Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Okay, Dad! It's your turn to draw!” Charlie excitedly thrusts the stocking she's holding open towards Lucifer. The look on her face is just so endearing, he can't help his heart melting just a little bit. He chuckles and sticks his hand in the stocking.

“Okay, let's see who we have here…” He mutters as he pulls out one of the many slips of paper and unfolds it. 

It was Charlie's idea to do a Hotel Staff Secret Santa this year – something about making new connections and encouraging thoughtfulness. Lucifer wasn't sure this would go down in the way she planned - he did already hear Angel Dust whispering about taking a trip to the Lust District Mall to do his gift shopping, but he was willing to go along with the plan if it meant keeping a smile on Charlie's face.

But as he unfurls the paper and reads the name written on it in his daughter's looping handwriting, his own smile drops.

Alastor

“Do we get redo's?” Lucifer asks sheepishly. He was plenty prepared to get someone he didn't know all that well, being new to the Hotel himself, but this? Under no circumstances did he want to put an ounce of his time, consideration, money, or magic into getting a gift for, ugh, him .

“Oh? Did you get yourself?” Charlie cranes her head over, reading the name upside down. A sympathetic smile splits her face and she places a hand on his shoulder. Careful to not give away who Lucifer drew to the others she whispers, “I know it will be tough, but I believe in you, Dad.”

Any reply he may have had is left squarely in his throat as Charlie gives his shoulder one last squeeze before moving on to the next participant. Immediately, it's replaced with a much longer, much fuzzier arm.

“Who’d’ya get Short King?” Angel says in a seductive voice. “You gonna buy me a shiny toy? I don't mind if ya try it out first.”

Lucifer shudders, folds up the paper, and stuffs it in his pocket. “I don't think we're supposed to say who we got.”

He avoids eye contact by searching the room for that tall, red prick who he now has to get a gift for. 

Alastor stands aloof at the fringe of the group, an identical slip of paper held between long crimson fingers. It looks almost comically small in his hands and this only serves to piss Lucifer off further. As if Alastor could sense the burning glare, he looks up from his slip and aims that smug-ass smile directly back at Lucifer. 

“Tacky piece of shit…” Lucifer mutters and crosses his arms. Angel follows his gaze and whistles low. 

“Oof, good luck.” He withdraws his arm and chuckles. “Maybe you should get a toy, Smiles seems like the kinda guy who needs’ta get laid.”

“Angel, I am not buying a sex toy for Secret Santa. Just…” Lucifer sighs and scrubs his face. “Just let me wallow in peace, please.”

Another laugh, wink, and consoling pat on the shoulder. “Hang in there, Shorty. Let me know if’yer needin’ some cheerin’ up later, though, yeah?”

The room falls mostly silent as Charlie regains the crowd's attention and reminds them of the rules, deadlines, and prohibited gifts. Have your gift wrapped and under the tree by Christmas Eve, no drugs, no alcohol, and yes, sex toys are allowed Angel, but maybe try to think of something more creative. All stuff that Lucifer considers basic common sense, so his mind begins to wander.

What in Hell does he get an egotistical, radio-demon overlord who could, conceivably, simply source any object that he could desire with ease? Maybe Lucifer will get him a stick longer than the one he already has shoved up his ass. Or maybe a gag to shut that goading mouth. Lucifer smiles at the thought.

“You're looking much more optimistic, Dad! Does that mean you thought of something?” 

Lucifer nearly jumps out of his skin. Charlie's voice, suddenly much closer once again, carrying so much hope that he is practically forced to lie. He turns to his daughter, and laughs with hiked shoulders – he hadn't even noticed she finished her announcements. 

“Um, yeah! I'll just get him, uh, a-a gift certificate! To the butcher… or something…”

Her brows furrow. “I just went over how gift cards aren't allowed.”

“O-oh, did you? Sorry, sweetie! Y'know these ears don't work quite as well as they used to, haha!” Lucifer points to the side of his head. 

Charlie looks skeptically at the flat area where an ear would normally be before shaking her head. “C'mon Dad, I know you can be really creative and thoughtful! Can you at least try and think of a good gift?”

From somewhere in the crowd Vaggie calls Charlie's name. Lucifer wrings his cane, the smooth surface a comfort to his hands. “I’ll try Char-Char, but I really don't know anything about the guy.” 

Vaggie calls again. 

“I'll be right there!” Charlie shouts cheerily over the heads of several sinners. Ducking back down, she urges, “I gotta go, but Dad, please just try to get to know him? I really think you guys have more in common than you realize.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Lucifer says to no one as his daughter dashes off to deal with whatever issue requires her attention. He stares after the blond head weaving through the crowd. 

To say he was proud of her would be the understatement of the last several centuries, but he did wish her accomplishments wouldn’t coincide with so much responsibility. At least keeping busy seemed to make her happy. Speaking of which…

Lucifer picks his way through the dispersing crowd and takes one of the empty stools at the small bar.  He's got one more idea before he resorts to the unpleasant idea of getting to know the illustrious Radio Demon. 

“Hey, Husk!” A wave of the hand catches the disgruntled bartender's attention. Hunched over, and likely hungover, the feline sinner pulls out a tall cocktail glass and sets it on the bar top in front of Lucifer.

“The usual?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. But while you're doing that, can I ask you something?”

Husk raises a feathered brow before he looks around the bar. The crowd is largely dispersed and it's still early afternoon, but the citizens of Hell start drinking early. He turns back to Lucifer and begins creating the ungodly sweet cocktail that has become the King's go-to. “Sure, but can't tell ya how long I'll be able to talk.”

“That's fine! I just wanted to ask about Alastor.”

Husk pauses momentarily and eyes him suspiciously. “...Why?”

Throwing his hands up in mock surrender, Lucifer says, “Just curious! I was wondering why he's all, y’know, like that .”

“...Uh-huh.” Slowly the way-to-observant gaze slides away and Lucifer has to stop himself from audibly sighing in relief. A few moments of silence pass where Husk offers no information, so Lucifer clears his throat and fiddles with his wedding ring.

“So, uh, how long have you known him?”

Husk adds ice to the glass and, with a long-suffering sigh, responds, “Too long.”

“Haha… Right. What's he, uh, what's he like?” 

The liquor poured into the glass turns the drink the color of sweetgrass. “You've met him.” 

God, this is like pulling teeth. Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know, but if you've known him for too long, surely you have some interesting stories to tell, right?” 

Husk scoffs as if that was the dumbest question he’s ever heard. “Not if I wanna stay breathing.” 

“Well, what about something simple, like his hobbies?” 

The full glass clinks as it is sat in front of Lucifer. The normally easygoing, if a little grumpy, bartender looks on the verge of true irritation.  Husk opens his mouth, then freezes when he looks over Lucifer’s shoulder. 

Lucifer turns and follows his gaze to where his daughter stands with Vaggie and a few of the newer residents. She waves clunkily with a too-wide smile and pinched eyebrows back at him.

Shit. He's been caught.

All gravel and lead, Husk draws his attention back and says, “‘M 'fraid I can't help you. You're gonna have to ask the Boss yourself.”

“Being invasive are we?” A faux-friendly voice sounds from what sounds like a radio.

So he's been double-caught. Fucking fantastic.

“Not invasive, just curious.” He nonchalantly sips his drink as he takes in Alastor's presence. The infuriatingly tall demon maneuvers long limbs with grace and takes the barstool immediately next to him. “You're one big, red mystery to pretty much everyone. I feel bad for whoever pulled your name.”

Alastor waves a hand to Husk, who begins making another drink without a word between them. Smile broad as ever, Alastor props his head on his hand and leans in like Lucifer is in the midst of telling the most riveting story. 

“Who doesn't love an air of mystery? Besides, you are newer to the Hotel than I am, Your Majesty. You should be pitying the unlucky sinner tasked with giving the King of Hell a gift.”

Lucifer scoffs and brings his drink back to his lips, embarrassment roiling in his gut. Of course, Alastor knew just the thing to say to make him feel like shit. What's worse is that it was true – the chance his gifter knew enough about him to get him something decent was practically nothing. Maybe if it's someone in the inner circle of Charlie's friends or a soul old enough to know what he was like before Lilith left. The odds were slim, to say the least.

It was selfish and hypocritical of him to complain about drawing Alastor. Charlie set this whole thing up to encourage community and friendship building and all he’s done is throw it back in her face and balked at the first hurdle. Swallowing his pride, and another few ounces of liquid courage, Lucifer turns back to Alastor.

“I’m sure they're trying their best to get a thoughtful gift just like whoever your giver is.”

A chuckle sounds from deep in Alastor's throat as he takes his drink from Husk. Smooth, golden-amber liquor swirls around crystal-clear ice in an elegant glass tumbler. He takes a long sip, his Adam's apple bobbing. 

“What's so funny?” Lucifer asks.

“I find it humorous that you think you know anything about thoughtful gifts.” Alastor sets his glass down and levels him with a knowing look. “What are you getting your recipient? Caviar? A champagne fountain?”

Lucifer’s face burns brighter and he grits his teeth. 

The glass in his hand threatens to break under his grasp. “What do you know about being thoughtful, Mr. Big Bad Radio Demon?” 

Cooley, Alastor smirks and raises a brow.

“Well, I know you have to have thoughts first, so you may be a bit behind the curve.” 

Lucifer stands from the stool, squares his shoulders to Alastor, and clenches his fist at his sides. “Oh, you mother–”

A crash and shattering at his feet interrupts him. Surprised, Lucifer looks down to find his half-full glass splinters into a million pieces on the floor. He had forgotten he was holding it. When he looks back up, all eyes left in the lobby are on him, including Charlie. The concern evident on her face has all the building anger in Lucifer draining away immediately.

“Haha, sorry guys! Had a bit too much to drink and my hands are a little shaky!” Lucifer scratches the back with one hand as the other fills with golden light. Angelic magic clears the floor of sticky alcohol and glass shards and Lucifer retakes his seat. 

Gazes slowly shift away from him as sinners re-engage in their various conversations. He does the same, looking sidelong at a very content and amused Alastor.

“Can we not do this?”

“Do what, Your Majesty?”

Lucifer gestures between them. “This. Getting into arguments and making backhanded comments all the time. It's the holidays and I think Charlie would really appreciate us getting along.”

