles out of his mouth regardless: "I did."
"What, as long as no tongue is involved?" Lucifer grins cheekily.
The scent of Lucifer teases his nostrils. Apple and mint, like a frivolous girl's drink.
"Depends on what you taste like."
Lucifer chuckles. "What kind of taste are we talking here?"
"Hmm...coffee would be good." Alastor suggests, his only response a wide smirk. "Speaking of coffee... it's your turn to make some."
"Oh, we're taking turns now?"
"Yes," Alastor says assertively.
"We'll need to go to the palace for that." Lucifer points out and Alastor finally removes his hand.
His fingers tingle with the memory of Lucifer's skin.
"Is that a problem?" Alastor asks, flinging the covers off to get up.
"Nope. A portal or two should be fine. Come along."
"May I have my shirt back?" Alastor asks bluntly.
Lucifer laughs in delight and bites his lower lip. "Nope!"
"Commandeering my clothing, seriously?" Alastor says, deeply unimpressed.
"If you want to take it off, you'll have to do it with your own hands." Lucifer challenges him and with a snap of his fingers, a swirling golden portal opens behind him. With an unrepentant grin, Lucifer sprints through it.
It's ridiculously juvenile, but Alastor takes a moment to assess. If he reclaims his shirt, Lucifer would be left in nothing but his underwear, which isn't the worst option in all honesty. But Lucifer being naked would also mean Alastor can no longer enjoy the sight of him in his shirt, which… might be a shame.
With a sigh, Alastor follows.
Alastor steps through the portal, expecting Lucifer to still be running away, possibly even hiding from him, but the sight that greets him betrays any expectations he might have had.
Lucifer's back is turned on him and he's staring at an open kitchen cabinet.
The kitchen is less of a modernist, sterile nightmare than the one Alastor is forced to use at the hotel, but the appliances still seem more recent than what Alastor was used to in life. The floor is tiled in a wide checkered pattern of soft yellow and eggshell white. The cabinets are a similar off-white color with glass knobs. Off to one side there is an L shaped, tiled countertop that runs into a stove and oven combination, the dials large and made of a heavier metal. The stove and countertop are a matching, soft lemon color, along with the refrigerator – a sleek design with rounded edges and long, metal handles.
Contrasting all this cutesy, cheery kitchen decor, however, is by far the most stunning feature of the room – the false window. It straddles the entire expanse of the back wall, revealing a breathtaking view of a vast orchard full of blooming cherry trees against the backdrop of a clear blue sky. The wind is blowing through the riot of pink blossoms beyond the half-opened window, and Alastor can even smell them, the scent drifting into the kitchen, carried on the soft, temperate breeze. Despite the mesmerizing, if overly sentimental view, Alastor knows for a fact that it's all an illusion, albeit a very convincing one. In this respect, it's not much different than the Bayou, except it's depicting a warm spring day instead of a humid summer night. Petals swirl and dance with one another, flitting past the window panes only to be whisked off into the clear, pleasant blue of a sunny sky.
The illusion is completed by a varied and pleasant twitter of birds that cannot be seen.
Underneath the window is an L shaped breakfast nook, topped with yellow and white pillows, and a small round table with two homely wooden chairs sporting yellow cushions.
"Glad you like the view," Lucifer says with a teasing lilt to his voice, and Alastor finally tears his eyes away from the scenery and refocuses on Lucifer, basked in soft golden daylight, sticking out like a bloodstain against the backdrop of the mellow kitchen.
"What was the point of this little exercise?" Alastor asks, still mildly miffed by the theft of his shirt.
"No point,"Lucifer laughs, bright and clear, leaned against the kitchen countertop, all comfortable. "Just having fun."
"Can you at least conjure me a covering of some kind?"
"Why?" Lucifer asks, expression turning mischievous. "Are you cooooold?"
"Hardly."
"Awww, feeling a little bit exposed are we?" Lucifer needles him unrepentantly.
Alastor thinks to himself that with Lucifer around, one always feels at least a little bit exposed.
Lucifer heads towards him, staring at him in blatant appraisal as he makes a circuit around Alastor, inspecting him as if he were goods on a market stall. Truthfully, Alastor isn't sure how that makes him feel, though the word uncomfortable springs readily to mind.
Lucifer steps behind him and halts in his tracks.
"Alastor…" Lucifer gasps, all teasing evaporating from his tone. "…your back."
"What about it?" Alastor says, pretending to be completely unaffected. He supposes this would have happened sooner or later. It's not as if he's ashamed of it, he just prefers not to display it. People have no business staring at his exposed back anyhow.
"Sinners don't usually have…" Lucifer trails off. "They don't carry over wounds unless…"
"Unless?" Alastor asks, simply to move the interaction along, hopefully away from this particular topic.
"Unless they are somehow significant – like that x on your forehead – the killing blow." Lucifer says softly, with a frankly baffling amount of consideration. "Unless they made a mark…on the soul."
"Fascinating," Alastor says dismissively, discomfited by the implication.
"These look like…torture marks."
"They are not." Alastor assures him.
"How old were you when you got these?"
"Does it matter?" Alastor points out. It's ancient history at this point, and he has been well avenged of it – twice over. Once by the means of a well-sharpened hatchet, and the other by means of angelic steel – a permanent and well deserved end.
"Hold on, I don't even know how old you were when you died?"
"Thirty-six." Alastor answers, hoping the barely relevant piece of information will sufficiently distract Lucifer.
"So young…" Lucifer says softly. "Were these inflicted…in adulthood?" The tone is hopeful, almost like Lucifer dreads thinking about the alternative.
