Chapter Text
The last few days had been, for lack of a better word, hellish.
His staff being broken, his contracted souls nearly killed, his week of imprisonment and having to hear Vox flap his gums every second of the day was a torment greater than any medieval torture ever imagined. It had been easier for him to find refined rye whiskey during the prohibition than it had been restraining himself from killing everyone in Hell for the sake of his plan.
And now that the whole situation had died down, what did Alastor get from this whole ordeal? Yes, his staff was now fixed, but he still wasn’t back to his full power. He still had the wound that Adam had inflicted him eating him away, he felt severely drained from his battle against Vox and all the magic he used to help seal his stupid canon and he left the V tower with a plethora of unpleasant memories.
Charlie had apologized to him a handful of times since opening the hotel back up, but excuses did little compared to everything she could have and probably could still do. Ultimately, Alastor decided that he didn’t want to care. He resumed his role as a hotelier, but not without a bitter taste in his mouth.
One evening, the trek from the lobby to his personal room seemed much more demanding than usual. Static filled his vision as well as his ears, but he couldn’t tell if it was his hearing failing him or his internal radio screaming out his pain. With every step, he realized he was limping, his whole weight being balanced on his thin staff. Eventually, a simple folded bump in the floor carpet got the better of him and he fell down. In his last conscious moments all he could do was make sure he fell on his side as pure embarrassment filled his stomach to the brim.
————————————
…
Soft.
His body was on something soft.
It wasn’t the hard wooden floor with a scruffy rug anymore.
With his eyes still closed, his brain slowly woke up. He could feel a splintering headache greeting him from his slumber.
Instinctively, he gently placed a hand on his chest. His scar still hurt like nothing in the world.
As he slowly rolled to his side, he could hear faint shuffling sounds, items being moved around carefully. His eyes opened and revealed that, at some point while he was unconscious, he had been placed on a very soft, large bed.
With a duck themed duvet.
Just wonderful.
He looked up and locked eyes with Lucifer. The man had just noticed him waking up and their eyes met as he turned around.
The blond man looked a bit taken aback, almost like he didn’t even expect Alastor to ever wake up.
-Uh… Good morning. Well, night.
Alastor revealed his sharp teeth in a distrustful smile, glaring daggers into the man at his desk.
-To what do I owe the pleasure of finding myself in His Majesty’s bed?
His tone was laced with plain sarcasm as he tried to piece together what might’ve happened, already feeling disgusted at mere speculations.
The fallen angel, dropped his things on his desk, presumably his “duck-making materials”. He revealed himself to be wearing an oversized sweater, with duck motifs, of course, and plaid pyjama pants. He looked utterly ridiculous and defenceless. Dressed like that, Alastor’s brain simply refused to make a connection he might’ve, had the blond been in a crisp suit, watching over his unconscious body. They were nothing alike.
-Your dumbass couldn’t make it to your own bedroom. You collapsed in the hallway in the middle of the night. I just picked you up and brought you here. You should thank me, Bambi. I just saved your reputation. Imagine the news if some random sinner just found you taking a nap on the floor with a pool of blood underneath you.
-The news know more than enough. I’ve been paraded around enough as is.
The red head looked down at his suit. A dark stain tainted his clothes, right where his wound had inevitably reopened. He could barely feel the stitches against his skin.
Lucifer stood between his desk and the fireplace, fiddling with his long sleeves as he basked in the warm glow of the hearth. He looked like he was keeping a safe distance between himself and an unstable animal. The sinner was torn between hating and appreciating the space between them.
-If you’re walking around with a huge scar that’s bleeding out, I guess it’s ’cause you can’t heal it yourself. Do you want me to heal you?
Alastor raised an eyebrow.
-You stand to gain absolutely nothing from tending to my wounds.
Lucifer sighed, turning around to stare at the crackling fire for a moment.
-We can make a deal, if you’d rather. I heal you and in exchange, you heal me. I know how much you love deals and playing with words, but this isn’t that. Just a simple exchange of service.
The red head shifted his body to sit on the edge of the bed, glaring at the other man with arrogance.
-Well, colour me surprised. I thought that angels were professionals in terms of healing magic.
-Look, just let me help you, alright? Not as your king or whatever, just as someone who can do something to help another. If you don’t want to heal me afterwards, I’ll find something else. Charlie would be devastated if you died. And… I guess I wouldn’t really have anyone to argue with… POINT IS, you’re not leaving until you’re healed!
Alastor frowned, the sound of static growing the slightest bit louder. He shot a quick glance at his newly repaired staff, lying against a pile of rubber ducks. It was repaired, yes, but in the case of his angelic wound, it couldn’t do much. Reluctantly, the radio demon sighed and crossed his arms on his chest.
