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One of Lucifer’s favorite things is music.
All kinds, really. When you’ve been alive as long as he has, you tend to get introduced to quite a few different genres of things. Polka is one of his favorites, he couldn't even tell you why. Something about it just makes him weirdly happy.
That being said, he had other favorite genres. Honestly, it was hard to find a genre he didn’t like. Music is probably one of the biggest things on the, admittedly very short, list of reasons why he was glad he gave humans free will.
Alastor was a lot more picky when it came to music.
From what Lucifer has gathered, his favorite genre is jazz. It’s all he really heard the sinner play, either on the piano or from whatever radio happened to be in the proximity. Including himself.
Not that Lucifer ever complained about it. Jazz was probably near the top of list in terms of music genres. It was the first thing they had ever talked civilly about–their favorite songs and artists from the 1920s. Admittedly, that was the first time Lucifer had ever seen Alastor as anything more than, well, a psychopath.
This is what led Lucifer to sitting in the new music room, golden fiddle in his hands and playing out a familiar jazz tune. He hasn't played for fun in such a long time, it was… nice.
“Ahem.” A voice speaks from the doorway.
Lucifer absolutely did not shriek and point his bow at the intruder.
“Holy fuck, Al. Ever heard of knocking?!” The Radio Demon merely chuckles, walking up and lowering the bow pointed at his face. Prick.
“Most threatening, Sire.” His voice is laced with sarcasm, “I’m sure people tremble at the sight of your ever dangerous bow.”
“Shut up, asshole.” Lucifer grumbles. “Why are you here?”
“What, was I supposed to not come see who was playing my favorite song?” Lucifer takes an embarrassingly long amount of time to process.
“Wait, Dream a Little Dream of Me is your favorite song?”
“One of them.” The deer nods, grin softening slightly. “Ella Fitzgerald is near and dear to my heart.” There’s something wistful in his expression that Lucifer can’t quite place. It’s almost… sad. Bittersweet, might be a better word.
“She’s one of my favorites, too.” He says after a moment, glancing up at the sinner from his seat on the table. After a moment, he snaps his fingers and the piano bench scoots away from the keys, the cover lifting off of them. “Care to join me?”
There’s a moment of hesitation; some unnamed emotion filling Alastor’s expression as he glances between Lucifer and the waiting piano. He seems almost conflicted.
Until he’s not.
With calculated steps, he slides into position on the piano bench.
“I must admit. It’s been a long time since I’ve played a duet with someone.” Lucifer nearly chokes when his voice comes out sans radio filter. It was such a vulnerable moment, and he can’t help the wide grin that breaks out on his face.
“Well, that makes two of us.” He places the fiddle under his chin, raising the bow. Lucifer’s eyes meet Alastor’s, and on a nod, they both begin playing.
The song is like second nature, the instruments weaving together and creating a beautiful sound that flowed throughout the rest of the hotel.
Lucifer can’t see Alastor’s face, but he can almost imagine the peacefulness that’s settled on it. The way his smile didn’t seem as tight, the way his eyes gently closed. This was the most civil they had ever been.
The song comes to a close much too soon, and Lucifer’s eyes flutter open to find Alastor staring at him.
There’s a moment where the two just sit in silence, staring at each other. Alastor seems painfully human at the moment, the remnants of their duet swirling around them in a way that made it difficult to look away.
The silence stretches on for a long moment, neither of them daring to move or speak. Until Alastor finally clears his throat, breaking the two of them out of whatever trance they had been in.
“I must say, Your Majesty, you're not entirely terrible. Ella would be proud.”
“Careful, Bambi.” Lucifer chides. “If I didn't know any better, I’d think that was a compliment!” Alastor glances away, his ears flattening against his skull.
“Perhaps it was.”
And then he’s gone in a swirl of shadows, leaving Lucifer’s face feeling hot and his heart hammering in his chest.
“...You too, Bambi.”