Another chuckle shakes Alastor's chest as he brings the glass to his lips again. Before he sips he says, “You want a truce in the spirit of the holidays? How quaint.”

Indignant, Lucifer's pinked cheeks puff up. “Yeah, I do. It's not like we have to be friends. We are just two adults who can get along for a few weeks.”

Alastor's smile shifts into something wild and crazed as sets his glass back down. “This is starting to sound like a deal proposal, Your Majesty.”

“Nope!”  Lucifer leans back as far as his stool will allow and makes an ‘x’ with his hands. “I don't make deals with sinners. Just an agreement among men.”

Moments pass under scrutiny and Lucifer only hopes that Alastor's long-lidded look and pinched brows signal consideration. As they stare at each other, the room around them recedes. If a pin were to drop, the anticipation of the impact alone would be enough to deafen Lucifer.

To him, this decision inexplicably feels like a pivotal moment. Something about this possible truce has brought his anxiety to a boiling point in a way he can't even begin to explain. Who really cares if this one sinner doesn't actually want to be civil with him? Certainly not Lucifer – or at least he shouldn't. And yet, here he sits, waiting on Alastor's answer with bated breath.

“I would be glad to form a truce with you, Your Majesty.” Alastor mimes a cheer with his glass. “Here's to the Holidays.”

Chapter Text

If Lucifer was being completely honest, the truce between him and Alastor wasn't going great.

In the week or so since making it, they only fought a few times, but that was largely thanks to their lack of interaction. With decorating and planning added to their existing hotel duties, Lucifer had only seen the sinner a handful of times. Each time they did cross paths, they would be at each other's throats within a few rounds of dialogue exchange. 

“Well, to be fair, Dad, you can sound a little… well, um,” Charlie hums and looks away awkwardly as she tries to find the words.

“You sound like you're antagonizing him.” Vaggie cuts in, voice flat.

“Maybe interrogating is a better word?” Charlie offers with an appeasing smile.

Sputtering, Lucifer says, “Wha– I'm not doing either! I was just wondering what he was up to. That's friendly, right?”

“That is friendly, yes, but you said” Vaggie crosses her arms in a huff and makes her voice more masculine and accusatory. “ ‘What in the Hell do you think you're doing?’ which is not friendly at all.”

His daughter's bounces as she nods fervently. "Maybe try to phrase things a bit nicer next time? Or give him a compliment!"

Lucifer grumbles at the memory as he trudges down the stairs to the kitchen. He was doing his best, dammit – not his fault Alastor took it the wrong way. 

What would he even compliment him on? The man seemed to have no redeemable personal qualities and he ruined what would be a decent looking physical appearance by Hell’s standards with garish clothing and an atrocious haircut.

Lucifer shivers as the cool flooring of the hotel lobby meets his bare feet, his hooves doing little to save him from the chill. It's too early to be thinking about someone so unpleasant anyway. Waking up an hour and a half before his normal time is less than ideal, but he decided to just get up. Better to start the day early instead of struggling to get back to sleep.

Despite the early hour, the glorious smell of coffee drifts in from the kitchen as he approaches. Someone else is awake? Light-footed, Lucifer steps though the threshold into the kitchen.

With long, bony hands, Alastor lifts the newly filled carafe of fresh coffee, pouring its contents into a pink mug exclaiming ‘OH DEER!’. His back is to Lucifer but the layout of the kitchen gives a three-quarter perspective to the vicious, infamous Radio Demon. Dressed in crimson silk pajamas, the fit incredibly loose, Alastor's angular frame is largely hidden under draped fabric. Although, it is one of the few outfits that has his fluffy deer 's tail on full display.

It wasn't the first time Lucifer’s seen it, but it still caught him off guard every time. Something so soft looking and objectively cute was such a juxtaposition against every other aspect of Alastor. That and the low, swinging jazz filtering into the air were the only soft, comforting things about the prickly, mysterious man. 

Maybe this is his chance. 

Lucifer opens his mouth to give a compliment, something about the music choice or the quality of the sinner’s coffee – Alastor-made coffee is second only to his own – when something shiny and silver appears in Alastor's hand. 

Heart rate skyrocketing, adrenaline rushes through Lucifer veins in preparation for the knife Alastor is sure to throw his way any sec– wait. That's not a knife. Is that…

“Chocolate?”

Casual unwrapping abruptly halts and the music screeches momentarily before settling back to its previous melody, albeit with a layer of annoyed static over top. Alastor glares over his shoulder at the intrusion. “It's good to know your eyes are working this morning, Your Majesty.”

Dexterous fingers break off a bite-sized piece of the bar and drop it into the pink mug. Alastor folds the wrapper back over the chocolate and turns to face Lucifer fully. His tone is relaxed, almost bored, but the slightest twinge of color dusts the peaks of his cheekbones. “Though it is odd to see you up and about this early.”

An uneasy shiver threatens his spine at the thought of his routine being monitored or tracked. Creepy bastard…

“I couldn't get back to sleep,” Lucifer answers honestly, ignoring the jab. He steps in closer to Alastor, grabbing a mug from the nearby cabinet – plain white with the LuLuWorld skyline printed in bright blue and yellow. As he pours his own coffee, he sneaks a glance at Alastor's drink.

The coffee appears black to the naked eye, but the smell of chocolate is detectable when you know to look for it. 

“You know, I pegged you as a black-coffee-only kinda guy, given your drink order.” Lucifer backs away, taking his mug to the refrigerator to search for cream.

“And that is an assumption you made.” Alastor's tone is biting. “I prepare it this way every morning, prior to my show. I am not at fault for you being unobservant.”

Okay..? Why is this guy so defensive about how he takes his coffee?

Lucifer’s search yields the usual suspects: milk, vanilla creamer, whatever abomination of a flavored creamer Charlie bought that week, oat milk… Nothing sounded good, not compared to chocolate. He looks between his mug and Alastor.

Making a decision, he holds his mug out towards the demon. “Can I try some?”

Alastor eyes the mug like it's set to explode at the first wrong move. Skeptically he raises a brow. “Why?”

Lucifer mirrors his expression with ten percent more attitude. “What do you mean why? You said you drink it every day so you think it's good, right? I want to try.”

The uneasy stare only grows more skeptical as if Lucifer said something suspicious. He sighs loudly and nods towards his outstretched mug. “Can I have some or not? My arm’s getting tired.”

Finally, Alastor breaks from his statue-like stillness, hand going to his coat pocket. “Anything His Royal Majesty desires.”

He pulls out the same bar and unwraps it once more. The comment is eye-roll-worthy, but performing said eye roll is interrupted when Lucifer realizes that he recognizes the chocolate.

Bold, sunny colored packaging and stamped honeycomb design – It's Bee’s chocolate brand. 

He looks between Alastor and his mug as the demon breaks off a small piece and drops it in. 

Bee’s chocolate is one of the most expensive options, even in the Gluttony ring. There are bound to be a few stores that carry it in the various other rings, but it can't be cheap with at least one middleman marking it up to make a profit. Sinners don't have the option to make a day trip to Gluttony to buy it directly, so imports are often marked up the most in the Pride Ring. Lucifer brings his mug close to his chest and peers inside.

It costs this much and Alastor's eating some every day? Lucifer assumes that, as an overlord, Alastor must have some method of earning money, but how? Surely the radio show can't make that much…

“You asked for the chocolate and now you are glaring at me like I have just poisoned you.”

Lucifer blinks. He didn't even realize he was staring. “Oh! No, sorry, I was just, uh, lost in thought.”

“Oh, you have those now?” Alastor smirks. “You've made a lot of progress.”

It takes a lot more effort to let the comment slide than Lucifer cares to admit, but he manages it. Finally bringing the coffee to his lips, he tastes it. 

Robust coffee and sweet milk chocolate blur on his tongue to create a favor altogether different and absolutely delightful. He normally loads up his coffee with cream and sugar, but this Bee’s chocolate is so rich that it doesn't need anything else. 

“Wow. This is actually really good. I might have to start copying you.” He takes another long sip, his eyes fluttering as the pleasurable warmth fills his senses once more. He's nearly halfway through his single mug when he realizes that Alastor is watching. 

The curious and somewhat amused glint in Alastor's eyes only lasts for a split second, disappearing immediately upon receiving notice. It's replaced with the goading smile that is most common in Lucifer's presence. A hum from Alastor signals the ending of the conversation as he turns for the door. In lieu of farewell, he calls over his shoulder, “So long as you source your own supply.”

At first, Lucifer simply watches the demon walk away, but then his daughter's pleading voice echoes in his head once again. He can be nice. He's going to be so goddamned nice. Quick on his feet, he falls in step beside Alastor.

“You know I can have Bee send some to the hotel.” He nods at their mugs. “I can get you some, too. I know the stuffs expensive, especially if you're drinking it every day.”

In an instant, Alastor disappears from Lucifer’s side. At first he thinks the demon had melted into shadow, as it is a fairly common occurrence, but his head whips back to find the man standing straight-backed and looking worriedly excited. 

This reaction because of chocolate? Lucifer raises a brow. “Uh. Alastor?”

“I would be very much interested, Your Majesty,” Alastor says cheerfully, smile broadening, “I, of course, would be happy to do something for you in return. What would you like in exchange? Perhaps we can come to some sort of… permanent arrangement."

…A permanent arrangement?

“No!” Lucifer takes a step back even though he was already standing a few feet away. He holds up his free hand between them in a placating gesture. Chuckling awkwardly, he says, “Nope, haha! No way in Hell– Like I said before, I don't make deals with sinners. Just wondering how much I should ask Bee to send.”

Deflating minutely, Alastor rolls his eyes. “It was worth a try.”

He continues walking, passing Lucifer without answering the question. What is this guy's deal? “I will make another gentleman's agreement with you, though. A trade. Not a deal.”

That halts Alastor's steps just as abruptly as last time. His head turns uncannily far over his shoulder with that same wicked smile. Lucifer wracks his brain for what he could possibly request from such an unsettling man – preferably something without monetary value to emphasize how this was very much not a deal.

He looks over Alastor. It's still odd to see the man not in his usual radio-host getup, complete with red coat and microphone. To see him so dressed down felt almost too personal to witness, even if Charlie wanted them to spend more time together and become friends. 

