Chapter Text
There were many types of sinners coming to the hotel, and Alastor was delighted when they received the ones who wanted to cause problems. Interruptions made by these obnoxious and pesky demons were about the only opportunity he had to let off a little steam. Stretch his muscles a bit. And it was about all he could manage at the moment, what with the injury Adam had inflicted. It was frustrating, to say the least.
Four demons had started quite the brawl in the lobby—destroying a few couches, breaking some bones—and he finally got to do the one good thing about this absurd job he had no choice but to work. It had been another successful dismemberment with plenty of blood and screams. Ah, the screams. Fucking incredible!
He really wished more would pull stunts like that. He looked forward to a little murder here and there. Everything else, however? Well. They had an obnoxious number of guests, almost every single one of which being crass and boorish, with little or no interest in redemption at all. Then you had the sinners coming just for the spectacle. This didn’t surprise him, considering they had successfully killed so many angels. That and the hotel was rather conspicuous, looking more like a casino or theatre than anything else.
Then there was the staff. Their roles were about the same, but there was enough change that Alastor actually had to work. A surprising amount of it went into actually being a hotel manager. It was terrible. He was the fucking Radio Demon, and this is what he had been reduced to.
And it wasn’t as if the oh-so powerful King of Hell was doing much to help.
Scratch that about occasional murder being the only fun thing. While he absolutely could not stand Lucifer, Alastor had come to the hotel for “entertainment”, and the fool was embarrassingly easy to bait. Take Alastor’s current look for example! When Charlie initially floated the idea of uniforms of some sort and presented them with an idea based on, for whatever absurd reason, Lucifer’s tacky outfit, he had been ready to reject the idea. He was not going to be caught parading around in such an outfit.
But then Lucifer had objected, and that sentiment went sailing out the window. Charlie was ultimately outvoted, but it was still such an easy opportunity to anger the king clown. By accepting her idea, it made Alastor look like he was the better father figure to Charlie and he was doing the direct opposite of what Lucifer wanted.
It was perfect. All he had to do was pitch some story as to why it made sense for him and Lucifer to match. He himself managed the building, and her father owned it. They worked side by side, after all!
This had gone over a little too well, Charlie’s enthusiasm prompting her to hug him tight. Painful, but it was settled.
He started wearing the ridiculous pink and white striped tailcoat and white shirt, Lucifer hated it and Alastor reached the conclusion that he had absolutely made the right choice. It became a constant irritant so yes, wearing a variation of the king’s ridiculous outfit was paying off.
Twirling his staff, Alastor watched with a satisfied grin as a handful of alarmed sinners scattered, deciding that redemption probably wasn't worth it.
“Alastor!” Speak of the devil. Lucifer was storming up behind him, apparently accompanied by Charlie as well.
“Hey, Alastor? Can we talk for a minute?” she asks, sounding a bit weary.
“Yes, my dear?” He starts to turn around when he feels the sharp pull of a thread going taut and snapping, tearing through the skin it had barely been holding together.
Fuck.
He stops and glances down and….oh that was quite a bit of blood. He must have started bleeding during the fight.
Alastor takes it back. This suit was a bad idea. At least with his usual outfit the red would have helped hide this a little better. Perhaps wearing light colors with an open wound and possessing an apparent overconfidence in his stitching job wasn’t the smartest move.
“Can we talk to you? It’s about, well, this.” They’re closer now, and he can see her shadow on the ground, arm stretching out to gesture at the courtyard. “I know you need to take care of some of the sinners that come through—"
“It doesn’t have to be a goddamn bloodbath every single fucking time!” Lucifer yells, cutting her off. Thank goodness they were backlit as he can see Lucifer’s shadow too, arm reaching out to him with the clear intent of forcefully spinning him around.
Before the pair could move closer Alastor dissolves into shadow, reappearing behind them, keeping his back turned.
