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There was no greater joy than cooking, Alastor mused to himself. The kitchen, already filled with the crooning melodies of a lighter jazz tune, was punctuated by the rhythm of a stainless steel knife on a wooden cutting board. The stove top was already on, blue gas flame flickering on low as the pot of grits bubbled and popped to fill the room with its buttery aroma. Alastor whirled on his heel at a rising pitch in the trombone and swept the contents of the cutting board straight into the sizzling pan of oil he'd turned on only a moment prior.
“Oh, it's you.”
The music screeched to an unceremonious halt. Alastor turned his head at a sharp angle to regard the figure in the doorway, small stature draped in white and pink with his damn top hat set at a jaunty angle on his head. At least he probably thought it was jaunty- but in Alastor's opinion, Lucifer Morningstar looked like he just stepped off the page of a children's circus book taking itself far too seriously.
“Well, good morning Your Majesty!” With a flick of his wrist, Alastor cut the heat to the grits and placed the saucepan on a potholder on the counter top. He plucked the peppercorn mill from its place on the spice rack and passed it thrice over the cooking sausage and shrimp, keeping an eye on the little king from the corner of his vision.
Lucifer wrinkled his nose as he stepped fully into the kitchen. “The fuck are you cooking in here? It smells like something died.”
His eye twitched but Alastor forced a wide smile. “Perhaps because I got the sausage freshly ground this morning. Only the finest for my comrades here at the hotel!”
“So, you're making breakfast?” Lucifer shifted closer to peer at the contents of the pan. “Huh.”
Alastor nudged his elbow against the king's side to shift him out of the way, passing a wooden spoon through the mixture. “If there's something you need-”
“Well Charlie made a cooking rotation list and last I checked, it was my day to make breakfast. And yet here you are.”
“Beating you to the punch!” Alastor turned a grin down at the smaller man, relishing the way a flash of hurt echoed in Lucifer's golden eyes. But he shifted back a step out of the way as Alastor turned the heat off from the stove and set the pan on the back burner.
“You know, you didn't have to lay it on so thick.”
He paused with the spoon held carefully in the grits, mid-stir. Alastor flicked his gaze toward the angel who was just standing closer to the doorway again, fingers curled up into the sleeves of his jacket and his expression far too openly devastated to be an act.
Oh.
Lucifer was looking at the stove top, a private moment Alastor thought he wasn't intending to be intruded on. Well perhaps he should have thought of that before breaking down in the middle of the kitchen during the breakfast rush.
He sighed sharply and gestured to the pan of still sizzling meats. “Put that in the serving bowl there, like the good little king you are. We can tell Charlie we made it together. I'm sure that will make her cry uselessly, but better her tears in the dining room than yours in here, ruining my cooking.”
Lucifer jolted and his mouth opened, half a word tumbling out before he snapped it shut again and whirled to the table where two serving bowls waited. Alastor watched him sharply as the sausage and shrimp was transferred from pan to bowl, not a splatter made at the angel's hands. Humming to himself, he filled the other bowl with the grits and then nodded to Lucifer.
“Come along, then, we shouldn't keep them waiting.”
He didn't look back to see if Lucifer followed as he swept from the kitchen in the direction of where the other residents hungrily waited, but Alastor wondered if he didn't feel a hint of warmth from a smile on the little king's face as they went.
It was a well known fact that Overlords hoarded territory; Rosie had established herself firmly in her self-titled Cannibal Town, a prime swath of land consisting of several affluent neighborhoods now filled with those souls who had willingly signed their entire afterlives over to her. Others like the Vees had wrestled their way into territory more business in nature, crushing their opposition until they were the singular monoliths standing tall in the wreckage of former competition.
For Alastor, he preferred a territory more subtle in nature. The souls under his control were more often than not operating under the radar, so to speak, and it was a well known point of observation that he held control over neither land nor business. Even so, he'd carved out a decent amount of space for himself within the realm of Charlotte Morningstar's latest venture.
Of those, he considered the large but not quite industrial kitchen to be firmly within the realm of his territory. It wasn't outdated, per se; designed with more charm than functionality, but Alastor was no stranger in making things work despite the odds. He'd spent more than his fair share in the boundaries of the room dedicated to culinary art, to the point it was as close to a home he would ever consider.