An idea forms in Lucifer's head. Before he can talk himself out of it he says, “I will get you the chocolate if you let me sit in on your radio show today.”

Alastor turns around to fully face him.

“If you don't mind,” Lucifer adds quickly.

For a few moments all they do is stare at each other from a few paces apart. Despite all the talk of a smile concealing true intentions over their few interactions, Lucifer is becoming more and more aware of how expressive the man’s eyes are. 

Untrusting wariness is at the forefront, sure, but behind that there is curiosity. As if Lucifer proposal is, at the least, interesting enough to be given actual consideration.

Seeming to make a decision, Alastor tilts his chin up slightly, proud and looking down his nose at Lucifer. “I suppose I can allow that. Assuming you are able to keep your mouth shut while the microphones are live.”

After all of this– complimenting Alastor's taste in chocolate, offering to source said chocolate, and showing interest in his hobby – Alastor still throws an insult back in his face. At his wits end, Lucifer scoffs, “Says the guy who talks so much he has to have a whole show about it.” 

Unexpectedly, Alastor doesn't delve antlers-first into their usual back and forth. Instead, he tips his head to the side, as if something didn't make sense. Scarlet eyes echo the same sentiment. A moment of searching passes before Alastor clears his throat.

“The broadcast will be live at noon. Come before then – I will not allow you in if you're late.”

There's no time for Lucifer to respond before Alastor, chocolate coffee and all, melts into shadow.

It's a blight on the skyline, if you ask Lucifer.

Alastor's radio station is the tallest part of the hotel and while it is admittedly much better than the previous rickety version, it's still terrible. Lucifer stumbles up the uneven steps a few minutes before noon.

 It did occur to him that he could just ditch the whole agreement and get Alastor the chocolate anyway. It would be a perfectly acceptable Secret Santa present, but he was nothing if not curious. 

Even when radio was the main form of enjoying your free time in Hell, Lucifer was never that interested. When your only restriction for entertainment was the limits of your own creativity, angelic magic ready to grant any wish, most outside options seemed mundane.

He raps his knuckles against the door twice before pushing it open – it's surprisingly heavy, requiring more effort than Lucifer had expected. 

“Your Majesty! Come in, come in, you're just in time – the show is about to begin.”

Alastor sits, reclined and comfortable, behind a massive console. Countless dials, sliders and switches cover the surface and two records spin idly, sans needle. His signature teardrop-shaped microphone is held in place over the entire setup by a crooked, metal stand. Though the color makes it look more akin to a drop of blood ready to fall from a syringe.

A flash of green light draws Lucifer’s attention away from the visual. A leather chair materializes next to Alastor. “Please, come settle in. I saved you the second best seat in the house.”

“That's very nice of you,” says Lucifer, eyeing the chair warily. It's identical to Alastor's except slightly smaller. There's no way to know for sure if the change is Alastor’s genuine attempt at being considerate or a slight against his size. Lucifer has his guesses. 

“Yes, I'm afraid the festivities of the season have me in a generous mood.”

The heavy door falls closed with a deep, echo-y thud and Lucifer can't help but feel a little cornered. There's no obvious traps and it's not like he's in any real danger, he is the most powerful being in Hell, after all. 

Alastor pays him no further attention. Instead, he makes his final checks and adjusts a few knobs on the console with confident, practiced ease. 

Deeming it safe enough, Lucifer takes the seat next to Alastor just as the eye of his staff begins to glow and colored light spills into the tower from the ‘On Air' sign affixed to the tower. 

“Hello all you wayward sinners! Alastor here, broadcasting to you live from the Hazbin Hotel!” Alastor calls cheerily into the microphone. “It's that time of year once again and I for one am ecstatic to spend this wonderful holiday season enjoying all of the festive delicacies Pentagram City has to offer.”

Most information about the Radio Demon is news to Lucifer, but liking the holidays? That seems particularly out of character. That's said, there's no telling if the festive cheer is genuine or not.

“I'm sure you'll catch me in Cannibal Town more than a few times this week – I hear there's a special seasonal meatloaf being served that is to die for! And rumor has it that if you provide the meat, you can get it 50% off!”

A medley of canned laughter plays through the speakers backing Alastor's own rattling chuckle. Lucifer’s face scrunches up in distaste. He’s leaning towards ‘not genuine’.

“I'll stop the chattering for now, we best get on with the first festive tune of the season! This one is a favorite of mine – here is ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’.”

As expected, needles move and music starts filtering through the speakers, but what's unexpected is Alastor rising from his chair. He picks his microphone up from the stand and takes smooth, gliding steps to an open space of flooring between the command console and the floor-to-ceiling windows of the tower.

As the melody of the record picks up, crescendoing to cue the vocalist to begin, Alastor brings the microphone to his lips.

“Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas…”

Well, shit.

Despite his best efforts, Lucifer has to admit that Alastor's singing voice is lovely. The crackle of the radio filter only adds to the nostalgic crooning of the notes. He sings with such care for each note while swaying and turning through the room in an elegant, long-limbed dance. Crimson eyes close softly as if having his vision would impede Alastor's ability to focus solely on the intricacies of the melody.

He just looks so… happy. Content in a way that is more wholesome than Lucifer has ever seen on the man's face. Even his ears, normally completely upright, permanently listening for danger, angle down demurely. 

It's odd to see a man so capable of death and destruction find so much pleasure in something as delicate as this. The usual sharp-toothed smile seems almost soft and wistful as the song comes to an end.

“I must leave you momentarily, but worry not! For I will leave you in the capable hands of our next artist…” Alastor wanders back to the console and swaps out the record as he introduces the next few songs to play. There's a wire frame record holder, each slot filled with what Lucifer assumes is today's offerings, each sleeve bearing holiday iconography.

“I didn't take you as the type to super into the holidays.” It's more of a question than a statement.

Alastor studies him, but does not reply.

Whelp. Maybe it's a sore subject.

Shrugging, Lucifer leaves his chair and wanders around the tower. The walls are covered with antlers and bone sconces. The vintage shelves are chock-full with more records than he can count. Occasionally, they split to make room for some knick knack, skull, or grotesque something-or-other floating in a jar. While it's not Lucifer’s preferred style of decorating, he can appreciate sticking with a theme.

The records themselves all seem fairly old, but there's at least some variety. While jazz, swing, and big band vastly outnumber every other genre, he does spot a record of classic rock and even grunge. Still a few decades out of date with what's popular nowadays, but more modern than what he expected out of a man like Alastor.

“Quite a collection you've got here.”

All snark, Alastor quips, “Yes. It's to be expected considering I run a radio broadcast”

Lucifer has half a mind to march right up to the demon a smack him for such a asshole response to a well-meaning attempt at conversation. What stops him, strangely, is memory from just a few minutes prior – Alastor cradling his microphone just so and singing sweetly along with the melody. 

Right. The holidays.

“So which one's your favorite?” Lucifer asks, turning back to the console where Alastor still sits, watching. His gaze is somewhere between distrustful and curious. 

“I do not own my favorite, I’m afraid.”

Lucifer blinks. “Really? Why not?”

“Do you know how Earthly music makes its way down to Hell?”

Humming, he crosses his arms. The three biggest rings when it comes to music production are Lust, Greed, and Pride. The first two, by nature of only housing Hellborn, were most heavily influenced by Lilith. Pride mostly produces music from Earth, which he's never been particularly familiar with. “Not the specifics.”

Alastor stands and joins Lucifer in front of the shelf. “It's common practice for artists to reproduce their work soon after arriving in Hell, assuming their voice hasn't changed too much. Even if it has, it's a good way to establish oneself quickly in such a… hostile environment.” 

“So your favorite didn't re-record their stuff then?” Lucifer asks and he watches Alastor search the shelves, his fine-boned finger floating over the spines.

An odd shift in his voice, he says,“I have reason to believe that he ended up in greener pastures upon his death.” 

Okay, well now Lucifer feels like shit. He’d never heard anything so morose in tone come from the sinner. Almost like… regret? Or maybe grief? 

As a slow, careful waltz plays over the speakers lining the walls of the radio tower, Lucifer’s inner image of Alastor rearranges itself in a matter of seconds. Suddenly, he becomes less the demon he is, and more the human he once was. 

“What was his music like?” Lucifer asks.

“It was wonderful,” Alastor mutters to the shelves, his hands stilling in front of a record. He pulls it out. The sleeve depicts the still water of a bog, reflecting a muddy haze of a forest. The genre is indiscernible from the title, but the image reminds Lucifer of the bayou he’s seen glimpses of in Alastor's room.

“He was my mother's favorite. It was uncommon to go a whole day without his voice coming through the speakers. It was to his music that she taught me to dance. It was his rendition that we liked the most.”

Staring dolefully at the record's cover image, Alastor's words shift from explanation for a third party to an internal reminiscing spoken aloud. “My only regret is that I did not know that my last time hearing it was the last. I would have cherished it more.”

It takes Lucifer a few seconds to realize he was referring to this singer’s version of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’. 

Moments pass where nothing is said, Alastor lost to the world and Lucifer seeing a whole new one for the first time. But as the waltz fades out and a jaunty swinging tune fades in, Alastor remembers himself.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. It's unlike me to go off on a tangent.” He hurriedly slides the record he’s holding back in its place and dons his mask of charismatic indifference. “Nothing like the holidays to instill a little nostalgia, hm?”

It's phrased like a question, but Alastor does not look at Lucifer's way when he asks it. Whirling around, he turns the opposite way from Lucifer, his crimson hair blocking their eyes from meeting. 

With quick, determined steps, Alastor retakes his chair and readies the next record.

“You don't have to apologize,” Lucifer says, still standing at the wall or records.

Alastor ear twitches and he finally turns to face Lucifer, expression carefully neutral. “Hm?”

Returning to his own chair, Lucifer casually plops into it. “You shouldn’t have to say sorry for missing something.”

“Yes, well…” Alastor trails off and returns his attention to the console.

Lucifer pushes, not wanting his newfound view of Alastor's world to shutter. “I'd love to hear a song by him, if you feel like singing one.” 

He would honestly like to hear Alastor sing again, but he would be lying if he said he didn't have ulterior motives. 