“Oh please, it was just a bit of fun! Maybe if you wanted a less violent solution you could have your father try the task on for size, hmm?” Knowing it unsettled him, he turns his head completely around to make eye contact with Lucifer. “Although, I’m skeptical it would fit!”
“Oh why you–”
“Dad!” Charlie intervenes, stepping between the two of them as her father had started forward. “Can’t the two of you please stop, for just a few minutes?”
“Sweetie, do you really think he’s going to listen? If he could destroy this entire hotel and everyone in it I’m sure he would.”
True! He absolutely would! Lucifer knew him so well.
Charlie gave Lucifer a firm look, arms crossed. “He has been helping us! There's just some….room for improvement!”
Perfect. They were arguing, giving him an opportunity to escape. “Well, have fun arguing about me! It truly is flattering. Best of luck!” He sing-songs the last bit mockingly before once again melting into shadow, managing to get himself to the tenth floor before he becomes too exhausted. The elevator it was. Alastor leans heavily on one of its walls for the ride up, making for his radio tower. Inside, he finally sits down, wincing slightly from the pain.
The gash was not healing particularly well. Or at all, for that matter. Alastor had stitched himself back together, but it wouldn’t close no matter what he did. With increasing frequency it would flare up as if there were a fire in his chest, a pressure in his bones as a result of the heat. He wasn’t an expert on angelic injuries, but there was most certainly something very wrong with it.
Ignoring the pain, Alastor lifted his hands to unbutton the jacket and shirt, pushing the fabric away. He summons a needle, green thread floating itself through the eye. Then he takes it and plunges it through his skin. This pain was nothing. Rather boring in the grand scheme of things, but the tugging of the tread, the pull of his skin? He did not find that particularly pleasant. One would think he’d be used to it by now.
Alastor is about to perform the second pass when there is a loud rush of noise before it abruptly cuts out, and suddenly Lucifer is before him, the gold of a portal fading. He looked positively furious, horns out, eyes flickering back and forth between yellow and red. Alastor’s ever present smile twitches up further. Oh this was his favorite version Lucifer to play their game with.
“Why the fuck do you just think you could walk away? Charlie is trying to do something here, something good, and all you're doing is making things more difficult for her!” Lucifer is fully in his space, face level with Alastor’s due to him sitting. That was a first.
“If you do anything to ruin this for her, you are going to fucking regret it.” Lucifer grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks him forward. “Do you understand me?”
Alastor lets his head fall to the side. “Hmmm. No. You are quite a bewildering individual, I must say! And not exactly worth the time finding out.”
Lucifer's grip tightened, gathering up more of the material and drawing Alastor in so that their faces were practically touching. The movement caused his knuckles to brush over his injury, and Alastor couldn’t stop himself from reacting, flinching from the contact and radio static hissing loudly. Lucifer paused and looked down.
He stares and, after a slightly too-long silence he says, “Why in the hell did you choose to wear light fucking colors when you have an open wound on your chest?.” He releases the lapels, taking a few steps back to properly look at Alastor.
What a sight he must have been. Shirt open, blood on his fingers and chest, green glowing threads just moments away from failing.
Anger boiled just beneath the surface. He hated that Lucifer was in his radio tower, on his side of the upper floor, that he was seeing him in such a moment of weakness. But there was nothing to be done for it now, so he aims for nonchalance.
“My good man if you cannot understand then perhaps you should consider some of Charlie’s lessons on being a bit more self aware!” He pulls the needle from his chest where he had accidentally stabbed it when Lucifer grabbed him. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a little work to do. Unless you can actually make yourself useful, there isn’t a reason for you to stay.”
He makes another pass, but the rough skin that had developed around it made things more difficult. He can’t tell if Lucifer has left or not, so he keeps his eyes fixed on his hands and chest.
As he begins pulling the thread through on his third stitch, he hears an exasperated sigh. Still here, then. Lucifer enters his vicinity once more.