Alastor holds his tongue. Lucifer makes a wounded little noise.
The question is subdued and audibly pained. "Or were you still a child?"
"Define 'child'."
"Let's say…younger than sixteen?" Lucifer helpfully offers a definition.
Alastor doesn't want to mention it, but the cutoff point is interesting.
"I was fully capable of living on my own at sixteen."
"That's not what I asked," Lucifer says mildly, eyes full of something uncomfortably close to pity. "How old were you when these were inflicted upon you?"
Like ripping off a Band-Aid, Alastor says: "Thirteen."
Lucifer gasps, his face a mixture of dismay and anger. "Who would do such a thing to a child?"
Alastor laughs. "My father would."
Lucifer's expression turns to one of outright horror. "What kind of parent… would do this?"
"Not every parent loves their children." Alastor points out. In his experience, most parents were abject failures, in one way or the other. He was at least blessed with an exceptional mother, even if his father was human refuse.
Lucifer blinks, unable to parse the information – and of course he wouldn't, as overflowing with parental affection as he was.
"I…I truly cannot relate to that."
Alastor shrugs. "It's not as if yours treated you much better."
Lucifer's brow knits. "That's…that's different!" Lucifer exclaims defensively. "I wasn't…maimed by my own creator!"
Alastor rolls his eyes at the descriptor used – the marks are purely cosmetic, the small tangle of criss-crossing raised lines across the small of his back, and they don't even hurt anymore, not like when he was alive. To classify something of the sort as maiming was pointlessly dramatic.
"Were you not?" Alastor asks incisively. "Was casting you down here and chaining you up any less maiming – to your soul?"
Lucifer, intentionally or unintentionally, sidesteps the question.
"Why did he do this to you? Because I can't imagine there being a good reason to go this far…"
"When he didn't have a valid reason, he'd simply invent one anyway."
"That's…horrible."
"In this instance, it's probably because I got in his way?" Alastor muses. In the way of harming his mother, that is.
Lucifer swallows, almost as if he wants to reach out and touch the raised lines, but refrains.
"I, ah…I'll conjure you something." Lucifer snaps his fingers and suddenly, Alastor is enveloped in a sleek midnight black tunic that covers him up from neck to mid-thigh. It's looser than he's accustomed to wearing, but it is effective at hiding his few scars and his tail, which he is thankful for.
"There you go," Lucifer says awkwardly. "I hope it's comfy!"
Alastor touches the material in assessment, and it's soft and comfortable under his fingertips. "It will do." He sniffs haughtily.
When he faces Lucifer once more, he catches him staring at his long, vaguely deer-configured legs, likely because Alastor is still so uncharacteristically bared.
With a smirk he says: "My eyes…are up here."
Lucifer wheezes out an incredulous laugh. "Wow! You never let anything go, do you?"
"Not my style," Alastor makes a theatrical flourish with his arm.
Lucifer just shakes his head in amusement."So, um… coffee?"He visibly makes an effort to switch the topic. It's nowhere near as smooth as he probably hopes it was. "Coming right up!" Lucifer busies himself with brewing coffee, pulling out a turkish cezve coffee pot, and a dark, crinkly paper bag containing fragrantly roasted coffee beans out of one of the kitchen cabinets.
Alastor sits down at the table and makes himself comfortable, happy to simply observe the proceedings. With his legs crossed and swinging lightly, fingers entwined against his knee, he waits, enjoying the illusion of mild spring emanating from the window to his left.
"Oh, right!" Lucifer exclaims, standing barefoot next to the stove. With a spiral movement of his black fingers, he conjures a large glass bottle with a round-tipped glass stopper.
"I promised you this!" Lucifer says, all smiles and chipper tones. The bottle floats to the table and lands against the pristine white tablecloth with nary a whisper. "If you run out, just…just tell me. I will refill it."
Alastor is mildly mesmerized by the dewy condensation against the frosty glass. An impossible sight in Hell. "You will?" He asks, skeptical.
"Yes." Lucifer says earnestly.
"Why?" Does Lucifer really not want anything in return?
Lucifer's eyes twinkle with mischief. "Because I'll be drinking your coffee too, obviously."
Ah, so that was the angle. Fine, Alastor can live with that.
"Hm. I'll think about it." He says haughtily, pleased to act coy.
Lucifer chuckles. "You do that."
With that, Lucifer turns his back to Alastor once more, cranking the handle on a sleek black manual coffee grinder. Alastor finds it puzzling that Lucifer would do such a thing manually instead of by magic. Perhaps he finds the ritual of it as soothing Alastor does. Fresh, conjured water fills the cezve and Lucifer brings the gas stove to life, blue flames licking merrily against the bottom of the copper pot. Alastor's eyes stray lower, taking in the smooth back of Lucifer's exposed legs, his form lithe and compact, skin without a single blemish. The fabric of Alastor's slightly wrinkled shirt caresses Lucifer's milky white thighs.
Alastor's fingers twitch against his bony knee.
The water soon bubbles up, releasing tendrils of steam into the air, and Lucifer lowers the flame, delicately spooning the finely ground coffee into the scalding water. He stirs well, moves practiced and sure, like he's made this exact pot of coffee a million times before. Unexpectedly, Alastor's mouth waters at the memory of its sublime taste. Then his mind floods with the memory of Lucifer spilling it into his mouth and he feels a tendril of heat unfurl in his gut.