Alastor blinks – caught off guard by the request. His reply is hesitant, as if he didn't understand what Lucifer was asking for. “I'm afraid I don't have a backing track with the instrumentals.”

“Acapella?”

His brow furrows. “I'm not going to broadcast myself singing a song that likely no other sinner knows without an instrumental just because you requested it.”

Lucifer sighs heavily, pulls out his phone, and draws out the vowels as groans, “Fine…”

Scoffing, Alastor's nose wrinkles at the device before he turns away, refocusing on setting up the next record.

The rest of the radio show progresses without any further conversation between the two – Alastor busy running the show and Lucifer tapping away at his phone.

After shooting off a quick request for chocolate to Bee, Lucifer sends one more to Ozzie asking to call when the Sin manages to crawl out of bed for the day. 

It's going to take some work and calling in a few favors, but it's a damn good gift idea - if he can pull it off, that is. Besides, how many people could have possibly covered one particular Christmas song? 

The answer? A lot.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly it only took a few days for Asmodeus and his fleet of succubi and incubi to find the right record. The embodiment of lust owed Lucifer more favors than he could count and was more than happy to begin leveling the score. There was some back and forth over text going over the characteristics of the artist he was searching for, and then the hunt was on.

Oz occasionally sent him sound clips of records, each one missing a little something. All were lacking attributes that made Lucifer sure it wasn't the right version. Repetitive trial and error culminated in him being so frustrated with making excuses to hide away and listen to the latest batch of recordings that he was about ready to smash his phone.

They were coming up on the week before the swap and still no luck. It had only been a couple of days of hunting, but Lucifer was on a time-limit, dammit! He made a day trip down to the Lust Ring after he told Oz to have his people gather every single rendition of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ that was recorded by a male artist prior to Alastor's death.

Listening to them all took hours .

They were getting to the last dwindling number of records, Lucifer thinking that the only time he’d ever be willing to hear that song again was if Alastor himself sang it, when they struck gold.

The inflection on certain words, the crescendos at the same places, all of it lined up perfectly with Alastor's rendition. Correct year, the correct level of obscurity, and, upon some research, a plausibly reasonable person to be accepted into Heaven. 

With the record safely tucked away in Lucifer’s rooms and Oz’s fleet on the hunt for the rest of the artist's discography, there is no longer any reason for Lucifer to spend time with Alastor outside of official hotel business. 

And yet.

There may have been a few mornings where Lucifer just so happened to wake up a bit earlier. Where he, for no reason in particular, strolled down to the kitchen only to find it occupied with music and chocolate, with coffee and conversation.

Alastor really isn't that bad underneath the ego, anger, and cannibalism. He could be... nice.

Lucifer cringes so hard that he almost trips on his way down the stairs to the lobby.

Well, okay, not nice exactly… Friendly, maybe? In a ‘lure you to your death with a smile’ kind of way, that is.

No, that still wasn't the right word. Entertaining? Charismatic? As he walks the familiar path to the kitchen, he considers his options. 

Something about how Alastor – when he was actually listening – would stare so intently as Lucifer was launching into some story. Or the way his left ear twitched and his eyes widened minutely when Lucifer said something unexpected. There were even times when Lucifer made him laugh – genuinely laugh. At times like those, it almost feels like Alastor might actually enjoy his company.

It only bolsters the impression when Lucifer sets foot in the kitchen and Alastor is there, standing by the door, two mugs of coffee in hand. “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

Lucifer blinks. When he saw the time upon waking up that morning, he thought he’d missed this day's opportunity for coffee, chocolate, and conversation. After very little consideration, he had decided to simply lay in bed until that morning’s holiday-related staff meeting. The one thing worth waking up early for had already passed him by.

Alastor extends a mug towards him, ever graceful. The smell of sweet cocoa hits Lucifer in the same instant as Alastor’s smile – his real one. “For you.”

Charming . 

That was it. Alastor could be charming.

Feeling almost shy when faced with that attentive gaze, Lucifer takes the proffered mug with a mumbled thank you. He slides into an empty spot against the wall next to Alastor.They stand in amicable silence as Lucifer watches through his lashes as Alastor surveys the room.

It was crowded, to say the least, every staff member stuffed in the fairly small kitchen, sitting on counters and leaning against cabinets. Niffty has somehow managed to find her way to the top of one of the taller cabinets and is looking down over the crowd with a maniacal smile.

Charlie, ever passionate and busy, sorts through boxes upon boxes of items, occasionally calling to Vaggie who follows with a clipboard. The rise in guests staying at the hotel has been bringing a lot of joy to his daughter. Lucifer is glad to see it, of course, but his heart tugs at the way she never seems to have a moment to herself, much less with him.

He’s already offered all the magic and money at his disposal to ease her burden, but she refused. The rebuilding of the hotel was ‘more than enough’ and it was her turn to show him what she could do with it.

At least she had the good sense to call the staff down today to help with the last of the decorations, most of which were created by residents over the past week or so of activities.

“Man, the hotel has really grown since the extermination,” Lucifer says, half to himself. He really is in awe at just how much his brilliant daughter has been able to accomplish.

“Yes, many souls have been willing to make a last-ditch effort to save themselves,” Alastor replies before taking a sip from his own mug and gesturing at the frantic way Charlie dashes about the room with his free hand. “Or maybe the festive spirit drew them in.”

Lucifer chuckles. “Yeah, well, whatever their reason, at least they're trying, right?”

There's no time for a reply as Charlie must have heard his laughter. She moves across the room so quickly that she practically materializes in front of him. “Dad, Alastor, perfect timing!”

“Good morning, sweetie!” Lucifer pulls her in for a quick hug. “Al and I are here to help, just tell us where you need us.”

Both Alastor and Vaggie raise a brow but Charlie barrels on before anyone can call him out on the nickname.

“Thank you guys so much, I’m a little bit behind so it would be such a huge help if you guys could take those over there,” Charlie explains, pointing to a collection of large boxes all labeled ‘activities’, “and decorate the tree with the ornaments we made during our group sessions this week.”

“We figured you two would be the best suited,” Vaggie marks something off on her clipboard. “We only have three sets of wings and Husk and I are doing the wall and ceiling hangings.”

“Yeah and Alastor has all those... gross tentacle things,” Charlie says, grimacing, “No offense.”

Alastor's ever-present smile doesn't move a millimeter, but there is a definite twitch in his eye. “None taken. Your father and I will handle it.”

With one last thanks and a supportive squeeze of both of their shoulders, Charlie departs to continue giving out assignments. Vaggie hesitates, only briefly. She eyes them suspiciously and looks pointedly at the mug in Lucifer's hands. 

A response, more like a defense, is on the tip of Lucifer’s tongue when a hand on his shoulder stops him. 

“Worry not dear, His Majesty and I will take care of everything,” Alastor says cheerfully.

It strikes Lucifer that this was the first time Alastor has touched him since the day he came to the old hotel, prior to the extermination. A large palm covers most of his shoulder and long fingers extend down towards his chest.

Knowing he would likely be performing some kind of physical labor, Lucifer had worn a simple light sweater. Thanks to the thinner knit, the warmth of Alastor's hand penetrates the fabric and spreads to Lucifer's skin.

Something flips in Lucifer's stomach, probably from drinking coffee on an empty stomach, but he manages to simply smile and nod his agreement.

“...Right,” Vaggie says.

Finally concluding her visual inspection of… whatever is going on between him and Alastor, she marches off. He would be more concerned about it, but intense distraction slides smoothly from his shoulder to his upper back.

Lucifer hopes Alastor can't feel the way his heart is suddenly ticking up in tempo.

“Well, it seems we have some decorating to get to!” Alastor pushes Lucifer gently from the wall towards the boxes.

Lucifer quickly downs the rest of his coffee despite the temperature and sets the mug in the sink before turning his attention to their assigned task. There are only a few boxes so, with the help of a couple of Alastor's shadow demons, they manage to carry everything into the lobby in a single trip.

The tree in the center of the room is already a sight to behold – easily clearing fifteen feet tall, emerald green, and wrapped in extravagant ribbons, ornaments, and lights of red, silver, and gold. The bright, twenty-pointed star at the top shines and glitters under the chandelier light and casts speckled rainbows across the entire room. 

Lucifer didn't really want to interrupt the beauty of it with whatever the residents of the hotel managed to create, but he supposed they would have a more personal touch. And, hey, maybe some of the ornaments would turn out to be not entirely awful.

“Did Vaggie seem a little hostile to you this morning?” Lucifer asks, setting down his box. “More than usual, anyway.”

More boxes pile up beside Lucifer’s, each other preluding the disappearance of the shadow demon carrying it. 

“She did. Perhaps the poor dear is skeptical of our ability to hang ornaments without it devolving into a fight.”

“I mean, can you blame her?” Opening the first box, Lucifer finds it packed to the brim with a wide variety of homemade ornaments of varying quality. Alongside them were ribbons, tinsel, a box of hooks, and a roll of twine. He begins pulling them out one by one. “Just a few weeks ago we couldn't be in the same room without war breaking out.”

Kneeling beside him, Alastor does the same with the next box, sorting the ornaments by style. Candy canes, painted baubles, hand prints, and more. He tilts his head as if considering Lucifer's argument. Then his eyes turn soft. “I suppose that's true.”

Lucifer smiles to himself. They've come a long way since then.

“Looks like some of these still need to be strung.” He picks up the box of hooks. “Do you want me to get started on those while you hang up what you can?”

Alastor stands and takes a long surveying look at the tree. Slowly, he says, “It would probably be best if our roles were reversed.” 

Turning back to where Lucifer still kneels on the floor, he extends a hand.

Lucifer stares, wide-eyed, stuck between Alastor's relaxed expression and his open hand. Instead of his stomach, this time it's his heart. Coffee can cause heartburn, right? He raises his hand tentatively and places it in Alastor’s. 

Vibrations shock up Lucifer's arm from everywhere their hands meet, rattling him to his bones. The tremors only intensify when they lock eyes, something intense bubbling just beneath the surface.

But then Alastor's expression slowly shifts to confusion. “I… was expecting the hooks for the ornaments.”

Embarrassment drowns out all other thoughts as Lucifer flushes, furious with himself. Looking away quickly, he yanks his hand back and replaces it with the container of hooks. “Oh right! Y-yeah, sorry, here you go…”

A beat passes where he can feel the burn of Alastor's gaze on the back of his neck. Eyes squeezing shut, he waits to be ridiculed for the stupid mistake.