The smaller man approached with careful steps. Alastor was clearly uneasy.
-I’ve been drained of a lot of power, so this might take longer than it normally would, but I promise it’ll be painless.
Lucifer lifted a hand to start unbuttoning his dress shirt, but his hand was swiftly slapped away by red claws. For a second, the demon’s ears flattened on his head and his smile faltered. In a heartbeat, he regained his composure.
-I am injured, not a child. I can do that myself.
One at a time, the deer undid each button with hands that obeyed him less and less the more he went down. He had only undone four when the blond man hesitated.
-Do you want me to… uh, turn around. Or something?
Alastor narrowed his eyes.
-If I am to believe your words, this might take a while. You’ll be looking at my chest for quite some time, I don’t see how you being a prude whilst I’m taking off my shirt would change the outcome.
-Ugh fine! Be difficult all you want, I’m just trying to make it comfortable for you. We’re not exactly friends, was just trying to be polite. Undressing when it’s just the two of us feels kinda intimate.
Lucifer crossed his arms and, although he didn’t turn around, his gaze was fixated on the ground. Something in Alastor told him he wouldn’t look up. He had no reason to trust him or this random gut feeling, but his hands felt steadier and he resumed taking his shirt off much quicker.
He neatly folded his dress shirt on his lap and placed it further on the bed.
-Well, here you go, Sire. A beautiful, angelic wound in all it’s glory.
The blond looked up and immediately winced. He approached until he was standing in front of the demon on the edge of his bed. The tip of their feet touched, but neither commented on it.
-Quite a sight, isn’t it?
Lucifer’s hand hovered over the blacked out wound. Some strange red-ish black, bubbly liquid was slowly gushing out and the green magic stitches were essentially holding onto already torn flesh, holding onto nothing except probably pure spite.
-Yeesh! How long did you let this fester? It’s so infected… When I saw you bleeding, I thought it was something you got during the whole TV guy situation. But this…
A brave finger graced around the outline of the gash, taking some infected blood on it’s way and leaving a trail behind. The angle, the depth, of course, it stood to reason that this was from an exorcist’s blade. It couldn’t be just anyone’s weapon…
-Adam…
Alastor raised an eyebrow at the king, hiding the hissing pain behind his usual pettiness.
-And how would you know, hm? Has our little Majesty fought with the first man? A lady problem, I can only assume. Heaven or Hell, it’s all living beings are capable of thinking of.
Lucifer’s hand instinctively graced the space between his hipbone and his thigh. It was so long ago, it didn’t matter anymore. Especially since that man had died a while ago now. That dispute had stopped meaning anything to him the moment he was sent to Hell.
It stopped meaning anything to Adam the day after it happened.
And still, his skin bared a souvenir. A sliver of flesh, faintly lighter and rougher than everything else around it. A memory that couldn’t fade, a vengeful ghost that refused to move on.
-We did… fight. In a way. It wasn’t about anyone else though. It doesn’t matter.
The blond man placed both of his hands above the angelic wound and was about to start healing the other man when a soft shadow appeared on his hands and pulled him slightly back.
-Well now, your Majesty. You can’t simply hint at a juicy story and then move on. You’ve got me interested.
Lucifer frowned.
-Could you do like always and prioritize yourself? You’re quite literally bleeding on my bed.
Alastor crossed his legs and cocked his head to the side.
-Well yes, but I think I could be an even more obedient patient with a little captivating story. That way, I won’t think about the pain.
He said the last part in a mocking baby voice. This man was really, really getting on his last nerve. Had he left the demon to heal himself, well, not only would he be doing something much better, like sleeping or making new ducks, but this bastard would be bleeding to death somewhere far away from him. Maybe he would be in an alleyway, struggling to breathe as the bacterias eat him from the inside out until his remains joined the soil. Though, knowing this man and all the infected stuff in that gash, he would probably just end up poisoning the ground, finding a way to be a pain in the ass even six feet under. His stomach churned at the idea.
The king of Hell sighed heavily, replacing his hands over the wound and slowly channeling his powers from the center of his being, passing around his shoulders, through his arms and to the tip of his fingers. A soft golden light emitted from him. The curious red eyes in front of him betrayed the small surprise and fascination Alastor felt, but he paid it no mind.
-Before Eve was created, Adam and Lilith were together. They weren’t happy together, but, you know, being the only two humans around, they kind of had to stick around each other. But they got tired of that, so both of them started socializing more with the angels, myself included. Adam was a natural charmer, everyone loved him. Back then, he was a bit less of a douche, but he knew how to talk to people, how to stroke their ego, what to tell them. He had most angels wrapped around his finger from his charisma alone.
