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Alastor is a demon who is accustomed to everything.
Having seen enough in life and death, he considers himself experienced in various fields and unflappable in certain situations.
What should a serial killer fear after a lifetime of murder? Even ending up eating his own victims once he got there?
Nothing, one might safely assume.
Yet… there he is.
How on Earth had he ended up in such a situation?
His hair is tied up in a soft, high chignon and he is wearing clean, comfortable clothes – far too luxurious for someone like him – while an endless array of creams, serums and curlers are scattered haphazardly across the soft mattress of the bed.
“Mmmh... Where the Hell are they? Ah, finally! Found them!”
That's the explanation.
A very blonde and lovely one.
The reason for all his troubles and the source of his delight, which began to distract him from everything he had set out to do when he arrived in Hell.The Radio Demon, which every sinner fears more than anything else, has now become weak, irretrievably screwed and, well, lovable.
“Stay still!” Lucifer has an extremely focused expression as he retrieves two strange, overly colourful, slimy stickers.
"These help deflate; they're perfect."
“‘Lucifer…” Alastor is not at all convinced. “Darling, I don't think this is the best solution for-”
“Hush! I treated you less than two days ago. You lost a lot of blood. You were kidnapped and held captive for at least a week…” the King grumbles, his big eyes turning red.
Ah, this creature.
The Devil hides inside that tiny, perfect body as he fiddles with what looks like a hideous hair band with a duck drawn on it.
Oh no!
Oh no! No, no, no!
Alastor’s face darkens and the static noise intensifies into a screeching cacophony.
“Don't even think about it.”
The expression on the King of Hell's face turns into a mischievous grin.
“Oh yes, I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about it very much, indeed.”
Lucifer tries to get closer, but Alastor is quick enough to leap backwards and land on the soft bed. His nightshirt is slightly open at the chest, where the gash has now healed, leaving only a faint scar that no longer causes any pain.
Lucifer grins at the sight, and slides over him as nimble as a snake, caressing his thighs through the fabric.
“Bambi, I understand you're stressed, but maybe you should think about getting back on your feet first, don't you think?” he asks with a sly smile.
Alastor rolls his eyes so dramatically that he almost sees the inside of his skull.
"All I need to recover is sleep, Lucifer. I don't need that stuff. Not me, at least.”
However, the king, who clearly does not like to lose or be told 'no' – the damned, capricious creature that he is – positions himself astride him more comfortably, tilting his head to the side in a particularly seductive manner. Alastor, aware of how much influence that damn angelic creature has over him, wants to strangle him so hard so that he turns purple.
It's a real shame that he loves him too much.
“Lucifer…”
“Come on, Al. I'll put the serum, night cream, and eye patches on you. Nothing else!”
“I don't need any cream. What part of 'I'm not interested' don't you understand?”
Lucifer puts on a fake innocent expression.
“The not?”
Oh, for Satan's sake!
“What do I have to do to change your mind?”, he asks.
Alastor shakes his head and sits up, finding the Devil himself in his arms. Damn him! Damn the day that bastard ruined all his plans and won his heart he thought was dead.
Instead, here he is, ready to give Lucifer anything. He would gather the entire solar system in his hands if Lucifer asked him to.
Oh, Alastor. You’re so screwed, buddy.
“Alright, no patches. Just serum and cream!” the damned one tries again, and Alastor wonders why Lucifer is so fixated on something as stupid as... What does he call it?
Ah, yes:
Skincare.
“Have you noticed, Lucifer, that I'm dead?”
His companion stares at him as if he were stupid.
“So what?”
“Taking care of a dead man's skin in Hell makes no sense whatsoever,” he replies with a semblance of patience.
Lucifer is shaken by those words and looks at him as if he has offended him personally, putting a hand to his chest.
“What are you talking about? Skincare is always important.”
Alastor is ready to headbutt the wall and make a cast of his face; it wouldn't look out of place as a hotel décor.
“Not when you're a demon whose job is to guard the king and kill the most dangerous sinners in Hell.”
“Uh, sexy…”
“Lucifer…”
The former angel dismisses this with a wave of his hand, as if shooing away a fly.
“You always have to take care of yourself and prevent stress. So come on, cheer up,” he says, picking up the bottle, the colour of which is frightening enough.
Come on, Al. You're a killer. A serial killer AND a demon who works for the Devil himself. You're about to marry him and you're not afraid of anything or anyone. It's not going to be a bottle of dubious colour that scares you.
"And anyway…”, Lucifer looks at him a bit offended, “how do you think I'm always so radiant and handsome?” he asks, pulling a silly face.
“Modest, I see.”
“Hey, this is the full package. Take it or leave it.”
Alastor sighs deeply at these words and pulls him closer. What nonsense he's talking about!
“I would never leave you.”
The kiss that follows seems the most natural consequence of all. Lucifer relaxes at the pleasant touch, sighing and pressing himself closer to Alastor's larger, more solid body.
His lover smells of apples and good things, and the taste of his soft lips is the long-awaited invitation to dance that makes your heart tremble like a leaf swept away by the autumn wind.
Christ on a stick, Al. Since when did you become so disgustingly romantic?
“Don't think you can escape me,” Lucifer whispers, grinning wickedly.
Alastor finally admits defeat.
“All right. You win. As usual,” he mutters.
Lucifer grins, a smile of victory carved into his tempting mouth. Then, in a gentle and sweet gesture, he leans forward and kisses the tip of Alastor's nose.
“Thank you, my love.”
The cool sensation of the slightly over-perfumed serum makes him wrinkle his nose, but Lucifer's smile makes him forget everything, sweeping away any negative or uncomfortable feelings.When the king puts the duck-shaped headband on him and looks at him, covered in cream and totally resigned to the situation, he realises that he has lost completely, yet at the same time he has won in a different sense; perhaps his life is not so bad after all.
“Tomorrow, I'll let you try the clay, too! And a wonderful anti-wrinkle cream!”
Ah, Satan… Damn skincare!