“On second thought, perhaps you should be the one to string the ornaments,” Alastor hums, “Someone of your stature should remain close to the ground, no?” 

A massive wave of relief washes over Lucifer. He never thought he would be so glad to hear someone make fun of his height. This is familiar territory. 

A comfort.

Standing of his own accord, he steels himself and draws on the confidence he knows he has somewhere deep down. He was Pride Incarnate, dammit! Whirling around, he dons his classic Devil’s grin. “Ha! You want to talk about height?” 

Golden light pools from the ground and swirls, glittering around Lucifer. Mote by mote, the light coalesces into six wings made of pure sunlight that, in a flash, turn into snow white and crimson feathers, and the particles of light shower over him.

Could he have simply unfolded them from his back? Sure, but he had a point to make. With a single flap, he launches several feet into the air, well above Alastor's head. He makes a dramatic pose, arms crossed and chest proud. “Look who's the short one now!”

Alastor chuckles and amusement fills crimson eyes, crinkling them at the corners. “Embodiment of Pride, indeed.”

With a snap, green light flickers around Alastor. As it fades, he’s left in his dress shirt and slacks. Most shockingly, his hair is tied up in a somewhat messy ponytail.

Free from most of the scarlet and black locks that usually hid it, Alastor's face is just as fine-boned and delicate-looking as his hands. Where Lucifer’s features were rounded and made like a porcelain doll, Alastor's were angular, sloping, and altogether elegant. 

Smirking, Alastor looks up at him. “Shall we?”

Landing softly back on the ground once more, despite his sudden fixation on the man's face. Now only a couple of feet away, he takes a closer look. Why was he so drawn in? He’d seen Alastor's face thousands of times before, there was no need to be surprised. 

Was something different? Dark, thick lashes line the same crimson eyes that sit on either side of a familiar curved nose. Sharp and angular, his jaw still frames his ever-smiling lips. Had Alastor's lips always been that color..?

“Ahem.” 

Lucifer startles, suddenly aware of Alastor’s crooked smile and questioning brow. His stomach flips again. Taking quick steps back, he sputters, “Sorry! You just, uh– You don't wear your hair up normally.”

A tick of Alastor's jaw that would normally be concealed signals his indignation. “Is it a problem?”

“No! No, not at all! It looks great, you should wear it like that more often.” Lucifer scurries around Alastor to the pile of ornaments. He picks up a few, as many as he can safely fit in his hands. “I'll just, uh get started.”

He takes off for the top of the tree, leaving his awkwardness squarely on the ground. 

He hangs the worst-looking ornaments near the top of the tree so that they will hopefully go unnoticed. 

Mentally, though? He’s busy berating himself for being so weird. On his very first day, when he was still only a visitor, he had been up in Alastor's face arguing about the name of the hotel or something else equally inconsequential. Everything he saw that day is no different than what he saw now, yet somehow it was.

Even now, as he passes by to collect another armful of ornaments, he can't help but obsess over the curve of Alastor's high cheekbones and the sharp angle of his jaw. The scarred skin of his ombré forearms revealed by rolled-up sleeves and the dexterous way red-tipped fingers threaded hooks through loops. The white-line scars, each minor imperfection, only made Lucifer want to learn more. 

But why? Why did he care?

They were significantly friendlier now, sure – Lucifer did genuinely enjoy the early mornings he spent in the kitchen with Alastor, but were they friends? Even if so, has he ever been this immediately invested in a friend before? It's hardly been a week, but with everything he learned about the man – each layer he peeled back – Lucifer found himself only looking to dig deeper.

He searches Alastor's face as collects yet another set of decorations, having placed the previous armful. What is so enthralling? Why is Alastor suddenly some kind of forbidden fruit for the eyes?

Concentration draws thin eyebrows together and turns a normally wide, sharp-toothed smile into a close-lipped one. It's only because he’s staring so intently that Lucifer notices the first signs of ruddiness.

Dusty rose blush just barely begins to form high on Alastor's cheeks, dotted with the fairest freckles like stars. 

Hell, he's so pretty .

Lucifer nearly drops every ornament he is holding as he reels back, as if from a blow.

Alastor methodically threads a hook through the eye of the ornament he is holding, sets it aside, and then levels Lucifer with an annoyed glare. “What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing!” Lucifer answers way too fast and way too loud. Hell would freeze over before Lucifer would willingly let on that he just mentally called Alastor pretty, so he deflects. “Uh, I mean I'm fine! I'm just peachy, thanks. How, uh, what about you?”

“Well, Your Majesty ,” Alastor says with static annoyance blurring the title, “There must be something on my face if I've earned the King's constant attention this morning.”

“I, uh…” He fumbles for an answer, something to draw attention away from the potential discovery of his newfound fascination. “I was just, y’know, wondering why you, uh… call me that?”

Just as he had hoped, Alastor's eyes widen fractionally, and his left ear twitches. There's just enough time for Lucifer to internally celebrate before another errant thought sucker punches him: cute.

First 'pretty' and now 'cute'? What is happening to him? The Radio Demon is not cute. Sure the surprised faced he makes is a little bit endearing. And it's clear how expressive his ears would be if Alastor didn't suppress them so much. Maybe if he and Lucifer spent more time together he'd start to let them move more. Lucifer really wanted to see them drooped down like Keekee does sometimes, that would be adorab- No! Get a hold of yourself!

Damn Alastor and his stupid cute little tiny ear flicks and damn Lucifer for suddenly becoming susceptible to–

“Call you what?” Alastor asks.

Oh right. He was still in a conversation. Lucifer clears his throat and refocuses on pulling off his lie. He says, “‘Your Majesty’.”

Alastor's brow furrows. “Are you not the King of Hell? I would imagine the honorific will remain so long as you rule.”

“Well, yeah, but you don't care about that.” Lucifer waves his hand dismissively. “Don't try to tell me that you've been calling me that out of respect.”

“I,” Alastor says hesitantly, “suppose not.”

“Right! And we're friends now right?” Lucifer doesn't give him the chance to respond, dreading the answer. “Exactly! So stop calling me that.”

“And what should I call you instead?” 

“Lucifer, duh.” He says, a lot more calmly than he feels. Pounding heartbeats rattle his ribcage and it's all he can do to silently beg Alastor not to notice. 

If he does, he doesn't show it. Instead, Alastor simply studies him.

Feet pinned to the ground, Lucifer stays stock still, not letting the air of confidence and nonchalance drop. His wings, though, not used to being out for this long, twitch, betraying his nervousness.

Finally, Alastor backs down and simply resumes his task with a quiet, “As you wish.”

Fighting the massive sigh of relief is almost as difficult as successfully deceiving a man as observant and intelligent as Alastor. Before his luck turns sour once again, Lucifer returns to hanging ornaments.

They make it through most of the tree decorating with no further embarrassment, on Lucifer’s part, at least. There is an uneasy tension in the air, though. Like they're both just waiting for the shoe to drop. Lucifer is nowhere near ready to face the music, but all too soon, all that's left is what remains of the base.

He glides down and lands as softly as he can manage, folding up his wings with no fanfare. “Alright, uh, the top's done.”

“I'm nearly done with the sections that would be difficult for you to reach whilst standing.” A glare silences Lucifer's rebuttal. “And I imagine it would expend unnecessary energy to continue flying for only an extra foot of height.”

…Fair point. Knots forming in his back are already forewarning how sore he’s going to be tomorrow. He absentmindedly rubs his shoulder. “I guess I’ll start low and make my way up, then.”

Alastor nods and resumes his hanging, leaving Lucifer to collect more ornaments. It could have worked out so smoothly, him matching pace with Alastor so that he would remain on the opposite side of the tree at all times. That way he can focus on the task at hand and clear his head at least a little.

But for some God-forsaken reason Lucifer mixes up the directions and is moving the opposite way around the tree as Alastor. Slowly but surely, they're moving down the path of collision. 

When they're shoulder to shoulder and ready to move to the next section of bare tree, Lucifer hesitates, expecting some awkward dance of who gets to decorate first. Instead, Alastor simply steps behind Lucifer, his arms reaching over Lucifer’s shoulders, and resumes carefully hanging ornaments on branches.

All breath is firmly lodged in Lucifer's chest. Heat radiates, warming his back, and he can feel Alastor's breath ghosting over the back of his neck. A shiver travels down his spine, exciting every nerve along the way. Even his scent, faint yet woodsy, encourages Lucifer to lean back into the unknown comfort of Alastor's embrace.

Scared of what might happen if he were to look over his shoulder at this moment, Lucifer damns himself a second time and looks anyway. 

And, oh, does it send him falling.

The twinkling tree lights send sunspots fading and tracing over Alastor's revealed face. Every aspect Lucifer simply noticed before? Now he was experiencing them.

Who was he kidding? He may have tried to fight it, but there was no denying that he found Alastor to be absolutely stunning. Drop dead gorgeous. More than that, Alastor was the first person he’d grown close to in years. They had formed a habit together, for fucks sake – an intimate morning ritual shared only between themselves.

It doesn't take long for Alastor to notice Lucifer's hypnotized state, of course it doesn't, and soon they are locked in each other's gaze. Half-lidded with not even a hint of annoyance or disdain, Alastor whispers, “Lucifer, you're staring again.” 

“I…” Lucifer starts, not knowing where the sentence is going. All he is concerned with at this moment is Alastor. 

Cheekbones, eyes, nose…

Lips.

He could. It would be so easy. They're already so close. 

Mind empty of anything else, Lucifer almost does. Almost, but Alastor's ears swivel back and then droop -  Just as adorable as expected. His smile turns sad before draws away, fingers ghosting over Lucifer’s cheek. “I’m afraid we are out of time.”

Out of time..? 

“Oh my God, this looks amazing!” Charlie’s voice comes from the other side of the room, filling the room with her cheerful demeanor.

“Thank you, my dear!” Alastor rounds the tree to greet her, leaving Lucifer among the branches and lights of their own little world. “Your father and I are nearly done, but it is so good to know that it's coming along nicely!”

As the remnants of Alastor's warm presence leaves him, cold reality sets in. 

