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In an unexpected turn of events, it seems that Alastor is deemed more approachable than Lucifer.
Charlie is clearly unaccustomed to having him around and their sporadic interactions are stilted at best and disastrous at worst. Vaggie openly avoids him, disarmed by his fumbling attempts at compliments, and Niffty dismisses him as not worth her time once he tries gifting her, of all things, a rubber duck. He’d been expecting Angel Dust to throw himself at Lucifer at the very least, the hypersexual harlot, but even he seems hesitant to get too close.
Thankfully, this works wonderfully for him considering how desperate Lucifer is to form a single meaningful relationship in his sad little life.
When he invites Lucifer to his room for a nightcap, the King barely hesitates before accepting.
He is marginally more tentative once Alastor holds the door to his room open with a bow, but it’s nothing that Alastor can’t handle. Lucifer’s fingers fidget nervously over his cane as he stares into the open doorway and Alastor wonders at it. Disappointingly, there isn’t a single part of Lucifer that fears him, although there must be a part of him that still feels discomfort at the idea of being in Alastor’s private space.
He can appreciate that.
They are on a schedule though, so he gently guides Lucifer to cross the threshold with the tip of his microphone to the dip of his back.
“Wow, nice place you got here,” Lucifer chatters right on cue. His act is so transparent that Alastor wonders why he even bothers. “Very, uh, very red. Not a big fan of anything made in the current century, are ya?”
Alastor tries not to roll his eyes as he draws back Lucifer’s chair for him. He would love to hear Lucifer's bumbling comments if he had seen the bayou in his previous room. Although, since Lucifer is responsible for the construction of the new hotel, he’s likely responsible for the wards preventing him from summoning it in the first place.
It’s harder than he expects to bite his tongue, but if he lets himself be tempted into volleying barbed insults they’ll be stuck in a proverbial cage match that would be counterproductive to his plans.
“Coffee?”
Lucifer purses his lips as he takes his seat. “Isn’t it a little late for coffee?”
It hardly matters, but the alternative is bourbon and with Lucifer’s prior admission that he doesn’t drink, Alastor isn’t fond of imbibing while Lucifer remains sober. He has to play the perfect host after all.
“Oh? Do you actually sleep?”
“Sometimes,” Lucifer bristles, taking it as the slight it isn’t for once. Alastor waits, eyebrow cocked, until his shoulders slump. “Okay, fine.”
“Delightful,” Alastor says, filling Lucifer’s cup. “Sugar? Cream?” A travesty, but Lucifer accepts both as expected.
Alastor sighs contentedly as he sits and takes a sip of his own coffee. Black, as it should be. “Now if only Hell had some passable beignets. There’s nothing quite like a cup of coffee and a beignet.”
Lucifer perks up, his spine straightening from its awkward slouch. There it is, the yearning, the call to connect. “Beignets? You, uh, I wouldn’t have taken you for a sweets guy.”
“I’m afraid that in this regard I’m a bit of a stereotype. Along with some proper music.” He snaps his fingers and the gramophone in the corner springs to life, filling the room with the soulful strains of jazz.
“Oh, this is nice. I’m more of a showtunes guy myself, you know, but this has pizzazz. A little zing.” A genuine smile blooms slowly across Lucifer’s face. A moment later, the foot he has crossed over his knee taps a matching rhythm into the air.
Alastor can feel his own smile turn into something marginally more genuine in response. It’s always good to find a fellow patron of the arts, even if it’s from a rather unexpected source. “It’s gratifying to know that your taste extends to music’s premier genre.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d say that. There aren’t even words. A good song needs lyrics to really set it apart. I prefer music that I can express myself to.”
Lucifer removes his coat, likely too warm from the fireplace, or from the hot garbage coming out of his mouth. For all of his obvious faults and detestable opinions, his outfit is quite pristine. Perhaps Alastor should inquire after his tailor.
“There are more ways to express oneself than words,” he grits out.
“Oh yeah?” Lucifer says, eyes bright with interest. There’s a challenge in his words, reflected by the way he holds his cup haughtily with one lax wrist. “How?”
Alastor sets his cup down emphatically and rises from his chair to extend a hand that makes Lucifer’s eyes blow wide. “Would you care to dance?”
“Dance?” Lucifer squeaks, and Alastor feels his own smile turn sharp as he fidgets and looks at anything but Alastor’s outstretched hand. “Me?”
“I believe you’d be a fine partner.”