“Wow. You’re really bad at this. Not a single one is straight and the spacing is horribly inconsistent." Then, sounding incredibly annoyed and like he’d prefer to say anything else he asks, “Do you want some help with that?”
Now Alastor looks up, accidentally dropping the radio filter in surprise. “Come again?”
Lucifer jabs his finger close. “This, asshole. Do you want help? Trust me I’d rather not, but considering how upset Charlie would be if you died, I’ll extend the offer. Otherwise it’ll fester and you’ll slowly burn up from the inside and die.”
Was that what was happening to him? “You can heal this? You would do this purely for Charlie’s sake?” He scoffs. “Why do I have a feeling there’s a caveat to this?” He stares at Lucifer, eyes narrowed. What price would the devil be asking him to pay?
Sure enough the King of Hell smiles, sharp and smug. “I do this, and you never, ever refer to yourself as a father to Charlie again. No more talk about having some special bond, or pretending you support ideas like this –” he gestures to the jacket and shirt, “– just to spite me. If you agree to these terms, I will heal you.”
Fuck. Vying for the best father of the year award was his favorite game to play with Lucifer, as it provided him an endless supply of insults to volley at the king when they argued, which was quite often. Alastor takes a moment to think. How low would he be willing to let pride and pettiness take him?
Pretty far, he decided.
“No!”
Oddly enough, Lucifer brings his hands up to his face, dragging them down as he stares at the ceiling. “Why are you so impossible?” he asks, clearly annoyed. “I am offering you my help, at a pretty damn good deal, too. Are you really this stupid?
Alastor can feel the blood beneath his fingers. He needed to finish this. “No, your highness. I simply do not wish to make a deal where I lose.”
“How the fuck do you lose here? You don’t die from a fucking angelic wound!”
“Perhaps. But I would no longer be able to use my favorite insults anymore, therefore it is still a loss!”
Lucifer stares at him in disbelief, fixing his gaze on some empty space above Alastor's head, brow furrowed. He glances down again at the wound, looking as though he were fighting through some sort of inner conflict, shaking his head and muttering to himself before stomping over. He snaps his fingers, and a golden needle and thread appear.
Alastor tenses. “And just what do you think you’re doing, sire?”
“You obviously don’t know how to give yourself proper stitches, so I’m going to do it for you. This is a task I can do simply for Charlie’s sake.”
Radio static rises in the room around them. “Get out. I do not need your assistance – “
Lucifer snaps his fingers again, and the green needle and thread Alastor had been working with fizzle out, along with the ones in his chest. Still grumbling to himself, he gets closer until their knees are touching. “Come on. Open your shirt more so this is easier. I want to be done with it already.”
Alastor eyes him suspiciously. “I will not be indebted to you.”
“Oh for fucks sake, I already told you! This is for Charlie, not you. I don’t care if you die or not, but she, for whatever reason, does. Now pull back your shirt. The thread and needle I have will work much better, and you won’t be changing it every other day like you probably are.”
There was truth to that. Prideful he may be, but Alastor wasn't stupid. “Isn’t that angelic? Won’t it have a similar effect?”
Lucifer shakes his head. “This is different. This is pure angelic power for creation, healing, things like that. Angels of human souls don’t have this ability, and Adam was human once.”
“.......Fine.”
He does as asked, undoing another button and pulling the fabric back, partially slipping it from his shoulders. Before he could ask what Lucifer wanted him to do next, the infernal man was sitting astride his lap, face uncomfortably close to his own.
Alastor could feel his ears pinning back. “Is this really necessary?”
“You want to go and lie down in your bed? That’s the other option,” He leans back to make eye contact. “It’s gonna be a little awkward no matter what.”
The thought of lying in bed with Lucifer at his side, leaning over him was too much. “I am perfectly fine here, thank you. Now get on with it.”