He was going to kiss Alastor. Actually, fully on the lips, kiss Alastor. 

What the fuck is wrong with him?! Lucifer tucks himself further into the branches as if they might conceal him from the world. Covering his ears blocks out the joyful conversation backdropping his spiraling.

Did he even like Alastor like that? It was one thing to admire his appearance but another thing altogether to be attracted to him. And is Alastor even capable of being romantic with anyone? Even if he was, there's no way he’d like Lucifer . They'd only become official friends that day – Hell, not even an hour ago!

Besides, just because Lucifer had the fleeting thought to kiss him, doesn't mean he wants a relationship. No, he doesn't want to spend evenings cuddling with him on the couch or have their mornings of coffee interspersed with kisses sweeter than the chocolate in their drinks. He doesn't want that. He doesn't.

…Did he?

“Uh, Dad. You okay?”

Uncovering his ears and opening his eyes that he has squeezed shut at some point, Lucifer is confronted with his daughter's concerned face.

“Uh, y-yeah! Char-Char, I'm fine,” he tries, ignoring the fire under his skin, surely coloring his entire face. “Just a little winded, this stuff is hard work for an old man, y’know?”

Her brows furrow and her mouth twists in concern. “Oh, if you need a break I'm sure Alastor and I can finish up.”

“Nonsense!” Alastor slips in between father and daughter and wraps a warm hand behind Lucifer's mid-back, drawing him out from the branches. “My dear, you needn’t assist me. Why don't you walk your father up to his rooms. Lucifer has been working very hard and could do with some rest. Allow me to finish up here.”

Lucifer’s heart skips a beat at Alastor using his name so casually and stops altogether when the sinner turns his full attention from Charlie to look him in the eye. “It would also give you two a chance to spend some father-daughter time together in this busy holiday season, hm?”

After all that fighting about who was the better dad, every argument about who was closer to Charlie, Alastor lets them have this. Puts aside his own ambitions, at least for the moment, and finds a way to give them time. Lucifer flounders for what to say.

“See? So tired he can't even form a sentence. Why don't you two hurry along?”

His heart swells as he is passed into Charlie's arms and she guides him towards the stairs. He looks over his shoulder, back to Alastor, and mouths a thank you.

In return, Alastor’s smile turns soft and admiring. He places a hand over his heart and tips his head forward in a tiny bow.

Maybe he does want this.

Chapter Text

It's been centuries since Lucifer has felt this nervous. There are only a handful of hours left before the gift swap. He's armed with the entire discography of Alastor's favorite singer, whom he hasn't heard in over a century, but there's that little twinge of fear in Lucifer's gut.

What if he doesn't like it? What if, after all this, Alastor simply goes back to being cold and distant? Lucifer did only request they be friendly for the holidays, after all. 

They've gone from threatening to tear each other to pieces to casual, warm contact in the early mornings in a matter of weeks. He’s enjoyed the close proximity he's had with Alastor this past week and doesn't want to go back. Tossing and turning his bed has done nothing in terms of soothing his anxieties so that he might actually get some sleep tonight. It's high time for something a little stronger.

Too lazy to manually put on clothes over his pajamas – boxers, in his case – Lucifer magically dons the duck onesie he used as a Halloween costume this year. It was comfortable then and it still is now. Wrapped in plush, soft fabric he walks carefully down to the lobby.

He crosses paths with a few sinners, guests of the hotel still early in their journey to redemption. They can't be expected to simply give up Hell’s extravagant nightlife cold turkey, but it would soon be tipping into the early hours of the morning. Even the most avid party-goers were reaching for their beds at this hour.

The lobby is blissfully empty when Lucifer reaches it. The tree he and Alastor decorated is just as dazzling as before, even with the less-than-stellar decorations added into the mix. Under it sits both his gift to Alastor –  a total of three records, all meticulously wrapped in red and gold and tied together with ribbon– and the gift he will be receiving. 

It’s a glossy white gift bag big enough to hold, at most, something the size of a shoebox. Icy blue tissue paper is the only thing standing between Lucifer and feeding his insatiable curiosity. 

It's not even that he's curious what he got, he'd much rather know who got it for him. Some non-insignificant part of him hoped that Alastor drew him as well. Highly unlikely, but a devil can dream. All he would have to do to find out is lift the paper and find the little slip of paper they were all instructed to leave in their gifts with their names on it…

No, bad Lucifer. No spoiling the surprise. What's a few more hours of waiting, anyway?

Shaking his head at himself, Lucifer makes his way to Husk’s bar and ducks into it. There is no hope that he could recreate the delicious cocktail he’s normally served, so he settles for something simple, yet festive.

As he makes the drink, his mind wanders back to Alastor, as it so often does. 

Since his revelation last week, his nervousness around the sinner has settled into general giddiness. Every morning there is pep in his step well before he’s had his coffee. Excitement for their morning ritual has become a better wake-me-up than caffeine.

“You're looking mighty cheerful this morning,” Alastor had commented while taking in Lucifer's appearance a little under twenty-four hours ago. 

“It's a good morning!” Lucifer took the mug offered to him and stepped in close, both to be able to reach the coffee pot and to be in close proximity. Their shoulders had brushed and when Alastor didn't pull away, Lucifer’s heart fluttered. In fact, Alastor leaned ever-so-slightly into it.

“That it is.”

A smile forms on Lucifer's lips at the memory as he finishes up the drink. A delicious and simple peppermint martini in the completely wrong glass sits on the counter. Despite the blasphemy of his drinkware choice, Husk would probably appreciate him not taking one of the proper martini glasses given how many Angel tends to go through. 

He’s wiping down the counter to leave no trace of his visit outside of the borrowed highball glass when music filters into the lobby from the kitchen. Lucifer's brow furrows. 

Alastor ..?

Sure enough, when Lucifer steps into the kitchen, cocktail in hand, he’s met the view of Alastor's broad, angular shoulders dressed in familiar crimson silk pajamas. Fluffy tail matching his ears, Alastor hums along with the song as he stirs a pot of something rich and aromatic on the stove.

Lucifer might just implode at the absolute domesticity of it all. Not wanting to startle Alastor again, he knocks softly on the door frame. 

Alastor's ear swivels. “Good evening, Lucifer. Back to your night owl tendencies?”

There's no telling how Alastor knew it was him, but he simply raises his glass slightly and fully enters the kitchen. “Trying not to, just came down for a nightcap. What are you making? It smells good.”

Alastor's head tips forward, concealing his face behind a curtain of hair. “Oyster gumbo. It's…”

Even with the music, the silence is awkward. There's plenty of space for Alastor to finish his thought, but he doesn't take it.

More than a little concerned, Lucifer eases closer. He tries to catch a glimpse, to see the only thing that might give him any insight as to what the man is feeling, but Alastor's frame has gone stiff. Stubborn silence persists and Alastor even turns his head more towards the wall to avoid having Lucifer in his periphery.

Frowning, Lucifer studies the back of Alastor's head. Their friendship, however intense it might feel for Lucifer, is still new. He shouldn't pry too much. 

He hops up to sit on the counter, careful not to spill his drink. He’s far away enough from the stove to limit the risk of catching fire. It wouldn't hurt him, but he likes this onesie and would rather keep it free of burn marks. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

Another beat of silence, the music quieting this time.

“No, I–” Alastor finally looks his way and his brows raise almost comically. Eyes flicking up and down, he says, “Quite the outfit you have on.”

Lucifer pulls up the hood, showing off the plush duck bill and embroidered eyes. “I know. Cute, right?”

Crimson eyes focus only briefly to take note of the duck-faced hood before returning to meet Lucifer's gaze. “Yes. Very much so.”

God dammit. Lucifer flushes and looks away, pulling the hood further down to cover his eyes. He tries to hide the way his heart skips a beat with another sip of his glass, the cool peppermint also combating the warmth in his face.

This sinner is going to put an end to his immortal life if Lucifer doesn't get a hold of himself. 

A quiet chuckle shakes the melody in the song emanating from Alastor's chest like vibrato. He gently tugs the hood off, his knuckles grazing past Lucifer’s cheek. “I am making Oyster Gumbo because it is a tradition from my time on Earth. A grand feast to be eaten after midnight the night before the larger celebration.”

Lucifer smiles. It is so rare that he gets to hear of the more wholesome and good sides of humanity. The idea of people gathering late into the night to share a meal and enjoy each other's company ahead of the holiday is incredibly uplifting. “That sounds really nice.”

“Indeed,” Alastor agrees, returning to his stirring and keeping his face carefully neutral, “it's typically enjoyed with family, but I'm afraid the only person in my family on this side of the afterlife is yours truly.”

“Oh.” Should he apologize? It's not like Alastor has ever shown any regret at ending up in Hell and it feels odd to say ‘Sorry all the people you care about ended up in Heaven’. Lucifer settles on asking, “You still make it every year, though?”

“I do. I am a man who understands the importance of traditions after all. Additionally…” Alastor shifts on his feet, looking directly into the steam rising from the slowly bubbling pot. “It was one of my mother's favorite holiday traditions. Carrying it on reminds me of her.”

Something somber enters the atmosphere. How many years has Alastor had to spend this evening alone? Lucifer supposes he could simply ask what year Alastor arrived in Hell and do the math, but the weight of every year's meal eaten in isolation must be incalculable. Lucifer knows what it means to feel alone – to be alone.

Intruding is not something Lucifer wants to do. This is obviously something Alastor holds very near and dear to his heavily guarded heart. It's entirely possible that he uses this time every year as a time of remembrance or even mourning. Still, it must be horribly lonely.

Lucifer sets his glass aside and tentatively takes Alastor's hand and holds it, palm down, between both of his own. “Well, we're not family, but do you want company this year?”

Steam curls between them, creating a faint haziness over the lost look in Alastor’s eyes. Memories of many mornings spent together swirl into the forefront of Lucifer’s mind, all coalescing in the importance of this moment. Everything between them and how it will or will not progress in the future rests, once again, in Alastor's deft hands.

Alastor sets the stirring spoon to the side, turns off the stove, and brings his now-freed hand to rest atop Lucifer's. His thumb glides over nervous knuckles, soothing and stilling them. “I suppose I made enough for two.”