Lucifer allows the coffee to bubble up and rise twice, and then turns off the heat, stirring it gently. With soft footfalls against gleaming kitchen tile, Lucifer brings a woven reed coaster and the cezve to the table. Two coffee cups with saucers land on the table, also presumably Turkish in design – a pleasantly stylized floral pattern scrawled across the white surface. Lucifer pours them both a hefty dose and sits down on the chair next to Alastor's.
Alastor picks up the cup, enjoying the fragrance that's wafting into the air so enticingly, promising a rich, bitter taste. Lucifer, ever predictable, dunks two lumps of sugar into his cup. For the next few minutes, neither of them says a word, both perfectly content to carefully sip their coffee in companionable silence. Alastor stares at the chilled glass bottle of water he was given, momentarily finding that preferable over staring at Lucifer as he lounges about in his chair, close enough to touch, his smooth white thighs invitingly draped in crimson.
Alastor is confused by the impulse. It's not as if he's aroused – his member remains blissfully flaccid in his undergarments, so why do his hands itch with the need to stroke the expanse of that soft skin?
"You know what?" Lucifer says suddenly, jarring Alastor out of his thoughts. "Are you hungry?"
"Perhaps." Alastor hedges, in truth quite content to sip his coffee and nothing more, since this batch seems to be as delicious as that first coffee he remembers sampling in Lucifer's quarters.
"Cause I could go for a snack..." Lucifer goes on blithely.
"Don't let me stop you."
Lucifer gets up, somehow flouncy in Alastor's crimson shirt, and pads to the large yellow refrigerator.
"Hmmm, let me see what I have lying around… haven't really restocked much since I moved in with Charlie… oh, prosciutto – nice!" He rummages around. "Goat cheese… olives? Nah, not in the mood for olives this early…"
A plate floats up to Lucifer from a kitchen cabinet and lands on his outstretched palm. He arranges the strips of prosciutto across the plate with magic, and adds said goat cheese as well – it seems to be a softer, crumblier kind, something that, were he still alive, Alastor would have probably enjoyed scooping up with a crispy crust of freshly baked bread.
The plate floats to the table and lands in the middle.
Taking that as invitation enough, Alastor plucks out a piece of meat and pops it in his mouth. It's savory, lightly smoky – and entirely delicious.
He makes an appreciative noise in his mouth. "Got any more of this?"
Lucifer turns around and gives him an amused, half-petulant look. "What, are you expecting a full charcuterie board over here?"
"I mean, since you're already offering…"
"You're frickin' unbelievable… fine. Let me see what I can find."
Lucifer putters around the kitchen, opening various cabinets manually and inspecting their contents, as if he hadn't inventoried them in a while. On a round wooden board, Lucifer assembles an assortment of foods – walnuts, raisins, half a baguette that looks to be freshly baked despite not seeing the oven at all, a cracked open pomegranate and an additional kind of cheese, this one a much drier, firmer kind.
Unlike the last time, Lucifer brings it to the table himself.
Plates and cutlery float up from their respective cabinets and drawers, and arrange themselves neatly in front of their seats. Black napkins with a gold trim complete the impromptu ensemble.
"Hm…" Lucifer looks ponderously at the table. "Now I kind of want to have a glass of wine…"
"For breakfast?" Alastor deadpans.
Lucifer's cheeks color. "That's what pairs well with the meal, what do you want me to say?"
Alastor wasn't really a wine kind of guy. Both the flavor and the alcohol content left much to be desired.
"Your refrigerator is mostly empty, but you have wine lying around?"
Lucifer looks like he wants to implode, so petulant and silly. "I have a wine cellar, so? Fucking sue me!"
"Rich people problems…" Alastor mutters, uncaring if Lucifer hears him.
"Do you want wine or not, asshole?"
"I dislike sweet drinks."
"Wine doesn't have to be sweet." Lucifer points out, mildly outraged. "I could find you an excellent dry wine that pairs well with this."
Alastor wants to say no, but…when will he next have the opportunity to pilfer alcohol from Lucifer's (no doubt extensive) wine cellar?
"Fine." Alastor accedes. "I put myself in your capable hands."
Lucifer halts for a moment with a wary little frown, but then perks up. "Great! Give me a sec!"
A swirling gold portal appears and Lucifer flies through it, on literal wings. As if through a watery barrier, Alastor can hear him talking to himself on the other side. "Dry….dry… a nice Cabernet Sauvignon? Hmm… no… nope… don't like you." The portal is angled in such a way that Alastor can't really peer into it from his vantage point, so he doesn't even bother and takes another sliver of prosciutto. "Merlot? Hmm… nah, we're not having steak… moooooving on…"
Truthfully, Alastor doesn't need to be able to see Lucifer to know exactly the kind of ridiculous face he's probably making as he peruses what is essentially a grown man's toy collection.
"Pinot Noir might be nice…" Lucifer mutters from the other side of the portal. "Oooof, nope. When did this one turn to vinegar? Fuck."
Alastor chuckles quietly and takes another sip of his coffee, savoring how truly exceptional it is. It's such a waste to mix the taste with anything else.
"Shiraz, baby! That's what I'm talking about!" Lucifer exclaims jubilantly. "Yeah… I think we've got a winner!"
Alastor laughs, lips touching the rim of his coffee cup. So it's not all a façade – Lucifer is actually that ridiculous, even in private.
Lucifer flies out of the portal with a black bottle and a pair of sparkling clean wine glasses.
Alastor glances at the clock on the wall and notes it's barely seven in the morning, and here they are, about to start drinking. They were almost worse than Husker.
Lucifer lands gracefully and his wings fold away and out of sight. Pity, the sight was pleasing with Lucifer's current choice of vestments…
With a happy little hum, Lucifer places the glasses on the table, uncorks the bottle with a literal thought, and pours a modest amount.