So it was with distaste that Alastor strolled into said kitchen and found the aspect of his territory occupied with someone else.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?”
Lucifer yelped and snapped up, colliding with the corner of the freezer door from where he'd been rummaging around in the refrigerated portion of the appliance. He scowled and rubbed his head.
“Geez, could you scare me a little less next time? And for your information, I'm getting ready to cook.”
Alastor swept his gaze across the rolled up set of the angel's sleeves, coat and hat draped over the nearby chair out of the way. He frowned. “That can't be correct; according to the rotation my dear Charlie set,” he grinned when Lucifer glared, “it's my turn to cook dinner for everyone.”
“You made breakfast yesterday morning! Would it kill you to give someone else a turn? Besides,” Lucifer nudged the fridge door shut with his hip, hands full of an array of packaged cheese and vegetables. “I already have something in mind.”
“Absolutely not!” Alastor snapped his fingers and his coat and microphone vanished from his person to arrange themselves on the chair adjacent to where Lucifer's effects had been placed. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves to roll them up, ignoring the Devil's pointed glare as he moved over to the fridge. “I trust you to cook about as far as I can throw you; I'm making jambalaya.”
“Like Hell. Charlie said it's my turn.”
“Then you can make yourself useful again,” Alastor tossed over his shoulder, bending to retrieve the paper wrapped packet of meat left over from his run to the butcher the day before. Lucifer sputtered behind him and then sighed, rearranging the selection of ingredients he'd pulled from the fridge.
“I suppose... and it would make Charlie happy.”
“Which I surmise was the point of her overlapping our scheduled rotation for cooking.” Alastor pulled down the strainer to wash the vegetables in, glanced down at the angel. “Don't look so surprised, she's far more clever than most assume.”
“Well,” Lucifer said with a weak chuckle. “She definitely didn't get that from me.”
“Your words, not mine.” He stacked the green peppers into the colander and Alastor positioned it beneath the faucet to run water over them, glancing at Lucifer again. “Oh don't look so put out, Majesty; your daughter gets plenty of traits from you in place of sub-level intelligence. Her heart and penchant for caring, for starts.”
Alastor set the dried off peppers on the wood cutting board and gestured vaguely, pausing to take note of Lucifer's ogling stare.
“What?”
The angel jumped and grinned, shaking his head. “Nothing, nothing. Just that's probably the nicest thing you've said to me yet. You're a big ol' softie under all that bite, aren't you?”
“Sire, please do me a favor and shut up.”
Lucifer chuckled, the sound fading as strains of jazz filled the kitchen. Alastor stepped back to observe as the angel set to work chopping the peppers and onions, thoughts turning in a direction he didn't expect. The kitchen was his domain in an unofficial sense, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad to share it once in a while.
It was an old saying that if something happened twice, it was a coincidence, but three times made a habit.
Alastor stared at the empty kitchen from his place in the doorway, not taking a step further into the old room. Everything was polished and tidied, dishes put away from the washing up the night before when Angel had cooked, an odd surprise to be sure. It had been a full week since Alastor had been allowed to take charge of the evening meal and to say it haunted him...
He wasn't one to be haunted by anything. Not places or objects, and most definitely not by people. And yet, the presence of a particular fallen angel had settled itself comfortably in the back of his mind in the days following, Lucifer's laugh and grin trailing after Alastor like a lovesick teenager, an intrusion by every definition.
So then why did the sight of the empty kitchen cause a knot of displeasure to rise suddenly in his chest?
Alastor clicked his teeth together and turned on his heel sharply, steps guiding him back toward the main sitting area of the reconstructed hotel. He ignored the sharp twinging in his chest as his eye twitched in the direction where Charlie sat with her angelic paramour, her focus turning immediately to him.
“Charlotte, be a dear won't you,” he began, claws tapping against the staff of his microphone. “Let me borrow your telephone.”
“Oh, uh, sure!” She handed out the slim device to him, already unlocked and open to the dial pad. Alastor angled himself away as he flipped to the contacts page, immediately picking out the name and number in the incredibly short list.
“Hey Char-Char!” The forced exuberance of the voice on the other line made Alastor's eye twitch further in tandem with the pulsing pain centered in his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath and turned away when Charlie started toward him, concern shining in her eyes.
