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The radio tower was rebuilt with the rest of the hotel and in theory it should be all shiny and new. The reality was that while the outside met the more elegant hotel theme, everything on the inside was just on the right side of shabby.
From the antiquated radio equipment to the handwritten scripts in Alastor’s messily looping penmanship, everything was a callback to a different time. Lucifer didn’t generally like looking backwards, he preferred moving forward, thanks, no need to wallow in what wouldn’t last.
But hey, there were always exceptions, and this wasn’t the first one he’d made for Alastor, now was it.
He considered it an important step forward in their relationship that Alastor allowed him into the radio tower at all, much less while he was broadcasting. No idea what step they were on or how many this journey would take but it was headed forward, that was the important part.
Even the sofa Lucifer was lying on was worn comfortably down and he could easily picture Alastor sitting on it before a show, going through his notes or writing a new segment wearing those little reading glasses Lucifer’d caught him with once. The monocle was great for the aesthetic in public, Alastor told him haughtily, but when he was working, it was useful to have both eyes on the same level. As if he thought Lucifer was judging him for needing to see, look, there was plenty of judgment to go around in Hell, for all kinds of reasons. Visual disabilities did not have a category.
For his show, Alastor kept to a loose schedule; he’d broadcast at any time the mood struck, or a tasty bit of info landed in his lap, day or night. The one time listeners were guaranteed to hear him was the morning show, from eight to ten every weekday for your commute, and weekends when Alastor was bored, although that was happening less as of late, huh, Lucifer couldn’t imagine why; he was sure it had nothing to do with how warm and comfortable sharing his bed was in the mornings, especially on the weekends with no hotel ‘early bird huddle’, as Charlie called it, to get everyone revved to face the day.
(Lucifer suspected the coffee helped more than her encouraging speeches, but would he puncture her enthusiasm? Not for every mochaccino in Hell.)
Lucifer never heard his broadcasts before Alastor came to the hotel, probably for the best. Maybe his original ‘show’ had been popular with a small subset of the population; knowing sinners, he’d believe that. He wasn’t one of them, though, an hour of screaming was definitely not getting added to any of his playlists.
The morning show was different. Loaded with songs, banter, and surprisingly accurate gossip from every Ring in Hell. Lucifer didn’t know how Alastor sourced his information, but TMZ had nothing on him when it came to hearing who was doing what with whom down in the pits. These days, Lucifer was entirely too invested in the love lives of the elites around Hell. He knew for a fact that the only reason his own wasn’t included was because the one he was sleeping with was the radio host himself, look, nothing wrong with taking the perks when they were offered.
Accuracy aside, Alastor was good. Not that he had much competition in the position of radio host, but if he had, he’d be a head and shoulders above the rest and not just because he was so damn tall. He was so natural at it. He teased, he flirted, he toyed with his audience like a cat with a mouse, cutting to a commercial break before revealing the juiciest details, and sure, maybe playing with his food was a little too accurate at times. Didn’t make it any less enjoyable and the hordes of Hell, so to speak, definitely agreed.
His show started with a fairly substantial foothold in the Pride Ring and now it was broadcast throughout Hell, found not by oversized billboards or gaudy advertising but simple word of mouth. Alastor did so like to do things the old-fashioned way, wasn’t like he was in it for the money, only the joy of the craft.
Even Lucifer secretly listened in every morning before they’d fallen from uneasy acquaintances to unlikely friends to…well, he wasn’t going to be the one to put a name on whatever this was. Suffice to say it involved some strenuous bedtime activities and the occasional extremely awkward public handholding.
One step at a time, Lucifer reminded himself. They’d get somewhere if they just kept moving forward and this was a pretty large step.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been in the radio tower, but he’d never been in here before while Alastor was broadcasting and from what he could see, his listeners only thought they were getting the best of him from his program. It was quickly becoming obvious that the real show was right here.