"There you go," Lucifer says with a smile and slides the glass his way.
Alastor makes no comment, mildly distracted by Lucifer's bare shoulder. There's warm blood pulsing underneath that fair skin… He swallows precipitously, and ignores the tangle of revulsion in his gut.
"Thank you." Alastor says and picks up his glass to sniff at it, just to give himself a distraction.
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving!" Lucifer says enthusiastically and starts piling his plate with a little bit of everything. The hard cheese slices itself into slivers and Lucifer picks up a few, most ending up on the plate, save one, which he pops into his mouth and outright moans.
Lucifer tucks into his meal like a child diving into a delicious dessert, appreciative and bubbly, eyes alight in pleasure. As his fingers tear into the crisp, crackly crust of the baguette, Alastor cannot help but stare. Lucifer seems so happy like this, sharing breakfast with him, savoring each bite like it's the best thing he's ever had.
Best thing he's ever had…
Alastor looks away and decides to partake in the meal. He tears off a piece of bread and scoops out some of the goat cheese. The tender, smooth texture of the cheese is contrasted by the baked crust and is every bit as lovely as he imagined it might be.
Lucifer gives him a peculiar, avid look.
"What?" Alastor asks, reaching for another scrap of cured meat. "Is there something on my face?"
"No," Lucifer says wryly as he chews on a walnut. "I just don't think I've ever seen you eat anything other than meat."
"It's a matter of preference, nothing more." Alastor says simply.
Lucifer finally picks up his glass and takes a little sip. "Mmmm, yes. I think this was the right call."
Alastor reaches for his glass as well, but Lucifer stays his hand.
"Have some sheep cheese first." He says with a gleam in his eyes and picks up a sliver of cheese, extending it towards Alastor's mouth. "Trust me."
On impulse Alastor leans in and opens his mouth, gratified to see Lucifer getting flustered as Alastor accepts the morsel, tongue-first. Alastor savors the rich, salty aroma for a moment, the flaky cheese slowly melting in his mouth and filling it with flavor. Lucifer withdraws his hand.
Alastor can't resist a little jab. "Are we hand-feeding each other now?"
"Oh, shut up." Lucifer says without much heat. "Just try the damned wine."
"Yes, sire." Alastor mocks him lightly and picks up his so far untouched glass.
As he takes a careful sip, the dark, tantalizing, and pleasantly acidic aroma fills his mouth. It tastes vaguely like smoke and a hint of vanilla, but without any of the grating sweetness he prefers to avoid. It's rich and heady, and every bit as suitable as advertized.
"What do you think?" Lucifer asks, picking up a few raisins in his fingertips.
"Better than expected, truth be told." Alastor finds he cannot lie.
"Hah!" Lucifer exclaims. "It's good to be right."
"No need to be so smug about it," Alastor says haughtily as he pops another piece of prosciutto into his mouth, left hand holding the wine aloft, elbow propped up on the table.
Lucifer snickers but leaves him be.
They slowly empty the board and the plates, when Lucifer sighs happily.
"You know what would be great right now?" And without waiting for an answer, he responds immediately. "Music."
"I don't see a radio in here." Alastor notes.
"You could conjure one, couldn't you?" Lucifer observes; eyes keen and sparkling with amusement.
"I could…" 'but I won't', he wants to say, as it would be absolutely hilarious to see the consternation on Lucifer's face. He refrains, if only barely. "What would you like me to put on?"
"Oh, one of Paganini's guitar pieces!"
"Paganini?" Alastor says, confounded. "Wasn't he a violinist?"
Lucifer laughs in delight and takes another sip of his wine. "Oh, he was much more than a violinist. He was a guitarist, played the mandolin… he was extremely talented. But yes, widely regarded as possibly the best violinist of all time. Did you know he had to perform barefoot so people could see he didn't have cloven feet? They thought he was the literal devil!"
"Was he one of the mortals you visited?"
"Oh, heavens no," Lucifer waves his hand dismissively, movement sharp and decisive. "He didn't need me. Didn't need either demonic or divine assistance to be absolutely brilliant – he was just that good."
"It sounds as though you admire him."
"Of course I do! One lifetime to accomplish so much, play with such skill in a frail corporeal form… a true master of his craft. If I were human, I would probably be trash compared to him."
But you're not, Alastor almost blurts out. Not trash. And definitely not human, either.
With an elaborate flourish of his hand and accompanying crackle of neon green symbols, a classic Philco cathedral radio materializes on the table.
"Can you even find music you're not familiar with?" Lucifer asks, seemingly genuinely interested.
"I can tune into the radio frequencies, but if I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, it will take a long time to find it, especially in this modern age – the signals are oversaturated."
"I could try to help?" Lucifer offers. "I might need to…tap into your powers a little bit?"
Alastor grimaces. "Tap into them how, exactly?"
"I'm guessing your…staff is how you control the radio?"
"Not exclusively…but it is a better conduit, yes."
"I might need to… put my hand on it."
"If you're expecting me to hand it over–"
"No, no, no," Lucifer says decisively, "You have to hold it yourself, I will just also put my hand on it until I work out how to find the correct frequency, if that's alright?"
Alastor narrows his eyes. Why does Lucifer suddenly want to get a feel for his powers?
"I can't hijack your powers, you paranoid ass." Lucifer rolls his eyes and eats another piece of cheese. "I just want to help you find it faster since you have no idea what it's supposed to sound like."
"And you do?" Alastor asks, still suspicious.
