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Lucifer felt a little like a research subject. Normally, he expected cuddles, closeness, and tenderness after this, but with Alastor, things seemed to be different. Alastor had found a real fascination in Lucifer's arms and hands, or rather, in their appearance. The deep black was a stark contrast to his otherwise snow-white skin, and the many small scars, which shimmered golden like his blood, stood out from the otherwise smooth porcelain-like texture of his skin due to their unevenness. Lucifer was glad that Alastor hadn't yet taken a closer look at his legs and feet, which had the same characteristics, albeit not as pronounced. Lucifer was uncomfortable with Alastor's fascination and buried his face in Alastor's furry shoulder while the latter examined Lucifer's outstretched arm more closely. He traced every single scar gently with his fingers, as if the thin line were leading him to a hidden treasure. With every feather-light touch, a warm shiver ran through Lucifer, coloring his cheeks golden.
He had told Alastor where the scars and discoloration on his limbs came from; they were the result of his fall. They reminded him of one of the worst days of his life, a mark that never let him forget what he had done. Alastor found them fascinating, Lucifer found them shameful. Lucifer let his gaze wander unabashedly over Alastor's body. He had many scars that marked his body, but Lucifer did not find that they disfigured him as much as his scars did. They gave him a certain elegance and blended perfectly into his darker skin, as if they had always been a part of it, rather than a violent addition. The scars were of varying sizes and ages. The newest and largest was the one on his chest. Lucifer had healed it, but the scar would remain nonetheless, thanks to the angelic power that had inflicted it.
He would have liked to run his hand over it to check whether the healing was progressing well, but to do so he would have needed his hand, which Alastor was now busy with. “It's colder than the rest of you,” he remarked, looking curiously at Lucifer, who just sighed in annoyance.
His hands had suffered the most damage when he fended off the attack on himself and Lilith. Sometimes he couldn't feel them properly; they felt numb. The nerves were irreversibly damaged, the blood supply disrupted. All because of the decision he had made. He would never consider protecting Lilith a mistake and regret it; he had once loved her too much for that. But he deeply regretted having plunged the world into corruption.
“Can you stop that?” he said gruffly, trying to free his hand from Alastor's grip. “I don't want to talk about it anymore.”
“I understand,” Alastor said slowly, kissing the back of his black hand for a long time, as if he were kissing the hand of a king, which, technically speaking, he was.
Lucifer's cheeks glowed at this display. “Please stop,” he murmured in embarrassment and buried his face in Alastor's side again.
“I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, my dear,” said Alastor, pulling the hand back to its owner, who immediately pulled it away and tried to hide it. Alastor tilted his head, waiting for the blond man to gather his thoughts.
“Don't pretend these hands are something precious or honorable,” whispered Lucifer, feeling Alastor's gaze on him, feeling even more naked than he already was by the intense stare. He couldn't look him in the eye as he continued speaking. “These scars are nothing but ugly flaws.”
“I have to disagree with you there,” said Alastor, gently pushing Lucifer onto his back and leaning over him. His face was so close to Lucifer's that he had trouble looking at him, but Lucifer couldn't and didn't want to. Five minutes ago, he might have enjoyed it, but now he wished he were far away, preferably back in his palace where he didn't have to answer to anyone. No matter what happened now, Lucifer would hate himself for it.
“Lucifer,” Alastor said insistently, “you are beautiful.”
Lucifer snorted and laughed loudly, “Oh wow, totally not corny, Alastor.”
“Well, it’s the truth. You know I wouldn’t say something like that without ulterior motives,” Alastor clarified, and Lucifer replied defiantly, “You already got it anyway!”
He knew he was being childish, but he simply couldn't believe Alastor's platitudes. He rolled his eyes in annoyance. “And since I never was or am after that, ”he emphasized strongly, forcing Lucifer to look at him, “you can believe me, Lucifer.”
But Lucifer couldn't do it, even though those bright red eyes looked at him so honestly and there was no malice in Alastor's smile. He sighed and looked up at Alastor, “I don't think I can do that.”
“Then learn to, Alastor said matter-of-factly, straightening up. “Scars you got in a fight that were worth it aren’t flaws,” he put a hand on his fluffy chest, right on the big scar on his chest. “Trust me, only worthless scars are flaws.”
Lucifer also sat up, looked at Alastor, and then at the scar. He couldn't believe that Alastor felt that way about this scar. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the unevenness and the warm skin beneath. The scar was not a sign of victory. Adam hadn't died because of him, but the scar was a sign of his courage, or arrogance, in even facing Adam. It was only because of him that Charlie and the others had more time to fight the exorcists. The scar was also a sign that Alastor had survived, which others could not claim for themselves. And Lucifer was grateful for that, even though he never would have thought that Alastor of all people could become important to him.
“I don't believe there are any scars that are worthless,” he said, smiling slightly. Alastor's ears pricked up almost imperceptibly, and his smile widened slightly as Lucifer looked at him. “They are part of your own history and belong there, in some way.”
“So scars and cold hands are a problem?” asked Alastor, and Lucifer sighed in defeat, “No, I don't think so.”
“Good, then we agree and you don't need to act like that anymore,” Alastor laughed loudly, leaned back into the pillows, and folded his hands behind his back with satisfaction.
Lucifer realized what had just happened and was furious with the demon next to him. “Have you been messing with me this whole time?” he asked angrily, crawling over him and glaring at him, which only made Alastor smirk. “Maybe,” he said, looking too pleased with himself.
Lucifer grumbled angrily and flopped down on the bed next to Alastor. “Asshole,” he growled, folding his arms across his chest. So that's what you get for getting involved with sinners. “But I didn't lie about one thing,” Alastor remarked, turning to Lucifer and resting his chin on his hand.
“And that would be?” Lucifer asked, still offended. Alastor smiled, “That you are beautiful.”
Lucifer hated himself for being a romantic and for letting an asshole like Alastor make his heart race and his cheeks glow.
He had already fallen, so how much lower could he go?
“You're still an asshole,” he grumbled, snuggling up to Alastor, who just laughed at him, pulling the covers over them.