His radio audience couldn’t see the way Alastor’s smile widened when he laughed. The way his eyes went sly as he teased, flirting outrageously with his unseen listeners, using the sultry timbre of his voice to its best advantage. They would never know about his expansive gestures, the way his hands moved in orbit around him, pausing only to fondle his microphone and Lucifer loved his hands, slim and clever and so warm against his skin when they—
But that was a distraction.
Alastor always acted as if his skeletal structure was a playful suggestion rather than a rule of anatomy and that was reinforced by the way he would sprawl across his chair while coyly offering choice cuts of gossip with the conspiratorial tones of one speaking to their closest friends and not the greater seven-ring area.
He was, frankly, a delight to watch and as Lucifer sat there, leaning over the arm of that swayback sofa, he realized it was not a view he wanted to share.
How lucky for him that Alastor hated television with such passion, so that no one else in Heaven or Hell, fuck it, no one in this plane of the existence would be treated to the sight.
Alastor didn’t notice his fascination; he was wrapping up this morning’s hearty serving of rumors.
“And you’ll never guess who he was seen with, dear listeners!” Alastor said, leaning in close to the microphone. “Have a think on your answer while we listen to the dulcet tones of Phyllis Cleveland and John Barker, and when I return, we shall see how many, if any, of you have been paying attention!”
A soft duet started playing, the record a little scratchy but worth the experience. Alastor stretched in his chair, extending his arms over his head and arching his back, see, that was another sight well worth seeing, he knew from personal experience just how flexible Alastor could be.
He watched Alastor take a sip from his coffee cup before catching sight of him and his level of attention. Alastor froze, the cup still hovering in the air in front of his mouth, hm, maybe he’d forgotten Lucifer was even there, could be. It wasn’t as if he was used to having a visual audience.
As Lucifer watched, his cheeks went a little pink and he licked his lips in a way one might even call nervous if they weren’t talking about the notorious radio demon. It made Lucifer wonder what expression was on his face because whatever it was, it left Alastor visibly, adorably, flustered.
“Must you stare?” Alastor asked at last.
“I think I must,” Lucifer said honestly. What, he asked, don’t blame Lucifer if it wasn’t the answer he wanted.
It definitely wasn’t; Alastor huffed and made a irritable little tsking sound, fussing with his script, touching various switches on his board without flipping a single one and Lucifer observed every second of it. It was only when he nearly knocked over his coffee cup, barely catching it before it spilled over all his papers that he added, all snitty, brassy tones, "I can’t imagine why you wanted to watch to begin with. It’s a radio show, it isn’t meant to be seen. Surely you'd be better off listening downstairs."
Lucifer settled his chin in his primly folded hands and gave him a sly smile of his own. "If I do that, how can I see how gorgeous you are?”
Uh huh. So worth it to see Alastor whip around to stare at him as he floundered for a reply.
A deep, ruddy flush crawled up his face, oh, honey, was he actually embarrassed? Too cute, the infamous Radio Demon blushing like a teenager on his first date at the roller rink.
“Really gorgeous. I love watching the way you move,” Lucifer went on, cheerfully relentless. “You’re all over the place. I don’t even think you notice you do it.” He mimicked one of Alastor’s more expansive gestures, didn’t quite manage to pull it off, he didn’t have the hand span or arm length to really get that graceful little flip going.
“I…you…” Alastor sputtered, and that crimson blush was hitting critical levels. He looked, Lucifer thought fondly, like a particularly overwhelmed fish, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to come up with a zinger of a reply. No luck there, so far he was settling into an epic fail.
The song ended and Alastor did not move.
“Babe?” Lucifer waved vaguely at the record player. “Dead air.”
Alastor blinked once, twice, then jerked, whirling around and slapping one of the switches on the board.
“That was ‘Tea for Two,” he said, roughly, voice smoothing out as he added, “and who doesn’t like a little tea to start their morning. I, for one, prefer it to coffee, although you caffeine addicts out there may not agree! Speaking of tea, earlier today at the little-known speakeasy ‘The Devil’s Advocate’, a certain Sin was seen in the presence of an unexpected local character—”
He went on, delivering the tastiest bits of the morning gossip train. So focused he didn’t so much as twitch as Lucifer rolled to his feet, all but tiptoeing up behind him. Alastor was sitting up properly for once, head tipped down towards the mic and it made his hair fall forward, leaving the nape of his neck exposed like an invitation and wouldn’t it be rude to not to take it?