“I'm afraid the young lady in question is doing me a service and allowing me to borrow her telephone. Where are you?”
The silence on the other end was deafening. Alastor clenched his jaw.
“Oh, I uh...am busy...?”
“Bullshit,” the deer snapped. “We're making gumbo. Don't keep me waiting, Sire; these vegetables will not chop themselves.”
He clicked to end the call and handed the phone back to the princess, her expression clearly worried.
“Aw, Alastor-”
“I'm perfectly fine, dear. Now if you'll excuse me, I have dinner to prepare as soon as your lackadaisical father arrives.” Alastor quickened his pace back out to the kitchen- it didn't count as running away if he had a goal in mind. He ignored the looming emptiness of the room in question, snatching open cabinets and drawers to gather the utensils and dishes needed for the meal's preparation.
The pain in his chest flared and the large ceramic mixing bowl slipped from his hands to shatter on the floor. He snarled and stumbled back a step, fingers pressed harshly to the throbbing beneath his coat, and then a second set of hands were grasping him by the shoulders to steady him.
“Geez, Bambi, you look ready to drop dead.”
Lucifer.
He hated the way relief flooded him at the mere sound of the man's voice, sin blackened hands keeping him steady as the angel guided Alastor to the nearby chair.
“I'm perfectly fine-”
“That's not what Charlie said.” Lucifer peered down at him and Alastor glared in return. The angel sighed. “Look, even without your creepy phone call, I can tell something is off. It won't kill you to let me help.”
“The dinner...”
“Will be fine.” Lucifer shifted back a step and shook his head. “I'll handle it; just let me help you now.”
Tired, he was just tired. Alastor slumped back in the chair with Lucifer's hand still pressed to the curve of his shoulder, and found he didn't even have the strength to argue. He barely cared when Lucifer's hands shifted down to the front of his coat, and when the first flare of pain glowed silver bright with a rock guitar's riff through the stillness of his pain sluggish mind, Alastor let his eyes close.
Curse the fool who built a curving staircase in the main lobby when a ninety degree set up would have done just as nicely. Or even an elevator!
Alastor cursed the lack of foresight under his breath as he gripped the bannister more tightly, vision swimming with black spots. An aforementioned side effect of the healing he'd undergone the day before, angelic grace racing through his veins to counteract the poison left behind from an Exorcist's blade.
He hadn't even been able to access his shadows for a quick trip downstairs from his rooms, having been transported there sometime after blacking out by the little king. This was a fact Alastor wasn't sure how to feel about; the obvious and most pressing response was to snap his teeth at the fact, how dare Lucifer see him at his weakest and most vulnerable.
And yet...
There was no mistaking the cool relief flooding his thoughts when he had pressed his hand against his chest and found no flaring agony from the simple touch.
Grumbling under his breath regardless, Alastor forced himself to continue down the staircase, consequences be damned. He knew he likely shouldn't be up and moving around; whatever Lucifer had done to aid him was still hard at work given the sweat plastering his hair to the back of his neck, but his pride wasn't so easily consoled. There was work to be done and he would be a poor host if he let anyone else assume his position.
There was also food to be made.
The kitchen doorway swung open without complaint under Alastor's push, made too clumsy by his vision blackening again under a swell of nausea. He only just barely registered the sharp gasp off to his left followed quickly by the clattering of some object on the counter top.
“Alastor! Dammit, you're not supposed to be up and around!”
Lucifer, of course. Alastor blinked to clear his vision again and stared down at the blond angel suddenly at his side, hair loose from its usual swept back style. The state of his shirt was rumpled, sleeves rolled and collar unbuttoned, and there was a hint of a rosy hue to his cheeks that hadn't been there before.
“Heavens,” Alastor murmured as Lucifer slipped an arm around him to guide him to the nearest chair, a less taxing parody of their actions the day before. “I'm beginning to think that menial service is a good look for you, Sire.”
“You're supposed to be resting. I told you-” Lucifer broke off with a sharp sigh, easing Alastor down into the seat. He peered down at the demon and Alastor stared back, gaze flicking pointedly at the angel's lips.
“Told me what?”
“That you needed to rest, remember?”
Alastor hummed and the radio nestled in the corner clicked to life, strains of soft music filtering through the quiet. Lucifer glanced over his shoulder at the old object and sighed again.
