Work Text:
It was late at night in the Pride Ring. Everyone in the hotel had gone to bed early after spending the day rebuilding. Lucifer's magic had significantly eased the construction process, but since everyone had been singing and performing while working, it was only natural that they were exhausted by the end of it. After a brief celebration, the hotel residents retired to their rooms—except for Lucifer. He waited patiently, ensuring that everyone was fast asleep. Then, with quiet stealth, he slipped away to Husk's bar to treat himself to a drink or two.
At the bar, Lucifer had already downed three full bottles, yet the side effects refused to kick in. He cursed under his breath, calling himself a fool for believing that this time might be different. As an angel, he was immune to most things—pain, illnesses, and, frustratingly, the effects of alcohol. Getting drunk was nearly impossible for him, but that never stopped him from trying. For years, he had drowned his sorrows in endless drinks, hoping, wishing that the alcohol might somehow heal his emotional scars. One day, it would work.
He just needed something stronger.
Lucifer leaned over the counter, snatching another bottle. He tilted it back and guzzled it down, the icy liquid tracing cold trails from the corners of his mouth to his chin. That made four bottles now. Still, it wasn't enough. His dissatisfaction gnawed at him as he reached for a fifth, his movements sharp and hurried. Then came the sixth—his grip faltering, his actions growing more erratic with each gulp.
Husk would surely complain about the missing alcohol come morning, but Lucifer didn’t care. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. He needed more—just enough to feel something, anything beyond this unrelenting pain. This guilt that had festered inside him for centuries. Since Eden. Since Heaven cast him out. Since the Fall. Since his divorce with Lilith. Since being separated from his daughter. Since being left in solitude and isolation for years, and years.
And years .
Before Lucifer could tip back his twelfth bottle, a tall, feminine figure stepped in and plucked it from his grip. He snapped his head up, ready to unleash a string of sharp curses—but the words caught in his throat when he saw who it was.
Angel Dust.
Clad in his pajamas, Angel was a striking sight: a pink crop top that barely clung to the fluff of his chest, and loose, hot pink pants that draped lazily off his slender frame. Lucifer's gaze drifted to his face, searching for some clue in his expression. Was it concern? Disgust? It was hard to say.
Lucifer wouldn’t have been surprised if it was the latter. After all, he was no stranger to judgmental stares.
“Don’tcha think ya had enough?” Angel quipped, his tone thick with dry amusement as he placed the bottle down on the counter—just far enough from Lucifer’s reach.
Lucifer groaned, the ache in his head beginning to flare. It wasn’t from the alcohol; he knew that much. Angel remained silent, watching the king slump forward onto the bar counter, clearly waiting for a reply. Instead, his gaze drifted to Lucifer's attire: a loose, oversized shirt adorned with a cheery duck print, paired with crimson pajama pants that were practically drowning in even more duck patterns. A smirk played on Angel’s lips.
Charlie wasn’t kidding about his love for ducks , Angel mused to himself.
Lucifer spotted the smirk immediately, and irritation flared to life. He didn’t need to guess; he was certain Angel was mocking him. His headache worsened, resentment bubbling just beneath the surface.
“What!? You got something to say!?” Lucifer snapped, his voice sharp and trembling with anger.
Angel blinked, startled out of his musings by the sudden outburst. “Whoa! Hey! Relax, yer majesty! I just came for a drink myself,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender.
With practiced ease, Angel snagged a shot glass from the counter, his movements fluid and unhurried. He poured the bottle he’d confiscated from Lucifer into the glass, keeping it just out of the king’s reach. Leaning against the counter, he rested his head on one of his extra arms and let the drink sit untouched. His gaze remained locked on the glass, idly twirling it between his fingers and watching the liquid swirl inside.
“You’re not the only one who’s been havin’ a rough night.”
Lucifer’s anger wavered at the words, the sharp edges of his rage softening. He shifted awkwardly, turning his attention to Angel. The spider demon remained focused on the glass in his grasp, his expression unreadable. Lucifer hesitated, the words he wanted to say catching in his throat.
“So, what’s been eatin’ ya?” Angel asked at last, before downing the shot in one swift motion.
Lucifer was caught off guard by the question—it seemed like he hadn’t expected Angel to genuinely care about what was bothering him. He hesitated, not wanting to get his hopes up. Surely Angel was just asking out of pity, or something like it.
“Uh… I'll tell you if you tell me yours!” he joked, pointing playfully.
The second the words left his mouth, he internally cringed. He had meant to lighten the mood, but it felt like he had just made things even more awkward.