Lucifer looks at him flatly, visibly insulted. "For your information, I remember every piece of music I have ever heard. In perfect detail."
No wonder he's a good musician, Alastor thinks to himself.
"Oh, fine – the things I do to be a good guest…" And his staff materializes in his right hand. Alastor sets it upright on the ground and observes Lucifer for any funny moves. Well, funny in a non-literal sense, because most of Lucifer's facial expressions fall on a sliding scale from mildly silly to utterly, mortifyingly ridiculous. Unless he was angry… that also had a scale all of its own, one Alastor didn't really enjoy contemplating.
Lucifer's slender black fingers grasp the staff not two inches above where Alastor is holding it. His eyes flutter shut and he makes a vaguely musical noise in his throat. Alastor observes him like a hawk, but has no idea what Lucifer is actually doing – as he can't feel any difference save for Lucifer's unnerving proximity.
"What are you even doing?" Alastor inquires.
"Shhhh." Lucifer chides. "Trying to find your frequency."
"My frequency?" Alastor asks, one of his eyebrows quirking all the way up.
Lucifer's eyes snap open, and his face betrays irritation. "Yes. All magic has a frequency. Everything in existence possesses an energetic resonance. A hum. A vibration. A frequency. And I'm trying to get a feel for yours, so shut up and let me focus."
"Hm." Alastor huffs but acquiesces. He still cannot feel what Lucifer is doing at all. His mind drifts into the music that's inextricably woven into the fabric of his being – the sound waves varied and overlapping, flowing one into the other, seamless and ceaseless like a vast, ever-changing ocean.
And in that soothing cacophony, he can hear a voice – a strangely clear voice, singing a melody he's unfamiliar with. The closer he listens, the clearer it gets, as if calling out to him from a great distance. Out of sheer curiosity, he reaches out and the voice is curiously overlaid over the sounds of a violin and guitar, a curious yet complimentary duet. The tune is languid, like a warm summer night in Spain. Alastor has no idea where that thought even came from, as he's never set foot in Spain.
He focuses on the melody, and the voice, and searches the frequencies, filtering out the noise of modernity – blaring vehicles and synthetic music, seeking purity of sound – the gently weeping strings that are now so clear in his mind. Without the crackle, it echoes in his mind and he realizes, at last, that it's Lucifer he's hearing.
Can he… hear Lucifer's thoughts?
More importantly, can Lucifer hear his?
With the added incentive, Alastor hunts down an Italian radio frequency, somewhere in the vicinity of Naples, where the piece is playing and taps into it with a whisper. The radio on Lucifer's kitchen table crackles to life and spills forth the requested melody .
With a gasp, Alastor opens his eyes. Lucifer shivers in front of him and takes his hand off of Alastor's staff as fast as he's able. Alastor stores it away, discomfited by the idea that Lucifer may have seen something in the fabric of his being that he shouldn't have.
And the worst of all – Alastor has no idea what that something could have been.
"That's a pretty beautiful power," Lucifer says mildly, reaching for the pomegranate.
Alastor frowns. What does Lucifer mean by that?
"Having endless music at your disposal, being able to hear all of humanity on the radio waves… That's special."
Was that supposed to be a compliment? Because Alastor can't think of a damned thing to say in response.
"You have a music collection you said." Alastor grasps for something to say, wondering why he would bother trying to continue this conversation at all.
"Yeah. I have to barter for it. Outright create it from memory. I can't just… snap my fingers and hear what humanity is up to at any given moment." Lucifer says, as if he's actually envious. A pomegranate seed crunches in his white teeth. "So yes. It's a beautiful power to have."
"I…was pleased to discover it." Alastor admits, retreating onto his glass of wine. Why is he revealing anything to Lucifer?
Lucifer gives him a strange look, something wistful and warm in his otherwise inscrutable expression.
"Every soul has its own power. I find it wonderful that even in this dank pit, the gifts bestowed still shine through." Lucifer says softly and takes a sip of his own wine.
Compelled, Alastor extends his glass towards Lucifer. "To music."
Lucifer laughs in delight and happily clinks his glass against Alastor's. "To music!"
Alastor finds the melody both soothing and somehow melancholy, something passionate yet subdued in the gently plucked chords. The melody stands slightly at odds with the warm spring morning beyond the windows, but it's lovely all the same.
Lucifer floats a pomegranate seed across the table, leaving it hovering in the air at Alastor's mouth level, a few inches away.
"You haven't had any yet," Lucifer says in a strangely intense tone, his explanation leaving much to be desired.
Alastor has no idea what Lucifer is thinking, but a pomegranate seed is just as likely to kill him as anything else he's ingested this morning, so he opens his mouth and allows it entry. It lands gently upon his tongue. Alastor snaps his mouth closed and cracks the jewel flesh open between his teeth. The burst of flavor is intense yet unsubstantial enough to fade quickly.
Lucifer gives him a peculiar, almost self-satisfied smirk. "Now you're trapped here." He says smoothly, polishing off the last of the goat cheese.
Trapped? Alastor was already trapped in hell. It wasn't the location that was the problem, but rather the pesky matter of not being actually free.
"I don't follow," Alastor says and nabs the last bit of prosciutto so Lucifer can't get it.
"Oh, you know," Lucifer says dismissively, washing his mouth out with a gulp of wine. "Greek mythology? The Underworld?"
"Not part of the curriculum where I was from, sorry to say."
Lucifer looks at him in genuine surprise. "What, you've never heard of the myth of Hades and Persephone?"
"Can't say that I have. Hades ruled the Underworld, didn't he? Aside from that, I really wouldn't know."