“You're impossible, you know that? Angelic healing takes time and energy, the only way it's going to help you is if you sleep while it works.”
“So you did put me to bed. How chivalrous.” He cast his gaze around the kitchen and noted the heavy stock pot positioned on the stove, leftover from the unfinished meal the day before. “I came down to cook.”
Lucifer shook his head. “Absolutely not; you can barely stand as it is and I worked too hard to put you back together for you to fuck it up now. Besides,” he paused. Lucifer cast his gaze aside but not before Alastor missed the way his cheeks darkened in a blush. “Charlie would be devastated if something happened to you.”
The thought struck Alastor out of nowhere and he found the words too heavy to keep inside. “Just Charlie?” he asked, relieved at the weight of them leaving his tongue. “Or would you miss me too?”
Lucifer scoffed, a weak sound masquerading as a laugh. “Don't push your luck. Well, if I can't convince you to go back to bed, then you can oversee the meal.”
He gestured to the spread of ingredients and dishware on the counter, the angel's grin a bubbly, excited thing. “You tell me what to do and I'll cook it, exactly how you say.”
Alastor grinned at him and even while exhaustion tugged at his limbs and mind and eyes, he found he couldn't quite look away as Lucifer danced through the kitchen, following his every instruction to the letter.
Days of acid rain always left Alastor feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and agitation, the feeling crawling endlessly beneath his skin like ants swarming upon a summer picnic left abandoned. He scowled at the endless sheets of precipitation flooding against the hotel windows and turned away, his glare flattening into disinterest as he surveyed the nearly empty main room.
The other residents had made themselves scarce, it seemed. No one particularly enjoyed rainy days and while the gloom of the weather had settled outside of the hotel, it seemed just as content to have slithered its way indoors and sent everyone curling away into their respective corners.
“Hey.”
All but one, it seemed.
Alastor turned on instinct to the source of the voice, ignoring how his blood seemed to sing when he laid his sight upon the slender angel only a few feet away. Lucifer's expression shifted into something brighter in turn, the corners of his mouth lifting while his eyes crinkled with the softest hue of joy. At seeing Alastor? It seemed an odd thing for the deer to consider, and he set aside that thought for further study later.
“Good afternoon, Sire. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I wanted to see how you were feeling, you know. This and that.” Lucifer moved closer and Alastor wanted to say he imagined how the angel's expression softened with the lack of distance between them, or the way Lucifer angled himself toward Alastor like it was second nature. No he particularly did not want to consider the way his body filled with warmth and light just by having the little angel nearby, or having Lucifer's attention on him.
“So?” Lucifer prompted. “How are you feeling?”
“As fit as a golden fiddle, would you believe?” His grin widened and Lucifer's laugh was loud and unburdened, a far cry from the mocking cut of it before when they'd been less than amicable. He let his grin widen in response and watched Lucifer swipe an errant tear away, his laughter subsiding.
“A golden fiddle...good one.”
“I do aim to please, Sire.”
Lucifer shook his head, smile undimmed. He lifted his hand to place against Alastor's arm and...wasn't that interesting, the deer mused when the Devil's fingers rested lightly on his sleeve. There was no bubbling need to swat the man away, to flinch out from beneath the touch. It was odd.
It was...nice.
“So I was thinking,” Lucifer continued, unaware of the turn of Alastor's thoughts, a small mercy that it was. His gaze had turned elsewhere and Alastor followed his line of sight until he too was looking at what had captivated the angel's attention. “Since the weather is like this today, maybe we could...?”
“I believe I'm a step ahead of you already.” Alastor gestured forward with his microphone and it was the work of an instant for both of them to bring the kitchen to life. Coats were discarded and sleeves rolled for the task of cooking and for this, Alastor paused long enough to consider conjuring something he hadn't ever brought out into the hotel before.
“What's that?” Lucifer asked, pausing to pass a gaze over the tin box held neatly in Alastor's hands. He shook his head of the cobwebs of memory the old relic brought with it, and with grin stretched wide, Alastor set it on the table to open.
“It's not the original as I assume that has long since been lost in the mortal realm, but this is a reproduction of my mother's recipe box. I recall nearly everything she ever taught me to cook, the shape and feel of her handwriting on every card. It was the first thing I used my power as an Overlord to make here in Hell.”