Angel Dust, on the other hand, didn’t think that at all. He found the King’s shy behavior endearing—cute, even.
“Eh, just work stuff. You know how it is.”
Lucifer blinked, puzzled.
“I’m a pornstar,” Angel clarified, leaning back slightly with a sly grin.
“Oh! Yeah! Yeah! I can imagine how ‘fucked up’ you’d get!”
Angel arched a brow, his curiosity piqued by Lucifer’s unexpected words. The king, blissfully unaware of his slip, remained oblivious to the weight of what had just tumbled from his lips. But as Angel’s puzzled expression lingered, the truth hit Lucifer like a freight train.
His entire body tensed, his face hardening into a mask of sheer regret.
“Uh… I-I meant I'd imagine how fucked up it would be since I'm guessing you're always fucked! I mean, getting fucked! Shit! I—I mean—”
Lucifer clamped a hand over his mouth, his gaze snapping away as his face flushed with mortification. His heart pounded furiously, each beat hammering against his ribcage. Squeezing his eyes shut, he braced himself for the inevitable—Angel’s sharp, cutting words, maybe even an angry tirade.
But the backlash never came.
Instead, he was met with the sound of laughter—raw, unrestrained laughter that echoed through the hotel like someone had told the most ridiculous joke in all of Hell.
“Aw man! Sorry! Sorry!” Angel gasped, doubling over as he pushed aside his glass and bottle. He was practically choking on his laughter, tears threatening to well up as he struggled to catch his breath. “It’s just—it’s just so cute how you’re acting all nervous~”
Lucifer froze, his thoughts screeching to a halt. Nervous? Is that how I’m acting? Nervous?
“There’s no reason to be shy, yer majesty,” Angel said, his voice warm yet undercut with his signature flicker of mischief. “I’m just a run-of-the-mill sinner trying to redeem himself,” he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, the humor in his voice unmistakable.
With effortless grace, he let the words linger just long enough before turning up the mischief, his tone taking on a teasing edge.
“If anything, I should be the one nervous. I mean, come on! I’m standing face-to-face with the big man himself. One wrong word and—poof!—I might end up on the receiving end of a royal punishment~ Not that I would mind though~”
Lucifer’s cheeks suddenly flushed, the golden hue creeping up his face.
Angel’s playful smirk wavered, surprise flashing in his eyes. It was quickly followed by something deeper, something almost… fascinated. Had he really just made the King of Hell blush? He hadn’t expected his flirtatious remark to land, assuming the King was accustomed to constant attention from admirers. Perhaps he had underestimated the short king.
And yet there Lucifer was, his cheeks faintly tinged gold, his lips slightly parted in what seemed to be shock at his own reaction.
“S… Sorry,” Lucifer muttered, his voice soft and uncertain. “That just caught me off guard.”
The glow on his face remained, his posture rigid, his body language betraying the tension that gripped him.
Angel hesitated, concern flickered in his gaze. Had he pushed too far? Judging by Lucifer’s flustered reaction—the slight lift of his shoulders, the way he avoided eye contact—it was clear this was more than just discomfort.
Realizing this, Angel chose to ease up, his tone softening as he tried a gentler approach. “Aren’t I right, though?” he asked, his voice lighter, more inviting.
Lucifer let out a slow breath, the tension in his posture loosening ever so slightly. The corners of his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. “Nah. I wouldn’t punish you. Especially since… you’re good company for me right now.”
His gaze finally lifted to meet Angel’s, a quiet sincerity lingering in his expression. “It’s nice~”
Now it was Angel’s turn to be taken aback. For a moment, he simply stared, stunned. He actually enjoys having me around?
Not just tolerating his presence. Not just indulging in small talk. Not doing it for a quick head or anything sexual. But genuinely wanting him there.
Angel found himself embarrassingly silent for a good minute or two, awkwardly fidgeting until Lucifer finally spoke.
“You asked me earlier what’s been eating me.”
Lucifer turned away, his gaze dropping to the intricate wood grain of the bar counter. He absentmindedly traced slow, aimless circles with his dark hand, the simple motion grounding him as he continued.
“Things have been rough since Lilith and I got divorced,” he admitted. “I mean, I’m over her now, but… it still hurts.” His voice wavered slightly, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing against his words. “She was everything to me. I felt lost when she was no longer part of my life.”
His throat tightened. He barely held back the lump forming there.
“I knew no one but her… because she was the only one who understood me.” He drew a small quiet breath as he bitterly smiled. “Then again, we were the only ones who thought the same.”
