Work Text:
The night after the ball, your wrists ache, courtesy of Lucifer, fuck, that bastard. His grip had been so tight as he led you in a classic waltz, smile, so forced, and eyes, so angry.
You know you should leave the attic alone, you do, but curiosity really does kill the cat. Mammon, buzzed from Demonus and the party atmosphere, doesn’t notice at first. The two of you stumble into bed in tandem, and a wince leaves you as your hands break the tumble into the mattress.
They hurt, a deep ache that turns sharp when you move them. It’s bearable, though. You bear.
Lucifer, for all his perfection, completely ignores the threat he’s placed upon you. He acts as though nothing ever happened between you two, and it kinda pisses you off, but you’re half grateful to not have to talk to him about it.
You tell Belphie on a trip up to the attic, and he berates Lucifer for it, and it feels so nice to have someone to talk to, vent to, and just not have to hide anything from.
You would tell Mammon, but he’d overreact and get all upset with Lucifer, and that’d just cause needless trouble and tension.
Things have been going well, all things considered, being in Hell and all. Mammon, and your other pact demons are so sweet, they remind you of puppies when they trip over each other for time with you, but their love comes with a price.
Belphagor, you can tell he doesn’t like you terribly much. In all fairness he doesn’t know you well, nor you him, but the common beef with Lucifer is a bind that draws.
As starlit days and starlit nights pass in the sunless realm, the pain dulls with time. Lucifer acts the way he always does, better than thou, and you haven’t had any one on one encounters with him since.
Praise be fate that you usually have Satan, Asmo, Leviathan, Mammon, or Beelzebub lingering near you. You don’t think they know of any bad blood between you and the eldest, and you’re pretty sure they’re just being clingy, but you appreciate it no matter the reason.
Dinner time is spent as a family, and you usually sit between Mammon and whoever is quick enough to claim the seat on your other side.
Truly you understand why Lucifer treated you the way you did that night, he’s protecting his family, and that is an admirable thing to do, but he hurt you. And pain isn’t something a body forgets easily.
So when Satan asks someone to pass the salt, and you and Lucifer happen to reach for it at the same time, and his fingers accidentally run over your wrists you yank your hand back like his touch was flame.
Some eyes flick to you at the sudden movement and the table falls still for a minute, but you act like nothing happened and allow Lucifer to hand Satan what he asked for.
The silence is a tad uncomfortable, but you do not feel like talking about what just happened, because fuck that was embarrassing. Your face is flushed with shame and you keep your head down as you quickly finish your meal and dismiss yourself from the table.
You flop on your bed in the safety of your room and groan. You feel so… silly.
Some time later that night, your DDD buzzes on your nightstand and you lift your heavy head to glare at the lit screen.
After the two minute notification goes off, you figure that you should check it out, and you stumble on tired legs to grab the device.
Lucifer
Please come to my study, I’d like to talk.
Oh.
That’s ominous.
You creep down the hallway with trepidation until you reach the cracked door of Lucifer’s study. Dim light and the soft echo of music leak into the hall and you pause outside to get your bearings. After you feel well enough to face Lucifer without crying or anything too embarrassing, you knock.
“Come in.”
You slowly crack the door open, just enough to slip in and face him.
“I must apologize for my actions the night of the ball. You’ve been hesitant with me since, and I do not blame you. But for what it is worth, I should not have harmed you. I’m sorry, MC.”
An apology. Wow.
“Oh. Uh. Thanks.”
“I just… you’ve been skittish, and after dinner tonight I thought it fit to talk to you.” Lucifer expands.
You shift awkwardly on your feet. Damn, so much for bitching about Lucifer to Belphie tonight. The bastard had the gall to be sorry about it.
“Does it still hurt? You nurse it sometimes.” Lucifer’s question brings you out of your head, and you blink down at your hands. They’re twisted together to comfort your month old injury.
“Oh, it’s nothing. But ah, is that all you needed me for?”
“Oh,” a flush coats his face. “Yes, sorry you are free to go.”
(“And he apologized, like bro, we’re over it! Move on, idiot.” “What an ass.”)