“Now get on with it.” he mimics. “Fucking bastard.” Lucifer presses a hand to his chest, and Alastor feels immediate relief. He wasn't sure what Lucifer was doing, but it was taking the edge off the burn that has been with him since that day. Then the first stab, just an echo of pain, the direct touch of his magic feeling quite different compared to that of his own.
Alastor's power was sharp, moving in a way that would be—should it have a physical manifestation—like the sound of static, he imagined, rapid and prickling
In contrast, Lucifer's magic was hot, but in a pleasant way, like the feeling of rock in the sun. There was almost a texture to it, too, something bubbly and electric sending goosebumps up his arms, and he wished he could somehow lean into it.
This close, Alastor can catch every detail of Lucifer’s face. He was usually quite expressive, his face evolving from one emotion to another in rapid succession. Presently, however, his face was tight, jaw set and a slight frown tugged at his lips. Concentration and irritation were very apparent, and there was something else to it, some sort of discomfort and…..well, he would almost go so far as to say there was actual worry etched there. The tiniest bit of gold could also be seen on his neck, just above the shirt collar. Interesting.
“You’re staring very loudly. Do I have something on my face? Do you have something annoying to say? An insult?”
“Oh, nothing of the sort! I was contemplating how expressive you typically are. You are quite serious at the moment. And a little concerned, if I’m not mistaken?”
Lucifer’s hand falters, and the blush moves to his cheeks.
Alastor decides to lean into whatever this was. “My, my, that angelic face of yours is becoming rather radiant! Are you well? Although I must say, the gold is quite fetching.”
The blush continues to deepen, and Lucifer is having difficulties sewing, hands less confident than before. He’s struggling to find words, clearly uncomfortable and surprised by this turn of events.
“Compliments now?” He scoffs. “Flattery and your smooth talking won't get you anywhere with me.” Lucifer is trying to play it off, but he’s missing the mark by at least a mile with the strain in his voice.
“Compliments? Sire, you should know I do not do compliments. I'm simply telling you the truth!”
Despite his insistence that he was immune to Alastor's unique brand of charm, Lucifer had all but stopped, gaze fixated on where his hand rested on his chest. The fallen angel’s face was now well and truly golden. Alastor could see him fighting to keep his expression neutral, but his eyes gave him away.
Alastor wasn’t quite sure what he was hoping to accomplish here, but he was getting to see a side of Lucifer he hadn’t yet, which really was quite exciting. He subtly shrugs as he sits up straighter, shirt falling a bit more from his shoulders.
Lucifer's gaze snaps from his chest to his shoulders, following their curve before drifting back down, following the path of his open shirt and lingering where it was tucked into his trousers. Then back up to his shoulders, his exposed neck.
Alastor smirked.
“Are you ever going to finish? Or do you intend to stare loudly at me for the duration of the evening?” Alastor grinned slyly, enjoying the way Lucifer was trying, and failing, to keep his composure.
“I– you're annoying. Seriously, do you ever shut up?”
“Is that rhetorical or a genuine question?”
“Shut up!”
Alastor's smile widened. Leaning forward slightly so that their faces are once again nearly touching and says dangerously, “Why don’t you make me?”
Again, Alastor isn't sure what he was expecting to come from this, but it was amusing to watch as Lucifer's mouth parted once more in disbelief, again unable to find any words. When he snapped it closed again, Alastor didn't miss the way his eyes darted down to his own.
This just kept getting more and more interesting. He was fascinated by whatever was happening, and Alastor was relieved that Lucifer”s weight on his lap didn't bother him, that being this close wasn't as uncomfortable as he'd of expected. While fine for him, this seemed to be torture to Lucifer, and Alastor wasn't about to let such beautiful opportunity go.
Hell, this new discovery might be worth taking the deal if he had replacement ammunition.
“Well? What are you going to do?” He shifts, and Lucifer stabs Alastor quite hard with the needle, pulling tightly.
He laughs, refusing to move. “You’ll have to work a bit harder than that, my dear.”