Alastor winced a bit, the magic emitted a low hum as it stung his every nerve. He could only describe it as having his insides being tickled. Weird, unusual and uncomfortable, but not straight up painful. His reaction, however, gained himself a glance from Lucifer. When he looked up, his eyes were wide open, his brows knitted together and his teeth bit the inside of his lower lip. For a split second, the man had looked at him with what looked like pure, unfiltered worry.
He hated the mere idea. He decided that Lucifer simply made that face because of himself and his story. This man felt no sympathy for sinners, it was silly to even entertain the passing thought of it.
-Your little story sounds very cute, but I don’t see how this could possibly relate to you knowing my wound was caused by this foul man.
The blond clicked his tongue and looked to the side, embarrassment and frustration rising from deep within him.
-Why am I even telling you all of that.
He grumbled to himself quietly.
-Adam was my first time, ok?
The radio demon’s smile faltered.
-Of course this is what this is about. Even angels need to do it in the weirdest, most violent ways possible, otherwise they can’t get off. For fuck’s sake, vous me dégoutez.
Said Alastor though gritted teeth.
-No, that’s not-!
The short man looked down, not at his healing, just down. Somewhere that wasn’t the other man’s face. He slowly lowered himself forward, his forehead eventually making contact with the glacial yet soft brownish grey fur of Alastor’s shoulder.
-He was my first time but I wasn’t his. He kept telling me he knew what he was doing and to trust him.
The sound of static grew a bit thicker.
-And he decided he wanted to be adventurous. He pulled out a small blade and traced it all over my body. I was too stressed to find that sexy or anything. So he got angry and stabbed me just above my thigh. I came to find out that, when he’s angry, most of his blows look the exact same. Same angle, same depth, no matter the distance or the weapon.
The red head felt the fallen angel’s breath on his skin, thin and uneven breaths. Witnesses to his physical condition, beaten and battered, thoroughly drained from being used as a power source. Witnesses to what little power was left from that excursion being passed down to a sinner’s unworthy body. Witnesses to a needlessly sentimental memory from the dawn of time, the closest thing the immortal man had to something he could call his younger days.
-Humans sure are strange, aren’t they? When I was a lad, my maman told me that kind of intimacy was reserved for loving couples. Whether to produce a child or not, it was something private, filled with trust and softness. But I quickly learned of just how many deviants the Earth was populated with. And in Hell, with even less restrictions and even more imagination, people have become too creative.
The blond could feel his fur shifting as he spoke, frantically moving his head through his rant.
-They already look like savage beasts in heat when doing it normally, but they can’t resist adding mental and physical pain, ways to dominate and bring misery even in the privacy of a bedroom. And that’s not counting shameless lunatics who get off from being perverts in public.
The pads of Lucifer’s fingers could feel the matted fur around his wound, sticky with old, dry blood. He got lost in his thoughts. He grounded himself through his sense of touch. The fur, the warmth, the blood, it was easier to process. A part of him wanted to start nuzzling his face in the crook of the man’s neck, but he held back. He genuinely didn’t know how he got away with being so close, let alone resting his forehead on his shoulder. In any other circumstance, he would probably be dead where he stood.
But they were tired. The both of them were drained, exhaustion gnawing at their bones like hungry hounds.
Both had much more mellow tempers at the moment, their emotions mixing and melting into a buzzing mush. They didn’t have the energy to bicker and fight like they usually did. Instead, they allowed space for a new feeling, one that ignored their pre-existing relationship and instead focused on the little things. Heartbeats, skin, hair, feather-light touches, claws softly grazing the surface, eye contacts that lasted just a touch too long.
That were just a touch too fond.
-Yeah, humans can be a lot, often. More often than not, actually. When I gave them free will, all those millennia’s ago, I didn’t think of the extent of what free will could mean. Yes, free will meant they were now independent beings, free from their creator. They could explore and learn as much as they wanted to, but… as the years went by, I saw the full extent of what free will could devolve into.
Hesitant claws placed themselves on the back of Lucifer’s neck.
-Greed, murder, hatred of all kind between its own species, it all counts as free will, at the end of the day. Humans could barely tolerate each other, the slightest difference could be used to ostracize entire populations. Even as morals evolve and change, they’ll always find a new reason to separate people into categories, types of people they believe they have the right to mock.
Whispered Alastor, his radio filter nearly gone.
The short man lifted his head from it’s resting place to look at the healing progress. All had gone as smoothly as he hoped, though with the depth and state of the gash before the whole procedure, it did take much longer than planned.
He pressed both of his hands direclty onto Alastor’s chest, earning a deer-like squeak from him. He would most definitely bring it up later to make fun of him.