Wide-eyed, Lucifer takes his hand and lets himself be drawn to his feet. As Alastor rests his free hand around that slight waist, Lucifer opens his mouth only to stammer unintelligibly. As much as Alastor enjoys seeing Lucifer unsettled, it makes for a poor performance and he really is quite fond of this jazz number.
“Just follow my lead, your majesty.”
For once, Lucifer does as he says without his seemingly instinctive retaliation and the glow of triumph curls in Alastor’s chest. He leads Lucifer in a dance reminiscent of a slow waltz as it seems the more traditional Charleston or Peabody would be too complex for him at this moment.
Lucifer stubbornly watches his feet like he’s never used them before. This close, Alastor is drawn in by the sheen of his eyelids. Lilac. Truly, such a striking color.
“See?” Alastor demurs, delighting at the shiver his voice elicits. “We fit together well.”
“You know it’s—” a nervous laugh “—been a long time since I’ve danced with someone.”
Obviously.
Alastor doubts that Lucifer and his wife had partaken in even this level of intimacy within the last few decades, not with how Lucifer practically trembles within his grip.
In fact, it’s highly likely that other than Charlie and the creatures that pass for pets in this realm, he’s the only person who has touched Lucifer with any intent in many years.
How convenient for him.
“One could say that we danced during our first meeting,” Alastor says, watching the golden blush rise on Lucifer’s cheeks. “In fact, you could say that we’re quite physically compatible.”
Lucifer tears his eyes away from his own feet at that, looking for all intents and purposes—longing.
Then his expression shutters and he bites his lip as he looks back at his feet.
It’s almost too easy.
Lucifer practically bleeds sincerity, every emotion broadcasted to the world in technicolor through body language and voice. It’s a wonder that he’s ever deceived anyone into committing sin before. Although, perhaps it would be more accurate to describe his actions as tempting rather than deceiving.
Alastor can see how weaker souls could be tempted by this man.
“So,” Lucifer starts, voice cracking. “Beignets, huh? Tell me more about that. Like I said, you don’t strike me as a guy with a sweet tooth.”
“A remnant from childhood,” he says, meaning to end it there, but his mouth moves on its own. “My mother enjoyed them, but they were the only thing she abhorred to make herself so they were eaten on special occasions. Some of my fondest memories of my time on Earth are of sharing a platter at a café.”
It’s only when Lucifer meets his eyes again that he realizes that he’s been gazing down at him as he’d reminisced.
“She was a chef?”
“A wonderful cook in the kitchen. I don’t believe you’ve had my jambalaya before, but I can assure you that her recipe is superior.”
Lucifer smiles, so blinding that it’s clear he’s filled with angelic sincerity. “Tell me more about her.”
Naturally, Alastor hesitates. He’s already said far too much far too quickly, but it strikes him that Lucifer doesn’t have a mother and the almighty being that could be considered his father cast him out into Hell.
Abruptly, he feels quite sorry for him.
So he talks about what a wonderful teacher she was, how she loathed cursing, how much she adored him. He shares stories that he hasn’t thought of in years, memories that he’d thought had been long forgotten, lost to the void of time.
Throughout it all, Lucifer watches him with the same open, admiring smile he has when Charlie talks about the hotel.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Lucifer says once Alastor has finally run out of words. “I don’t get to hear about the good of humanity often. I—It’s good to know that there was a point to what I did.”
Then he rests his head on Alastor’s chest. Gently. Easily. Like Alastor is someone he can take comfort in.
He nearly drops his smile. Only his long years on the dance floor keep his feet moving.
Almost immediately, Lucifer’s head pops back up, tension hardening the once-soft lines of his body.
“Whoops! Must’ve forgot myself a little bit there. Ha!”
He shuffles away, grabbing at his discarded coat with clumsy fingers and nearly drops it in his hurry. Alastor can only watch as Lucifer flees to the door, nearly launching himself through it before he pauses. With one hand on the doorframe, Lucifer glances over his shoulder and says, “Night, Al. Thanks for…thanks for tonight.”
He smiles, soft and hesitant, and Alastor truly understands why so many holy texts considered him to be the most beautiful creature in existence.
And then Lucifer is gone, shutting the door behind himself with a soft click that Alastor barely hears over the sound of the gramophone.
Well, he thinks, wiping his hands on his slacks, that went splendidly.
Alastor sits back down to finish his half-finished cup of coffee, vanishing Lucifer’s cup with a wave as the notes of a new song begin to play.
A shame though. This next song is best enjoyed with a dance partner.