With a nod of Alastor's head, two bowls and two sets of silverware appear on the counter next to Lucifer in a haze of green static. Alastor's smile turns wry and charming as he jokes, “And it is the holidays, after all.”

After an impromptu second dinner of oyster gumbo with a side of comedic speculation of what the various hotel staff received for Secret Santa, Lucifer slept amazingly. Despite the limited hours, he is bright-eyed as he dresses in a festive sweater and comfortable black sweatpants and poses proudly in front of the mirror. 

With the morning, came confidence. Alastor was bound to love his gift, Lucifer would get to spend the day with his daughter, and the mystery of his own giver would finally be resolved – everything about this day is shaping up to be fantastic. Lucifer smiles broadly to himself before racing out the door and taking the stairs to the lobby two at a time.

The room is dotted with sinners of all shapes and sizes in varying levels of festive wear. Some of the more laid-back sinners lounge lazily on sofas, chairs, and stools cradling mugs of eggnog or coffee. Others, namely Niffty, are staring at the presents at the base of the tree, eager to rip into them. 

Charlie stands between the crowd and the tree, clipboard in hand, grinning ecstatically at the gathered crowd. Behind her Vaggie patrols for any sinner who might get too close before the time for presents comes.

At the bar, Alastor leans against the counter, mid-conversation with Angel and Husk. His hair is up again – cute – he's in a holiday sweater of his own – cuter – and his tail, on full display, looks fluffier than normal – Lucifer might actually combust.

He cuts a path to stop by and exchange season’s greetings with his daughter, before finding his way over to the bar.

“Happy holidays, Char-Char!” Lucifer gathers his daughter in his arms for a bear hug. 

“You too, Dad,” Charlie says, squeezing him back. Joyfully, she holds him by the shoulders as they separate. “The gift swap is about to start, but Vaggie and I will come find you right after, okay?”

“Of course, sweetie. I'll be waiting.” He pats her hand before leaving her once again to her responsibilities. He picks his way through the crowd, careful of any swinging elbows from over-excited sinners, and makes his way to the bar – or, more accurately, to Alastor.

“Long time no see!” Lucifer greets him as he approaches. 

“Yes, it's been an age since I've laid eyes on you.”

When Alastor turns to him, all elegant features and pretty hair, something shines from the hollow Alastor's throat. Lucifer halts mid-step. 

God this man really is trying to kill him.

A large silver bell attached to a choker gleams under the warm-toned bar lights. It emits a muffled ring as Alastor's head tips to the side. “Reindeer got your tongue?”

“Uh–”

“Bet he wants another deer to get at his tongue.”

Husk groans and covers his face while Angel proudly watches Lucifer sputter and pinken. 

“Angel–!” 

“Happy Holidays everyone!” Charlie calls the crowd to attention. Reluctantly, Lucifer slides into the space beside Alastor and he glares at Angel, who only winks and waves flirtatiously in return. His flushed face is probably weakening the effectiveness of his scowls, King of Hell or not.

Attention returning to his daughter, Lucifer listens to how the exchange is going to work. At least he tries to while desperately avoiding thinking about silver bells nestled at the base of a slender neck. He’s at least somewhat successful.

They would all come up and grab the gift they received and, in groups assigned by Charlie, open them. That way the gifter can watch their present being opened, if they'd like. 

It's a bit of a mess at first, every sinner – and two fallen angels – all trying to pick up their gifts at once, but they all eventually have their assigned group number and their gifts in hand. 

“Okay! I'm going to call out your group number, do not open your gift yet! Just raise your hand so that way your Secret Santa can know when you'll be opening their gift. Everybody got it?” Charlie looks around and, when she gets no questions, says, “Alright then, raise your hands group one!”

She rattles off through the groups, each one raising and lowering their hands accordingly. Resettled in their corner of the bar, Husk and Angel raise their hands for the first group, Alastor for the second group, and Lucifer for the third. 

Finally, the first group is called to open their gifts. Angel rips into his meticulously wrapped present while Husk pulls his lazily concealed gift out of a brown paper bag. A bow is scrawled onto the paper with a black marker.

“Ooh, a massage gun ,” Angel purrs. Taking the short letter taped to the front into one of his many hands, he reads it while his other hands tear into the box. “You’re girl has good taste, Short King! I'm gonna have so much fun with this!”

“Uh, I think that's for your muscles, Angel,” Husk says, before looking with furrowed eyebrows at… a ball of fabric? 

It looks like nice fabric, at least, if a little wrinkled. Husk begins unfolding it when a piercing voice comes from Alastor. Or rather, Niffty, who at some point climbed onto his head. “Since you lost your shirt, I got you a new one!”

Sure enough, a surprisingly clean, white linen dress shirt hangs from Husk’s claws. 

“How so very kind of you, Niffty, my dear!” Alastor reaches up and picks the small woman up by the scruff of her festive pink bandana and sets her on the bar top. “Isn't it such a thoughtful gift, Husker?”

Blankly, Husk says, “Yeah. Thanks, Niff.”

Lucifer huffs a laugh. The sincerity is definitely missing, but at least Husk has a well-practiced poker face.

“You're welcome!” Niffty cheers.

“Alright, time for the second group!” Charlie calls over the heads of the buzzing crowd. “You guys can open your presents!”

When Lucifer turns back, Niffty has completely disappeared. He blinks. Guess she was in the second group. Wait, the second group!

His head whips around to Alastor. He’d been so caught up in the antics that he almost missed seeing the reaction to his gift – after all that hard work to acquire it!

Except Alastor is staring right back at him, smug. Like he’d been waiting for Lucifer’s attention before opening the wrapped gifts in his hands. Cocky and decidedly amused, he raises a brow. “Excited for me to open your gift?” 

Balking, Lucifer stares back, wide-eyed “What!? How did you know it was me?” 

Alastor performs the most patronizing eye roll Lucifer has ever seen in his eternal life. “Please, do have more faith in me.”

The flush that had fully receded comes back with a vengeance. He crosses his arms, petulant, and scoffs. “Fine, I'm an open book, whatever! Just open it.”

“If it's any consolation, I haven't the faintest idea what you've chosen as a gift,” Alastor explains, delicately untying the bow, unraveling the ribbon, rolling the ribbon into a spool, and setting it aside. 

Lucifer rocks from foot to foot as he watches, his own gift swaying in time and he wrings the handles of the gift bag in his fists.

“You are quite the creative man, Lucifer. I wouldn't be so bold as to even attempt to look into your mind.” Piece by piece, Alastor peels off every bit of tape, even when he could easily slide the record out of the paper. 

Groaning, Lucifer sets his gift on the floor, steps in closer, and points an accusatory finger. “You're doing this on purpose! Just open it!”

“My, my Lucifer! Let's not spat, it's the holidays, after all! I'm sure whatever you've procured will be well worth the… wait.”

Instead of the usual tiny shifts in his expression, Lucifer is treated to all of the intricacies of a completely blindsided Alastor. 

First, his whole body stiffens and his wide eyes search the cover of the first record as if he couldn't believe it was real. It's only after he peers into the opening of the sleeve and sees the vinyl itself that it seems to register that yes, this is real. 

And then he realizes there are two more wrapped records in his hands.

Abandoning the tedious method he utilized before, Alastor tears through the paper of the remaining gifts with as much fervor as he dares. It's only due to the deftness of his hands that no damage comes to the records themselves.

Seeing Alastor like this, so clearly excited, has Lucifer's heart swelling several times its size. He's sure he is grinning like a complete idiot, but it doesn't matter. How could he care about what he looks like when Alastor's face is lighting up so magnificently? 

For the past week, he has held the memory of Alastor under dazzling tree lights as the moment he fell.

But this? This is the most beautiful Alastor has ever looked. So joyful, astonished, and real in a way that was so precious and rare. Lucifer only wants to see more. 

At this moment, he soars.

“I…” Alastor's gaze flies between the records in his unsteady hands and Lucifer. “I don't understand how this is possible.”

“Well, I called in a few favors from Asmodeus. His people go to Earth all the time, so I simply requested they run an errand for me while they were already out” Stepping closer, Lucifer points at the holiday record. “We found this one first, based on the song you sang. Then…” He points at the other two records. “I asked him to get me everything he could find. If there's more that you can remember, I can ask him to keep looking.”

“I…” Alastor shakes his head, ears drooping and staring at the records. He cradles the records to his chest and speaks with no radio filter on his voice. “Lucifer, I don't even know how to begin to express my gratitude”

“That's okay.” Lucifer’s cheeks begin to ache with how long he’s been smiling. “Just seeing you look… this…”

Something red and green creeps into his field of view from above, distracting him from his reply. Tipping his head up, above them hangs a mistletoe, held aloft by a pink-and-white furred hand.

“Angel!” Lucifer groans, rubbing his face in pure frustration.

“What? You looked like you were gonna start makin’ out anyway! I was jus’ givin’ you a little push!” Angel uses one of his many elbows to nudge Husk. “You've seen how they've been recently, right Whiskers? The tension !”

Nose and whiskers wrinkling, Husk crosses his arms and grumbles, “No comment.”

Brain stalling, Lucifer can only stare back. They haven't been that obvious, have they? He was sure that no one even knew about their morning ritual, and it's not like they're attached at the hip or anything! 

Oh God, but if Angel and Husk noticed, Charlie has to have noticed too. She was friends with Alastor first, so at least Lucifer wouldn't be bringing a whole new man into her life. But would it be weird if he were to start dating his daughter's friend? Would Alastor think it was weird? Dating his friend’s father? 

Oh God, what if Alastor doesn't like him like that?

A familiar, faraway voice calls, “Okay! Third group!” 

A blur of shiny red arcs through the air.

“Ow! Calm down, Smiles, I was just teasin’ you guys.”

“This is calm, but if you wish for more, please do continue.”

A hand rests on his shoulder, pulling him fully out of his flustered spiraling. A gentle uttering of his name and pretty features greet him as Lucifer comes back to reality.

Alastor nods toward the floor. “I believe you should be opening your gift now.”

“Oh, right.” Recollecting himself, Lucifer picks up the gift.

The bag looks the same as it had the night before and had quite a bit of heft for its size. Pulling away the tissue paper reveals a large glass bottle. Lucifer pulls it out and peers at the label.