Lucifer also refuses to budge, instead looking down between them as he performs the final two stitches, finishing it off, angelic thread snapping. “There. You're done. Now fuck off.”
“I live here. But if you'd like to stay, well….that’s up to you.”
Still seated on his lap, Lucifer’s hands unconsciously move to clutch the edges of Alastor’s shirt.
The King of Hell blinked at him, left eye first and then the right. Alastor hated it when he did that. It made him want to gouge out the king’s eyes so that he simply couldn’t do it anymore, but he works to keep his smile and tone as friendly. Or at least, what passed for friendly for him.
“Now that we’ve been through all that, what would you say if I told you I was willing to take your little deal?”
“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Lucifer slouches and drops his head forward, blonde hair skimming Alastor's chin and jawline. It was incredibly soft, smelling faintly of apples and something fresh and green. It tugs at Alastor’s memory, and he can vaguely recall the smell of spring after rain.
He has the bizarre impulse to run his claws through that hair. Bury them at the nape of his neck and pull, direct his majesty's face back to his, pull his gaze and attentions back to him.
He's contemplating doing as much when Lucifer suddenly shifts back in his lap, tightening his thighs around his. He's glaring at Alastor now, seeming a bit more composed.
“Seriously? I just went through the work of sewing you up and now you want me to heal you? Do you just enjoy pain or something?”
“Correct on both counts! Now. What do you say, Lucifer?” he drops his voice lower, layering the radio static just so.
The use of his name seems to do something to Lucifer considering how his breath hitches, face flushing once more. How far did that pretty blush extend? he wondered idly. “Care to repeat the terms?”
Lucifer is frowning, narrowing his eyes and meeting Alastor's. “I heal you, and in exchange you never, ever, refer to Charlie as being like your daughter again. No more fatherly figure bullshit. No pretending like you’re part of her dysfunctional family. No more ‘our’ Charlie, or weaponizing my shortcomings as a parent. None of it.”
Alastor leans in slowly, smile growing. “I accept. So, do we have a deal?”
Lucifer swallows audibly, and Alastor could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he seemingly makes his way towards a decision, although what that could possibly be he wasn’t sure.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had found a new way to torment Lucifer. There was something compelling about all of this, too. Yes he had new material to work with, but this interaction had him feeling warm, an odd sort of satisfaction settling in his chest. Perhaps something akin to possessiveness? It wasn’t unusual for Alastor to want the king’s attention, but this was clearly different. He may not understand now, but he would have plenty of opportunities to figure it out.
He is pulled from his thoughts when he feels the devil move, sliding his hands up to fist his claws once more into the open collar of Alastor's shirt and jacket. He leans back, placing himself at an arms length away, smirking. His smile is all sharp teeth, and the horns make another appearance. He feels the tail twist around his left ankle. His eyes flicker red.
Alastor suddenly has the distinct feeling that he made a mistake.
“Deal.” And Lucifer jerks Alastor forward, suddenly slamming his mouth into his.
Oh, Alastor thinks. He hadn't planned for this, for Lucifer's soft mouth moving against his own, the unpleasant sensation of their teeth clacking slightly at the first rough contact.
He wanted it to stop. He wanted to meet Lucifer head on, this moment feeling like a type of argument of its own.
Kissing was not something Alastor had done during his living life, and certainly not since arriving in Hell. He tries to lean back, to ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing, but all that did was give Lucifer an opportunity to slide his tongue into his mouth.
It was a strange sensation, to say the least. The long, slick muscle seemingly mapping out his mouth. A hand comes up to hold the side of his face, attempting to guide him forward, but when Alastor rigidly remains where he is, there is a pause in Lucifer’s movements. He withdraws slightly and, despite the roughness but a second ago, Lucifer is surprisingly gentle when he looks at him.