"Yes, he did!" Lucifer says animatedly. "His sucky brothers, Zeus and Poseidon got the fun domains, the oceans and the earth while Hades was essentially forced to eternally take care of all the mortals his godly brethren just loooooved murdering in pointless squabbles and wars."
"Sounds tedious," Alastor notes, draining the last of his wine.
"I know, right?" Lucifer agrees enthusiastically. "So, Hades was a really grumpy guy, who could blame him, and then Zeus, the horn dog that he was, decided it would be a great idea to kidnap the goddess of Spring, Persephone, and just hand her over to Hades to pacify him – what a dick, right?"
"Absolutely," Alastor agrees mindlessly, wondering what was it about his countenance that invited Lucifer dumping such spurious information on him. First it was Satie's entire life story and now this?
"So yeah, Persephone, poor thing, what was she to do? Trapped down there, not like you can bring spring to what's essentially Hell, right? No sunlight to grow plants with! Seeing how miserable she was, Hades agreed to let her go…" Lucifer explains, eyes alight. "Though, there was a snag in that plan – you see, in her captivity, she had eaten a pomegranate seed to try and sate her hunger, which meant she had partaken of the food in the underground realm – forcing her to stay there a part of the year."
"Let me guess, that's how the ancient Greeks explained the seasons?"
"Yes!" Lucifer exclaims happily, pouring them both more wine.
Alastor hasn't asked for it, but knows he can always simply toss it later if he chooses. Even if it makes Lucifer cry. Perhaps even TO make him cry.
"So she had to stay with her husband for three months of the year, and the rest of it she was free to go."
"Winter-time was when she was underground?"
"Exactly. Probably because her mother Demeter, the goddess of the seasons, was PISSED as hell. Can't blame her. If anyone kidnapped Charlie to marry her off to some random asshole, I would do far worse…" Lucifer's eyes flash crimson and gold, horns sprouting from his head in vicious promise of ungodly retribution to anyone who dared touch his daughter.
Good thing Alastor had no plans of that variety. She could merrily abscond into the sunset with her fallen angelic lady friend, far as he was concerned.
Lucifer looks… improved like this. Crimson eyes and horns compliment his current choice of attire…
"What?" Lucifer asks, holding his wine glass daintily.
"Nothing?" Alastor says with a nonchalant shrug.
"Oh, that look?" Lucifer grins at him. "That's not nothing…"
"You're reading into things." Alastor says airily and takes a sip of his wine. It's almost as pleasant without the food.
"I don't think so." Lucifer's smirk is infuriating and too observant by far. "What did you say again – that it depended on the taste?"
Alastor is uncomfortably reminded of both the coffee and the feel of Lucifer's lips against his.
"So… wine or coffee?" Lucifer asks, turning towards him, that damnable shirt sliding further down his exposed shoulder. "Pick one."
Alastor pretends to be obtuse. "Pick one? What for, exactly?"
Lucifer laughs and gets up off his chair, walks that one scant step to Alastor's, and like the audaciously fearless thing he is, straddles Alastor's thighs, taking a seat there like he has a right to it, somehow.
"You know exactly what for." Lucifer murmurs, words laden with meaning and a promise that sends a chilling little thrill down Alastor's spine.
He's expected to answer. To pick one or the other, and submit himself to Lucifer's infuriatingly knowing smile. Lucifer's bared skin is scalding against Alastor's thighs, his breath fragrant and dark like the wine he'd been drinking not a minute prior.
He should push him off. Remind him that touch was off limits – that he was off limits.
Instead, Alastor's bared hands slide along the outer side of Lucifer's pristine white thighs and he simply stares at his lap (unresponsive), yet still pleasant to look upon with Lucifer perched there wearing nothing but his shirt, like a mark of ownership. When he looks up, Lucifer is staring at his mouth with half-lidded eyes, still crimson and molten gold. Somewhere in his periphery, he can see Lucifer's lightly barbed tail, softly swishing behind him.
Wine will have to do, Alastor reconciles in his mind, before obliterating the distance between them and claiming Lucifer's lips for his own. The insolent angel in his lap moves against him in a most maddening squirming motion, the warm gust of breath punched out of him as Alastor licks at the seam of his lips, seeking that promised taste. Lucifer outright moans when their tongues meet in the middle, its forked length twining around Alastor's own, slickened and wet. The dark taste helps, filling Alastor's senses with heat instead of the cold prickle at the back of his neck that usually signals revulsion. It's drowned out by the warmth of Lucifer's thighs – the moist whisper of his breath – and Alastor seeks more, savoring the sensation he's chosen to pursue.
When the kiss breaks, Lucifer's black pupils are blown.
"Good?" Alastor asks, only because he's already certain of the answer he's going to receive.
"Yeah," Lucifer admits, breathless.
"More?" Alastor asks, wanting to see the moment Lucifer breaks and outright asks him for it.
"Yes." Lucifer whispers. It's certainly desirous, but not quite desperate enough for Alastor's liking.
"What's the magic word?" Alastor grins unrepentantly, coaxing Lucifer into saying what he wants.
Lucifer huffs. "You're fucking UN-believable."
"It's your choice." Alastor reminds him, hands questing further up along Lucifer's hips.
"Fine… please?" Lucifer says, aiming to be sarcastic and teasing, but it misses the mark – if only barely.
"You look pretty when you beg." Alastor states without inflection and pulls Lucifer to himself once more.
