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“You could have told me it was this bad.”
The statement was directed towards the floor, or rather, the demon lying on the floor in a growing puddle of his own blood.
A lot of blood, it was actually pretty impressive that Alastor was still conscious, much less had enough energy to glare up at Lucifer the way he was.
“I tried to tell you,” Alastor gritted out. His teeth were stained with blood, too, ick.
Okay, he had, but Lucifer wasn’t the one with the gaping chest wound here. “Guess you should have tried harder.”
It really was impressive the way Alastor managed to glare with a smile. “Perhaps I would have if the moment I asked you for a small favor, you hadn’t laughed at me and said to come back when I had a real problem!!”
“Maybe if you didn’t have a reputation when it came to favors, I would have bothered to listen.” Lucifer crouched down and tore the front of Alastor’s shirt open, exposing more of the grisly wound, ugh, gross, sinner blood was so red and it stained like a bitch.
He ignored Alastor’s indignant sputtering blah blah, threats, wah wah eat your liver, boo hoo I’m the radio demon, he yammered on like an old woman on the downtown bus going over her grocery list. Lucifer’s attention was on that wound, lips curling in distaste as he pressed his hands over it. From the sickly heat coming from it, it was probably a good thing Alastor chose to nearly bleed to death this morning, better than rotting from the inside out. “Hold still now.”
Under him, Alastor inhaled sharply, but whatever sass he was scraping from the bottom of his mental barrel was wasted when Lucifer focused and pushed healing into him.
He was already prepared for what came next. Literally.
Thing was, angelic healing felt good. Like, really really good, weirdly good, obscenely good, you’d think they would have worked that out in testing, see, this was why you never went with the alpha build. Lucifer learned that back in Eden and having Adam come on his face when he was leaned over the asshole healing the first ever skinned knee was a memory best left in the dust, seriously, it was a good thing that cell phones and social media were ten thousand years away because that was a video that would’ve gone viral in seconds and he’d still be trying to live it down.
Over the years he’d healed plenty of others and it always went the same way, except now he made sure whoever it was kept on their pants before he turned on the juice. Alastor wasn’t proving to be the exception to the rule, his eyes were enormous, the pupils dilated to pinpricks, and if that wasn’t enough, the visible bulge at the front of his pants was a pretty big (heh) clue.
Only, that seemed to be where things stopped, the engine was turning over but it wasn’t catching no matter how hard Lucifer cranked the key. Usually this only took a minute, he’d heal whoever got themselves fucked up, they’d come in their pants and everything would be horribly awkward for the next day or millennia or whatever.
Except this guy seemed to be determined to skip a step. He was tense as a piano wire, his dick was hard, what was the holdup here?
Okay… maybe it was because it was a wound from an angelic weapon? The only other person Lucifer ever healed those on was himself, yeouch, there was a fun trip down memory lane. But there was no fucking way he wasn’t gonna heal this, what, and leave Antlers here telling everyone he couldn’t finish the job?
Lucifer spread his fingers wide over Alastor’s chest and pushed harder, he could fucking do this, heaven wasn’t better than him, he could heal a sinner in his own territory, damn it.
The haze over his vision was going thick and golden by the time slim fingers circled his wrists, clutching weakly, “Stop.”
“Hang on, bellhop, I’ve almost got you healed,” Lucifer grunted.
“If you heal me much more you may well kill me. Please, stop.” His voice was weak, the radio filter gone entirely and that woke Lucifer the hell up. He’d been so focused on the situation down under he’d lost track of the topside. One look into Alastor’s face was a revelation, sweaty and flushed, his pupils were so dilated Lucifer could see his reflection staring back. And under his hands, visible between his spread fingers was nothing but healed skin. There was barely even a scar.
What, and he thought this with complete sincerity, the fuck?
Hastily, Lucifer reeled everything in, the healing, his hands, and himself, the whole line and net. He went backwards so fast he landed on his ass, staring up at Alastor as he climbed to his feet. He was already buttoning his shirt, tidying up his sweaty hair as if this was just another Tuesday for him, gutted like a piñata on one day and healed by a King another, ho hum, such was the life of radio demons.
“But… but you didn’t… ” Lucifer sputtered.
“I didn’t what?” Alastor looked down at him, one thin eyebrow raised and, okay, Lucifer was not about to spell it out for him, it wasn’t like he was going complain if Alastor didn’t have to squelch his way upstairs.
But damn if he didn’t feel a little insulted right now.
“Nothing,” Lucifer muttered. “You could say thank you.”
He barely held back a squeak as Alastor suddenly reached down and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him up, up, until he was on his feet, up on his toes, and they were nearly nose to not-nose, crimson eyes boring into his own.
“You’ll get your thanks,” Alastor said, the full force of the radio thick again in his voice, rich and velvet-smooth. “When you least expect it.”
Alastor punctuated it with the flick of his tongue over his lower lip, left it wet and gleaming in a way that helplessly drew Lucifer’s eyes and that…that wasn’t intentional. Couldn’t be. Was it?
Okay, which one of them was supposed to be coming in their pants here?
He fell back as Alastor abruptly let him go, wobbling on unexpectedly weak knees. There was probably something to be said here, words, words were good but by the time Lucifer rebooted enough to jam those word sounds together in a way that included vowels, Alastor was already gone, turned on his heel and strolled away, casual as a Sunday morning.
“Ungrateful asshole,” Lucifer muttered, straightening his tie. He refused to rearrange anything below the waist, that would go away in due time. At least now Charlie wouldn’t be so worried about static for brains and they could really get this show on the road.
He wasn’t going to think about ‘when you least expect it.’
Nope, he wasn’t thinking about it at all.
-finis