He seems hesitant, his voice colored with distress as he starts to apologize. “Shit. I’m sorry Alastor I—I thought this had been leading somewhere, but I can stop. We can just shake on it and be on our separate wa—”
Alastor’s eyes had been open the entire time, and he had seen the gold flare around them, recognized that he had been played, and he was not going to let Lucifer get the better of him. With a growl, Alastor jerks him down. “You are the one who set this in motion. Finish it.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Lucifer surges forward and captures his lips once again. Alastor is more prepared this time, opening his mouth to allow him in. He tries to copy Lucifer, knows his inexperience is obvious, but he wasn’t about to back down from whatever new challenge this was. He feels his back connect with the chair, feels it dip where Lucifer’s knees now pressed into the red leather on either side and doesn’t need to look to know the devil is fully leaning over him now, still careful not to press into his wound.
Surprisingly, Alastor decides he doesn’t hate this. It’s awkward, a little uncomfortable, but wasn’t that the way with most new things? Lucifer is soft and warm and small. He slips one hand to his waist, and his claws nearly encircle it entirely, the realization triggering him to feel a heat in his gut that he couldn’t quite understand.
As he feels the deal start to settle, Alastor decides to give into the temptation from earlier, raising a hand to curl into Lucifer’s hair and pull. The result is delightful, the fallen angel gasping, claws digging into his shoulders, which was a pleasant sensation of its own. Inexperienced be damned, Alastor uses this as an opportunity to take over, turning Lucifer’s face in such a way that would allow him to deepen this kiss—
Then he feels the deal fall firmly into place, and he abruptly pulls himself away.
Lucifer looked a bit dazed. A little confused too, likely wondering why he stopped so suddenly. He blinks a few times, and after a moment seems to find reality once more.
Alastor was furious. He couldn’t believe he let all of this happen. It was hardly a fair exchange anymore.
“Alastor? Are you okay?” There’s legitimate concern in his voice. “Do–”
“Get out,” he snarled, trying to lean back and put some distance between them, which was impossible considering their position. “The deal has been made so we are done here, for now.”
Lucifer closes his eyes as if to gather patience, mumbling something to himself. Something about having terrible taste in men and “of course it'd this one,” before pivoting into their usual. Alastor could admit he was curious about those words, but they were on familiar footing at last.
Demonic features unfortunately fading, Lucifer shoots him a glare. “Are you fucking serious? I offered you an out that, just as a reminder, you rejected, and now you don’t want me to heal you because what? Are you going to throw a tantrum over this because you didn’t like it? Unbelievable.”
“Stop making assumptions.” he snaps. “And there was no stipulation regarding timeline. I’m not about to keel over, so it can wait.”
Lucifer gives him an odd expression at that. Then he starts to speak, a slight smile curving across the mouth Alastor, regrettably, for some inexplicable reason, wants to revisit. Instead, Alastor slaps a hand over the offending feature. “Fuck you.”
Easily, as if he were simply lifting a piece of paper Lucifer removes his hand. “Well if you want that next I wouldn't say no—"
“Get off me you insufferable buffoon!” Lucifer was still hovering over him, hands on his shoulders. Looking away, Alastor shoves him from his lap, sending him gracelessly to the floor. “Shut. Up.”
Lucifer doesn't seem at all bothered by it, grinning up with a devious expression on his face. “Are you going to make me?”
Alastor feels his antlers grow ever so slightly. “I hate you.”
Lucifer laughs as he stands, a golden portal opening behind him that led, he could only assume, to his bedroom. He can see a bed, a desk, and possibly some photos on one of the walls.
“Well, whenever you’re ready for me to take care of that,” he points to his wound, “or anything else for that matter, you know where to find me!” Then he winks, and with a wave allows himself to fall backwards into the portal. It vanishes with a clear chiming sound.
As it reverberates through the air, Alastor raises a hand to his chest. Whatever Lucifer had done was still keeping the heat at bay. He slumps back into the chair, tracing the golden thread that gently hummed with Lucifer’s magic. He thinks about the pressure of his hands, the feel of his mouth, his soft hair…
Alastor had fucked up.