This time around, the kiss is more heated – rushed and almost desperate – Lucifer placing his hands on Alastor's shoulders and squeezing, the touch of his fingers burning through the fabric like a sizzling brand. It would be so easy to nick Lucifer's tongue or his lips, to feel the pleasurable tang of his perfect blood, but Alastor's guts churn at the thought – with desire or revulsion, he cannot tell. Before he can give in to the ill-fated impulse, he tears his mouth away.
Lucifer grinds against his lap, almost as an afterthought, his eyes clouded over with undisguised want.
Alastor tries to breathe, to gather himself, and his eyes burn as he observes Lucifer's bared shoulder, bone-white and tempting, as exposed as a gap between plates of armor. His teeth itch at the sight, and his stomach clenches.
Lucifer's gaze clears and he regards Alastor with scrutiny.
"Do you still feel it?"
"Feel what?" Alastor asks, tearing his eyes away from Lucifer's invitingly exposed neck.
"The pull of my blood." Lucifer asks, seemingly without judgment.
"No," Alastor says decisively.
Lucifer looks at him mildly. Whether out of compassion or pity, it's humiliating all the same.
"You're lying."
Alastor swallows, lost in Lucifer's crimson eyes, black pupils contrasting against the vivid gold of his irises.
Irises the color of spilled angelic blood.
"I feel it." Alastor admits. "I thought it went away after…"
"Hey," Lucifer soothes him, settling against his lap. "It's okay."
"Doesn't feel that way." Alastor shudders, disgusted by the need he still feels, despite the potent revulsion trying to crawl up his throat.
"If you let me, I will try to pull it out of you."
"And what must I give you in return?" Alastor asks, fearing he is rapidly running out of things to give.
"Nothing." Lucifer says gently, giving his shoulders a reassuring caress. "It's my fault you're this way. It's only right I do my best to fix it."
"I would deserve it." Alastor says, uncharacteristically honest. He feels raw, like a flayed-open wound left unprotected against the elements.
"I am not in the habit of enjoying other people's pain." Lucifer reminds him, gentle to a fault.
"I am." Alastor says, voice cracking like that glass Lucifer shattered against his fireplace.
"Well, I'm not you, am I?" Lucifer smiles, a wry and wretched little thing that curls at the corner of his well-kissed lips.
"You don't resent me?" Alastor asks, fingers curling around Lucifer's supple thighs.
Lucifer chuckles faintly. "What would be the point of that? You can't possibly disappoint me any more than you already have."
The statement isn't intended to wound, it's not a barb or a jibe, but it finds its mark unerringly nonetheless, like a piece of shrapnel flying out of an explosion, sliding between Alastor's ribs to burrow into his vulnerable insides. He has disappointed Lucifer. That shouldn't matter, he tries telling himself, as Lucifer is nothing to him.
It shouldn't matter at all.
But the fact that there were expectations there he could have failed to meet – that he has failed to meet… Why?
Why did Lucifer expect anything in the first place?
"Will you let me heal you – of the compulsion, at least? I don't know if it will stop you from craving more, but it should clear out anything remaining in your system."
Alastor doesn't deserve it.
But he isn't in the habit of missing opportunities when they present themselves to him, either.
"Alright."
Lucifer nods minutely in acknowledgment. "Look, it might hurt, just like last time. This time, there's no convenient exit wound for me to use, so I will have to get creative."
"That…doesn't sound reassuring." Alastor ventures. "What, are you going to cut me open?"
"What-why would I do that?"
"Then define what you mean by 'creative'."
"I think our best bet is…your tear ducts."
"My tear ducts?" Alastor asks skeptically, despite admittedly having no clue as to how pulling toxic substances from demonic bodies works.
"Well, my only other option is your salivary glands, which… is suboptimal. You'd just swallow it all back up and then we're back to square one."
Alastor shifts in discomfort. "Fine." If it has to be done, it would be better to do it as quickly as possible.
"I'll have to touch your bare skin again." Lucifer warns him, superfluously. Alastor already knows.
"Just get it over with."
Lucifer nods and takes a deep breath, then cradles Alastor's face in the palms of his hands. Alastor watches Lucifer close his eyes and calm his breathing. Lucifer gently rocks back and forth in his lap and starts murmuring below his breath: "Everything must go to whence it came – all dust shall become earth again – all water shall return as rain – from every cinder rise a flame – all must go to whence it came – all must go to whence it came…"
As Lucifer chants, Alastor feels something burning inside him, the tiniest of pinpricks traveling across his flesh, from the tips of his hooves to the roots of his hair, coalescing somewhere beyond his itching eyelids.
"Let them fall, Alastor." Lucifer says with his eyes still closed. "I won't look."
Alastor doesn't know whether he is capable of crying on demand, but it happens nonetheless, the burning in his eyes unbearable as moisture gathers in the corners and spills out. It burns on the way out, almost as if he's crying molten lava and he gasps, a pained whimper torn out of his throat.
"All must go to whence it came." Lucifer says softly, and the unbearable burning subsides as Alastor's eyes dispel the dregs of Lucifer's blood that were still lodged in his body. It feels as if his eyes are full of sand, grinding against his retinas. His breath hitches as he cries, blinking the golden dust out of his eyes.
It doesn't take long, and soon his tears run smooth again. He blinks furiously to clear his vision. True to his word, Lucifer's eyes are still closed.
Alastor removes his hands from Lucifer's legs and notices that he's left livid bruises behind, accompanied with angry red lines that failed to break skin, if only barely. Unthinkingly, he injured Lucifer again, and the angel didn't utter a single noise of complaint.