He pried the lid off the small box and flicked his claws through the old cards, selecting one at last and passing it over to Lucifer. The angel took it with hesitation, reverence on his face in a way that made Alastor's heart skip a beat.
“This one?” Lucifer lifted his gaze up to Alastor and the unveiled joy in his eyes was almost too much. Alastor swallowed and managed a nod, placing his own hand over Lucifer's, the card held carefully between them.
“This one,” Alastor said softly, his gaze fixed on Lucifer, and found that while the sentiment was genuine, he didn't mean the recipe at all.
Lucifer stared down at the array of ingredients laid out before him on the counter.
It wasn't his first time in a kitchen alone, left to his own devices. Far from it! In fact the past few weeks standing shoulder and hip with Alastor had been some of the most fun moments he'd had in hundreds of years. He thrived on creativity and for some reason watching the deer demon in the kitchen, a meal created under his capable hands... Lucifer had begun to notice an odd feeling every time he found himself side by side with Alastor, and he was starting to suspect it had nothing to do with cooking at all.
Not that it wasn't incredible to watch the Overlord at work! Even when he was shunting some task off onto Lucifer, Alastor had a grace to his every movement that was magnetic to watch. Combined with his quick wit and the heady aromas of home style food, Lucifer was hungrier than ever.
For what, though, he was afraid to know. It was Alastor he kept thinking about. Alastor and his wide grin and penchant for quips. Alastor slumped in the chair, on death's door thanks to the angelic essence running rampant through his blood.
And damn him to hell again, Lucifer had felt true panic when he considered watching Alastor die in front of him.
Thankfully Alastor hadn't fought him (much) to get the wound on his chest healed, and then afterward the stubborn demon had made himself a very present nuisance all because Lucifer had put him to bed. Angelic essence was a bitch and a half to come back from and Lucifer couldn't have stressed it more- but Alastor pushed back, so Lucifer relented. It hadn't stopped him from checking on the deer every few minutes while the dinner came together and Alastor hadn't minded, his smile softened and his tone less sharp than usual.
So the idea had planted itself in Lucifer's mind and it only took a moment to conjure up the recipe he wanted. Another to confirm one of the ingredients required couldn't be found anywhere in Hell- not even in Greed where most everything was sourced! So Lucifer had to do the next plausible thing.
Take a trip to Earth.
His summoning circle skills were a little rusty but the glyphs needed were second nature. He'd drawn them out on the wood floor of his room at the hotel, the wide rug pushed aside for the task. Chalk smudged on his fingers as he connected the overlapping rings within a wide circle, but Lucifer barely noticed. Half apology for the rough healing session and the other half something Lucifer didn't want to look too closely at, but at least for this, he was ready.
The trick would be keeping Alastor out of the kitchen.
“Dad! Incoming!”
Lucifer grimaced; that had failed spectacularly, the kitchen door not even bothering to bang open as the demon in question appeared in a swirl of shadow a few seconds following Charlie's warning shout. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the demon, hands wrist deep in the crumble topping he was mixing together in one of the ceramic bowls the kitchen was equipped with.
“What in the seven rings are you doing?” Reminiscent of the last time he'd been caught in the kitchen, Alastor's tone bordered on snappish. But there was something in his expression that made the tension in Lucifer's shoulders bleed away and he found himself smiling regardless.
“Hey, Bambi. Oh, this?”
Alastor moved toward him and then stopped short as he breathed in sharply, gaze fixed on the second bowl set to the side and covered with a plastic film. “Lucifer.”
“Yes, Alastor?” Lucifer toweled his hands off after a quick run beneath the faucet, his grin wide.
Alastor swallowed hard and forced his gaze away from the bowl to Lucifer instead. “Is that...”
“Consider it a gift of goodwill.”
“You pint sized asshole,” Alastor growled, closing the distance between them. His claws curled into the front of Lucifer's shirt and the feeling in the angel's chest- unnamed and unstudied for so long- burst open. On instinct his hands slid along Alastor's waist to pull him close just as Alastor placed one hand against the back of his neck.
Lucifer rose on his toes to meet Alastor's lips in a kiss, and on the counter behind them, the bowl of ripe peaches sat and waited, a perfect dessert after a filling meal.