Angel’s attention was drawn to Lucifer’s vulnerability—a rare moment that left him utterly spellbound. The mighty king, so often cloaked in an air of invincibility, now seemed fragile, his pain laid bare like an open wound. Without realizing it, Angel leaned closer, captivated by the raw depth of emotion radiating from Lucifer.
“I want to move on, but—” Lucifer’s voice cracked, the words catching in his throat as though they were too heavy to bear. A sob threatened to escape, and he swallowed hard, his chest heaving with the effort to suppress it. “It’s just so hard… How do you move on from someone you’ve loved for centuries?!” His cry rang out, raw and unfiltered, echoing with a heartbreak so profound it seemed to reverberate through the very air around them.
Angel’s gaze softened, his heart sinking as he watched the king wrestle with his anguish. The sight of Lucifer, so consumed by grief, stirred something deep within him—a fierce, unspoken need to offer comfort. But what could he say? What could he possibly do to ease a pain so ancient, so deeply rooted? He had no answers, no wisdom to share. And yet, he couldn’t just sit there and watch Lucifer suffer. He couldn’t let the tormented king cry alone.
With a tentative resolve, Angel shifted closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though afraid to shatter the fragile moment. He reached out, wrapping his arms tightly around Lucifer in a firm, reassuring embrace. The sudden closeness drew a sharp gasp from Lucifer, his pale face streaked with tears. For a moment, he froze, his mind reeling from the unexpected contact. But then, slowly, the warmth of Angel’s embrace began to chip away at his defenses, melting the icy walls he had built around his heart.
Lucifer found himself pressed against Angel’s chest fluff—a softness that caught him completely off guard. It wasn’t just comfortable; it was soothing, like a balm for his wounded soul. The warmth radiating from Angel’s body seemed to seep into his very being, grounding him in the present moment and quieting the storm within.
Hesitantly, Lucifer raised his trembling arms and hugged Angel back. He buried his face deeper into the plush, velvety texture of Angel’s chest fluff, letting its serenity envelop him. So this is why he brags about it , Lucifer thought, a faint flicker of amusement breaking through the haze of his sorrow. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to lean into the comfort of another’s touch.
Angel’s lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile as he held Lucifer close. He didn’t speak, didn’t rush the moment. Instead, he simply let the king take his time, offering his quiet support as Lucifer’s vulnerability unfolded like a delicate flower in bloom. The silence between them was heavy, yet it carried a sense of solace, a shared understanding that words could never convey.
After what felt like an eternity, Lucifer finally broke the silence. “Ya know… whenever I was upset, my wife would stroke my hair to calm me down.” His voice was quiet, almost wistful, as though the memory itself was both a comfort and a dagger to his heart.
Suddenly, he felt something gentle, almost tentative, stroking his blonde hair. The sensation was familiar, yet different. Angel’s movements were deliberate and careful, as though he was pouring every ounce of his focus into this seemingly trivial act. Lucifer remained silent, letting himself get lost in the feeling. The way Angel’s fingers moved—uncertain yet earnest—spoke volumes. Angel had no idea what he was doing, no clue if he was doing it right. But seeing Lucifer so relaxed, so at peace, reassured him. He must be doing something right, especially since Lucifer hadn’t told him to stop.
“What else would she do?”’ Angel asked softly, his fingers still threading gently through Lucifer’s hair, the motion as soothing as a lullaby.
“She would rub my back…” Lucifer murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the memory itself was too fragile to speak aloud.
Without hesitation, Angel brought one of his extra hands into play, letting it glide down to rest on Lucifer’s back while the other continued its gentle rhythm through his hair. He began to rub slow, deliberate circles, his touch firm yet tender, as if trying to knead away the sorrow etched into the king’s very being. The thin fabric of Lucifer’s shirt did little to mask the contours beneath—muscles that were firm but relaxed, a quiet strength that spoke of resilience rather than tension. Angel couldn’t help but notice, his mind briefly wandering to the thought that Lucifer might be a little more ripped than he let on. The idea almost brought a smirk to his lips, but he quickly swallowed it down. This wasn’t the time for teasing.
Right now, comforting the king was his only priority.
Lucifer let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, the gentle motion of Angel’s hand working its way into the cracks of his defenses. The warmth of the touch, the steady rhythm of it, was grounding in a way that words could never be. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the weight on his chest seemed to lighten, if only just a little.
Angel’s gaze softened as he watched the king lean into the comfort, his own heart swelling with a quiet determination. He didn’t need to say anything. His actions spoke louder than words ever could.