It's an extremely rare, sinner-made wine that Lucifer has only had the pleasure of enjoying a handful of times in his life. Even his status as the King of Hell gave him no priority in sourcing the stuff. The only reason he's had any at all was Lilith's ability to sweet-talk the maker. 

Taped to the side of the bottle is a bar napkin with ‘ HUSK’ written in messy block writing. Any disappointment he might have felt at Alastor not being his Secret Santa is smothered by shock. Turning to the bartender, Lucifer stares wide-eyed. “How the Hell did you get a hold of this, Husk?” 

Shrugging, Husk replies, “You like that stuff right? Charlie said you did.”

“Yeah, it's my favorite, but…” Lucifer’s brows furrow. “How did you get a bottle? I can’t even find it.”

Husk simply shrugs again, grabs a bottle of cheap beer from somewhere behind the bar, and takes a swig.

Stage whispering, Angel's cuts in, “I don't think he’s gonna tell’ya, Short King.”

“Husker is a man of vast connections,” Alastor adds, “Very useful friend to have. I would hazard a guess that he likely knows the maker personally.”

Nothing in Husk’s expression gives Lucifer an indication of whether it is true or not. Still, he offers a genuine smile in return. “Huh. Well, this is really great, Husk. Thank you.”

A grunt is all he gets before Alastor steps between them and holds up one of the records. “If I may be so bold, perhaps we could share a glass while I properly introduce you to this wonderful artist.”

In an instant everything stills. The shock on Angel’s face is exactly what Lucifer’s brain is experiencing. Even Husk leans around to stare at Alastor, dumbfounded.

Somehow, Lucifer gets his vocal chord and mouth working order first. Well. Mostly working order. “You… Like a da– are you asking me on a date?”

A tinge of ruddy color blots onto Alastor's cheek as he opens his mouth to speak. “I…”

His eyes lock onto something over Lucifer's shoulder. Quickly, he says, “Let's speak again when there is more opportunity for privacy. Please do enjoy the bacchanalia, Lucifer.”

“Wait, Ala-”

Darkening, Alastor's form slips into shadow and disappears.

“Dad!” Charlie's voice calls from a few feet behind. “How’d it go? What did you end up getting?"

The rest of the morning’s festivities go smoothly, all things considered. There are no fires, the walls remain intact, and there's only been a minor amount of illicit drug use. A holiday miracle, to be sure.

In the loving company of his daughter and all that she has accomplished, Lucifer’s heart is both light and full. Colorful lights and cheerful atmosphere surround them and, for all his mistakes, things have turned out alright. Still, something is missing – a tall, angular Alastor-shaped void haunts Lucifer’s mind.

In between contributing to the conversation, Lucifer finds himself searching for crimson hair amongst the crowd. Alastor has been absent since they exchanged gifts over an hour ago - the gifts they were meant to share on a possible date. Lucifer stares at the drink in his hands.

Surely Alastor knew how it sounded, right? Despite his usual indifference towards the subject, he’s always been good with words. He’s a radio host for Satan’s sake! He wouldn’t have asked it that way if it wasn’t a date…right?

“Dad, you okay?” Charlie leans down and whispers. 

Putting on his best smile, Lucifer looks up at his pride and joy. She should be enjoying herself and spending this time with her friends and partner, not worrying about her father. 

Nodding, he reassures her. “I’m just fine, sweetie, but I think I might step out for a bit of air if that’s alright. It's getting a little claustrophobic in here.”

“I get it,” she says, always so sweet and empathetic, “it can be a little much here sometimes, huh?

Lucifer chuckles. “Understatement of the year there, Char-char. You know, you should take some time off soon too.” He reaches up and pinches her cheek. “My little girl has been working too hard.”

“C’mon, Dad,” she groans, rolling her eyes, but she still can’t quite stop the smile spreading over her face. 

Releasing her, Lucifer urges, “I know, I know, but I’m serious, Charlie. You need to have some time away from this hotel.”

“I know.” A heaving sigh loosens the tension in her shoulders. “Vaggie’s been saying the same thing for a while, but I just didn’t feel like there was any good time to do it, with everything going on.” Reaching into her jacket pocket she pulls out what looks like a flipbook. “But now that I have these, I should be able to take a few days without too much worry.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“Oh, with how close you two have gotten, I thought Alastor would have told you.” She holds out the flipbook, which upon closer inspection, is a book of coupons. 

Flipping through them, Charlie points out a few. “They’re vouchers! See, if I use this one, Alastor will run a group bonding session. There's even some for a whole day off of running the hotel!”

Quickly flipping to the back, she hands him the book opened to a coupon with a surprisingly decent drawing of himself and Charlie beside slanting, pointed writing. “See this one is a day off so you and I can have a father-daughter day!”

“That would be amazing, sweetie,” he manages to say as he takes the book, despite the way his heart clenched. His burning eyes threaten to form tears as he flips through the book. 

Date nights with Vaggie, cooking staff brunches, outings to Cannibal Town, and more fill the book. With this, Alastor had given Charlie something she never has enough of despite her immortality: Time. Time with her friends, time to go on dates, and time to spend with her father.

Fuck, he really is about to cry. 

“Be sure to tell him thank you,” Lucifer says, hurrying to close the book and pass it back. Tears form, flooding his waterline, and sit on the edge of spilling over. He places his drink to be forgotten on a nearby table. “I’m going to go get some air.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Unsure, she waves as he retreats. “I’ll see you later!”

Lucifer feels more than a little guilty at his abrupt exit, but bursting into tears in front of a room full of sinners he barely knows is not his idea of a good time. Weaving through the crowd as he fights back against the tears, he makes his way up the stairs and out to the terrace.

Blissfully empty, Lucifer clutches the railing and looks out over the city. The early morning haze of Hell is fading fast and the view clears more every minute. Never once since he fell from Heaven has he looked at this city with so much hope for the future – and it all started with Charlie.

“What a lovely view.”

“Oh shit!” Lucifer jumps out of his skin, launching sideways to get away from the voice suddenly coming from only a few feet away. Then he registers who spoke. Clutching his chest, Lucifer attempts to steady his racing heart. He wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “Fuck, Alastor, warn a guy next time.”

“My apologies,” Alastor says, sounding like he doesn't mean it at all. He leans on the railing, back to the view he just called lovely. “I saw you out here on your lonesome and was curious as to what could have dragged you away from the party early.”

Finally regaining his composure, Lucifer turns back to the city, lightly gripping the iron railing. “Charlie showed me what you got for her. I'm sure she’ll tell you herself, but… I wanted to say thank you, too.”

Wind whips by, loosening some of the strands from Alastor's up-do until they fall free and dance in the breeze. 

“While I didn't know the extraordinary nature of your gift, I knew you drew my name.” Alastor shrugs. “It is customary to give something in kind and I saw the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Quit pretending that you don't care about any of this and just accept the thank you.”

“Very well.” Alastor straightens and extends a hand toward Lucifer, palm up. “Let me be forthright, then.”

Lucifer looks warily at it, not wanting to embarrass himself by making the same mistake a second time. “I don't have a box of hooks to give you.”

Chuckling, Alastor remains. “That's alright, your hand will suffice this time.”

Comforting and familiar, even after only one occurrence, their hands fit together effortlessly. A spark lights up all of the nerves in Lucifer’s fingers as they slide over a much larger palm. He swallows nervously and waits for whatever Alastor has planned. 

Except, he does nothing. They still stand side-by-side, facing opposite directions, but now their hands are clasped together. Lucifer raises a brow. “Are we… Holding hands? Does this mean you were asking me on a date before?”

A gentle tug turns him until they are face to face. Stepping closer, Alastor leaves only a few inches of space between them. That vaguely familiar heat radiates off of him, warming Lucifer’s skin beneath the layers of fabric. Crimson and black tendrils frame his face like a work of art in a gallery as his head tips down.

“Let's address things in chronological order.” Eyes half-lidded and smile closed and soft, Alastor says, “First, I believe I owe you something.” 

A thumb brushes over Lucifer’s knuckles and his heart skips a beat. “You do?”

Alastor’s free hand brushes stray hair out of Lucifer’s face. “If I remember correctly, you and I were caught under the mistletoe. I did not fulfill my obligation” 

“Under the…” Molten heat floods back to Lucifer’s cheeks. He was so distracted by the maybe-date and the coupon book that he completely forgot about the mistletoe. So the obligation must be–

The realization hits Lucifer so hard that he practically rips his hand out of Alastor's. He holds both hands up between them in embarrassed surrender. “You don't have to do that! I'm sure Angel was just joking– Not that I wouldn't like– I mean, I wouldn't not let you– or, wait, no. You– I wouldn't mind–” 

A large hand completely covers his lower back, silencing him. It draws them together and Lucifer’s hands fall on a broad chest. The knit of Alastor's sweater under his fingertips is luxurious. Bodies pressed together from thigh to chest, he can feel Alastor's heartbeat. 

It's racing. 

A finger under his chin tilts Lucifer’s burning face upward. 

“I think we both are men who understand the importance of tradition.” Alastor tips his head to the side, curious. “Wouldn't you agree, Lucifer?”

Heart hammering at a breakneck pace in his chest, all Lucifer can manage is a nod.

“Then, may I enjoy my obligation and kiss you?”

“...Please.”

When their lips meet, it's impossibly gentle and sweet. There's care and consideration in every movement of Alastor's lips. The kiss is so different from what Lucifer had imagined but infinitely better. He hums happily into it as the taste of chocolate and coffee blooms.

Flashes of their future flood through Lucifer’s mind. Early mornings they'll spend together, their days interspersed with casual contact and flustering words, and evenings cuddled up on the couch. Even boring chores or annoying errands – if Alastor was with him, Lucifer wanted it all. 

All too soon, Alastor breaks the kiss and presses their forehead together. Smile lopsided, he asks, “Have I fulfilled my obligation to your satisfaction?”

“Hmm…” Lucifer feigns consideration as he slides his hands over Alastor's chest to wind behind his neck. He fiddles with the choker, causing the bell to ring faintly between them. ”I don't know. Maybe you should kiss me a little more, just so I can make sure.”

A staticky chuckle sets every single butterfly in Lucifer's stomach aflutter. 

“Only if you agree to our date.”

Joining in the laughter, Lucifer stands on the tips of his toes to rejoin their lips. “You've got yourself a deal.”