Alastor slowly removes Lucifer's hands form his face and wipes at his cheeks. His palms come away covered in fine golden dust. Lucifer's eyes open at last and Alastor assumes he'll finally see some anger in them for the injury caused, but Lucifer just smiles instead and looks at the golden dust curiously. With a swirl of black fingers, the dust flows into the palm of Lucifer's hand, where it coalesces and sinks into the skin, completely gone.
"That seems promising… How do you feel?"
Awful, Alastor wants to say.
"I don't know." Comes out instead.
"Well… do you still want to take a bite out of me?" Lucifer asks wryly, the joke entirely in poor taste, in Alastor's humble opinion.
How is he supposed to know what was compulsion borne of addiction, and how much of it was balanced out with the shock he had received by being made into a murder weapon against his will?
How could he possibly tell at this point?
"I…I don't know." He says in a small voice.
Lucifer breathes in and then exhales slowly, deep in thought.
"Well, if the blood had the properties of an aphrodisiac, as I suspect, any desire you ever felt for me should be completely gone, for starters."
"My desire is nearly nonexistent as is." Alastor points out.
"I know, don't worry." Lucifer says calmly.
"Any other…parameters?" Alastor asks.
Lucifer halts, thinking about it. His horns retreat and his eyes go back to normal. Only his tail remains, swishing restlessly behind him. "Well, what usually goes through your head when the blood calls to you? And what triggers the thoughts?"
The very sight of your bared skin. Your neck. Your exposed shoulder. Your thighs.
Your accursed mouth.
"I just…want to tear you open." Alastor says blandly.
"Ok," Lucifer says unperturbed. "Do you still feel the urge to do that?"
"I would need to be closer to check." Alastor shrugs.
"I see," Lucifer says simply, but Alastor doesn't miss the subtle shiver that traverses Lucifer's frame. "Come closer, then."
Alastor would like to point out the fact that they couldn't possibly get much closer than this, what with Lucifer sitting in his lap, but he refrains as he presumes it wouldn't be appreciated at this juncture. Haltingly, he brings his face closer to Lucifer's exposed left shoulder and inhales. This would usually be the point where the thrum of blood was almost unbearable.
He can still hear it – the frantic beating of Lucifer's heart behind the flimsy barrier of his skin.
He can still taste it in his mouth – the power of creation.
He still craves it, but the thought of it filling his mouth makes him want to gag.
The compulsion, such as it was, seems only marginally eased by Lucifer having expelled everything that was left – as Alastor watches the expanse of alabaster skin before him, Lucifer having tilted his face away from Alastor to present a more tempting target. It's still calling to him, as awfully as before, and Alastor trembles as he buries his nose into the silky soft skin.
He doesn't want to tear it open, but his tongue flickers out and tastes the skin, almost as if wishing blood from underneath could transfer by osmosis. Instead of his teeth, it's his lips that itch now, and he shudders against Lucifer's shoulder before coming to rest against it, half-open lips pressed against the smooth skin. It's not a kiss, as he doesn't move. Alastor simply breathes in and out, the scent of apple blossoms colliding with the aroma of cherry blossoms and wine.
None of it feels gone.
Lucifer said any desire should be wiped from his mind – and sure as death, he is still not physically aroused in the least, but…
That means so little when all he wants is to stay right where he is, Lucifer clad in his garments, trembling lightly in his lap as the breeze from beyond the open window blows illusionary cherry petals around them.
"Do you…still want my blood?"
Alastor flips a coin and it lands on: "No."
He cannot even tell whether it's a lie or not anymore.
In his arms, Lucifer swallows a whine. "Do you still want… this?"
Alastor groans against Lucifer's shoulder, his hips rocking upwards mindlessly.
"We…have a deal." Alastor murmurs against Lucifer's skin, lips ghosting over the join of his neck and his pale shoulder. "If you are lonely…I will entertain you."
Lucifer pants softly and moves away, seeking his gaze.
Alastor has no idea what Lucifer finds there.
"There's no point to any of this unless you also want it. Deal or no deal, I would never force you."
Alastor feels like a fish dragged mercilessly ashore, lungs burning helplessly as he grasps for anything to say, or the oxygen needed to allow him to scream, but no words come and it only hurts instead. Why is Lucifer forcing him to say it? The three truths have been spent for today, and Alastor should be comforted by the fact he can lie – the only problem is – he has no idea what the truth is anymore.
"I'm not sure…how to tell whether I still…want you. We might need to… experiment."
Lucifer expels an incredulous laugh.
"Are you… propositioning me right now?"
"I suppose I am," Alastor says with more self-assurance than he actually feels. "Surely there's a bedroom you sleep in around here?"
"Yeah–" Lucifer drawls. "I'm not gonna fuck you on my marital bed – no thanks." Then he gets a horrified look on his face – "Or Charlie's bed for that matter! Or Lilith's…" Lucifer shudders in revulsion.
"You slept apart?" Alastor tilts his head in curiosity.
Lucifer snorts. "Duh. She had her own separate wing to stay as faaaar away from me as possible the last few centuries…"
"Fine, no beds." Alastor acquiesces, more than happy to stop digging into the matter of Lilith. "Any couches you wouldn't mind despoiling, then?"
Lucifer looks at him once more, beaming a thrilled, toothy smile his way. "Why, would you like to ruin more of them?"
"Let's start with one you won't miss and go from there?" Alastor suggests.
Lucifer starts laughing, loud and clear and beautiful, and Alastor's heart stutters in his chest.
The compulsion is alive and well, but he doesn't want to tell Lucifer that.
Grinning from ear to ear, Lucifer hops off him and gives him a coy look.
"Come with me."
Anywhere, Alastor thinks.
I would follow you anywhere.