The hitch of Alastor’s voice when Lucifer pressed an open-mouthed kiss against that tender skin was almost completely buried beneath the sudden squeal of radio interference.
“Oh, pardon me, listeners!” Alastor blustered, trying to bat Lucifer away with one hand while he changed the record with the other. “Bit of technical difficulties this morning. I hope your eardrums survived; otherwise however will you be able to hear the Boswell Sisters’ lively rendition of ‘When I Take My Sugar to Tea’!”
The song began with a scratchy start and Alastor spun around in his chair to glare at Lucifer, pointing at the door. “Out.”
Lucifer pouted, “Aw, don’t make me leave. I’ll behave.”
“That reeks of a promise broken many times,” Alastor said. But he relented, redirecting his point to the sofa. “Fine. Sit, there’s a good boy.”
“Woof,” Lucifer said amicably. He sat back on the sofa and batted his lashes at Alastor innocently.
Who only stared back in a perfect rendition of unimpressed although the widening upturn of his smile told another story. “Be patient, you spoiled brat. I’m nearly finished.”
“Don’t hurry on my account.” Lucifer sprawled back lazily on the sofa, kicking his feet up on the cushions, hm, maybe after the show Alastor could be persuaded to teach the worn cushions a few new tricks. “I wasn’t kidding, I love watching you.”
“Your insincere flattery is unnecessary,” Alastor said dryly. “Where you are concerned, I am what I believe our dear Angel Dust refers to as a ‘sure thing’.”
That brought his musing about alternate sofa uses to a screeching halt and Lucifer frowned. “It’s not insincere.”
Alastor’s sideways look was not impressed. “I appreciate your dedication to a bit, but as I’ve often said, my face is made for radio.”
“Wait. Do you really not know how gorgeous you are?” Lucifer demanded.
That blush was returning in full force. “Stop it.”
“Because you are,” Lucifer crawled back up to the opposite sofa arm, leaning over it towards him to say earnestly. “Alastor, I’ve been around for the creation of all existence, I know beautiful when I see it.”
Alastor only turned away, back to pick up his script again. “Enough. I need to finish my show.”
The song wasn’t even half over when Alastor flicked the switch back and went to live air, and after a few seconds of unsteadiness, he settled back into the warm, rich tones of a consummate radio host teasing about ‘this just in’ news straight from the Lust Ring about ‘a new product for my more exuberant listeners, my, the lines are already around the corner, if anyone wants even a chance of securing their own, now is the time to join the throngs of other hopefuls!’
Lucifer slumped back against the sofa arm to watch him, contemplating his own newfound knowledge.
Alastor didn’t believe he was beautiful, to the point he’d accuse Lucifer of lying rather than accept the compliment. Interesting intel and not in a good way. That meant he was failing as a…well. Whatever he was, Lucifer was failing if Alastor didn’t believe he was beautiful and that would not stand.
Well, they’d just see about that, then, wouldn’t they. Lucifer might not be a suave media host but his nickname of ‘silver tongue’ wasn’t just about propaganda or sex.
He watched Alastor as he talked, making mental note of every gesture, every teasing remark, every smile that creased his pretty face. Noted each one and racked his memory for more. There was plenty to add, from his genuine laughter when Niffty did her monthly Sunday afternoon cockroach puppet shows to sweaty, exhausted bliss as he lay trembling beneath Lucifer after he came, those lovely hands holding on tight while Alastor struggled for his normal equilibrium. An entire list of beauty to share.
Yeah, Lucifer had the start of a plan here and he would be finding more ways to keep telling Alastor until he believed. He would find a way to make Alastor believe.
A path was opening up in front of him and Lucifer was about to take a bunch of steps.
-finis