“You’re quite affectionate for a sinner~” Lucifer teased, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he glanced up at Angel, his chin still pressed against the soft fluff of Angel’s chest.
“Well, look who's feelin’ much betta!” Angel shot back, his grin matching Lucifer’s teasing tone. The warmth in his voice was undeniable, a reflection of the relief he felt seeing the king’s spirits lift, even if just a little.
Their laughter filled the quiet space, light and genuine, cutting through the heaviness that had lingered moments before. But as the laughter faded, their gazes locked, the air between them shifting into something softer, more intimate.
“Thanks. I really needed this,” Lucifer admitted, his voice soft and sincere, the vulnerability in his words unmistakable.
“Anytime, yer majesty~” Angel replied, his tone lighthearted but filled with genuine warmth.
Lucifer’s smirk returned, but this time it carried a hint of something deeper—trust, perhaps. “Please. Call me, Lucifer.”
Angel’s grin widened, his voice softening as he responded, “Alright, Lucifer.”
The two finally pulled away from each other’s embrace, the warmth lingering between them. It was time to part ways for the night before anyone in the hotel could stumble upon them.
“You promise not to tell anyone about this?” Lucifer asked, his voice betraying a hint of worry.
“As if. I don’t want people knowing my soft side—I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” Angel quipped, his grin playful. “But I’m more than happy to show this side of myself to you more often, Lucifer~” He said the name with a sweetness that made it feel like a caress.
Angel knew he was going to make Lucifer regret giving him the privilege of saying his name. But Lucifer didn’t think so. He liked the way Angel said it—like no one else ever had.
“Ya know,” Lucifer began, his tone soft, almost contemplative, “you’ve made me glad that I can’t get drunk.”
Angel tilted his head, curious. “Why’s that?”
“Otherwise, I would've forgotten this.”
Before Angel could respond, Lucifer stepped closer, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him down to his level. Without hesitation, he pressed their lips together.
Angel’s eyes widened, his mind spinning as the unexpected kiss froze him in place. The King’s lips were soft, warm, and impossibly gentle. Slowly, Angel allowed himself to melt into the moment, his upper arms cupping Lucifer’s face while his lower arms wrapped securely around his torso.
Lucifer let out a soft sigh against Angel’s lips, relief washing over him as he realized Angel wasn’t pulling away or rejecting him. Instead, Angel leaned in further, deepening the kiss.
Lucifer released his grip on Angel’s shirt, sliding his arms around his neck and pulling him closer, as if afraid to let go of the connection they’d just created.
Neither of them wanted to pull away. The sweet tenderness of each other’s lips gave them a sense of comfort and warmth that nothing else could match. Time seemed to blur as they lingered in the kiss, savoring the connection. Eventually, though, they parted, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them as their eyes locked.
“I just made out with the King of Hell. I’m honor~” Angel quipped, his voice breathy with amusement, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.
Lucifer chuckled along, his golden blush still faint on his cheeks. “You should be~” he teased, though his voice carried a softness that hinted at something deeper. The only person Lucifer had ever kissed before was Lilith, so sharing this moment with someone new—someone he now had feelings for—felt unexpectedly… nice.
“Alright, busta’, we better head to bed before things get more heated between us~” Angel said with a playful smirk, stepping back and turning toward the hall. His heart was still racing from the intimacy they’d just shared. He started to walk away, but before he could take more than a few steps, Lucifer’s voice rang out
“Wait!”
Angel paused, glancing back over his shoulder. Lucifer stood frozen in place, his face flushed gold once more, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.
“Can… we do this again?” Lucifer asked, his voice shy and uncertain. “Maybe we can… go out more often?”
Angel blinked, his cheeks heating up at the unexpected question. Was Lucifer trying to ask him on a date? Angel had been with plenty of guys before, but those were just clients, looking for a good fucking. That's all what men wanted him for. The idea that Lucifer, the King of Hell, was interested in him romantically, not looking for any sexual favors, was something he never could have anticipated.
A soft smile spread across Angel’s face. “I’d love that~,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet confidence as he turned and walked away.
Lucifer stood there for a moment, watching Angel disappear down the hall, a radiant smile slowly spreading across his face. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a spark of excitement flickered to life within him.
He could feel it—the slow, delicate process of healing beginning to take hold.
After so much loss, after believing he was destined to roam alone, he had finally found someone to connect with again. Someone to rely on, to protect—not out of duty, but out of genuine affection.