The red head inhaled sharply at the gesture, feeling like his skin had been lightly shocked.
For a moment, the room turned blue.
His whole body jerked from the sensation, pushing his healer to the floor with his full force. His full, recovering force. His limbs felt all too humane, bones, nerves and muscles. Not a drop of magic or demonic force in his gesture.
All too humane.
The king stumbled back onto his knees, ready to duke it out right then and there. The prick made him open up about some dumb shit, use his already exhausted powers to heal him and then he shoved him once he was done?!
-What the fuck is your deal?!
He stopped in his tracks at the sight in front of him.
The almighty radio demon was gripping the bed sheets with all his might. His pupils had turned into thin radio dials and his antlers had grown large, yet one of his legs had moved to shield his chest.
He looked… small.
-Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you I was going to touch you. I was done disinfecting and healing the inside, I just wanted to close the outside as seamlessly as possible. I…
The demon breathed heavily. He looked down where his wound used to be, touching around and only feeling slight scar bumps here and there, the only remnants of his Achille’s tendon. He slowly lowered his leg as he mumbled.
-Il n’est pas là. Ce n’est pas lui. Respire… respire.
The Angel approached slowly, choosing to stay on his knees, staying lower than Alastor.
-It’s fine, you’re all patched up. I promise I won’t touch you anymore.
He held both of his hands in the air in a surrendered manner, looking thoroughly harmless if you forgot that magic was a thing.
Morphing back into his normal appearance, the red head made quick work of putting his clothes back on aside from his bow tie. The dark stain had dried and left an unpleasant crust all over his dress shirt, but for the time being, he ignored it. He’d get it cleaned later.
He kept his back to the other man. It was easier that way.
-Feel free to sit down, it’s about to be your turn to play the sick patient.
The blond tried to quickly shrug off his sweater, they had wasted enough time as is, when a thought made him stop.
-Have you ever healed anyone before?
Alastor turned his head around, his arrogant, shit-eating grin back on his face like always. It shielded him against the world.
-Nope! We’re going to have to mix the good old methods and the power of guessing as we go!
Lucifer sat on his bed to take off his slippers, mouth curling into a snarl.
-You really are a scammer.
-Well, Sire, you know what they say. Don’t deal with the Devil.
-You little-! You better shut up before I break all of your vinyls and change them with shitty pop music.
Both men glared at each other for a few seconds. From the outside, they were more akin to pathetic children having a conflict rather than the King of Hell and one of the most powerful Overlords testing each other’s patience.
Alastor was the first to drop it, making some medical equipment appearing out of thing air on the bed.
Soon enough, Lucifer was completely bare aside from his underwear, and he needed to be. Turns out, his entire body had suffered from the machine. His forearms and legs were irritated and slightly charred from the machine’s restraints, it seemed that the power it operated to keep him locked inside had left electrical burns all over. As for his chest and thighs, they were covered in a multitude of small scars. The electrical plugs that had stabbed into every inch of his body to suck him dry of all his powers had left what looked like snake bites behind. Every scar was a round patch of itchy, burnt golden flesh with two symmetrical holes that dug deep into his body. Some of them were covered in dry blood, others were still oozing out with a fascinating golden liquid.
Alastor could feel the amber blood reflecting in his eyes, the smell being an incoherent and indescribably pleasant one. It smelled nothing like human, animal or demon blood.
It smelled pure,
Refined,
It was what one could assume Ambrosia smelled like.
Lucifer could tell that the sinner’s demeanour had shifted. What an idiot he was, baring his scars in front of a cannibal. Still, there was something pleasant about it, in a very twisted manner.
Alastor wasn’t stripping him naked with his eyes, there wasn’t much to strip him off of anyways. Rather, he was stripping his skin from his body, exposing his flesh. Juicy, fresh,
Alive.
The kind of meal that would still scream as the deer savoured it.
It could almost be misinterpreted as something sexual. A similar lust of uncontrollable level, a carnal hunger, one that would only leave damage in it’s wake as he devoured his pray until only bones and whimpers remained.
Bloodlust. A predatory and animalistic desire.
He wondered if this was how Lilith felt when he would look at her. In the intimacy of their bedroom, them against the world.
He would worship her like a Goddess, treating every inch of her body like a precious relic and offering her only the greatest and finest treatment in the world.
The human world had a much more flattering view of the King of Hell. He was seen as a conniving manipulator, a being born of pure evil who sought out revenge against pure souls. He was the original temptation, the one that corrupted the first woman and who brought damnation upon the living.
In reality, he hadn’t tempted anyone in a very long time. Yes, there was the whole ordeal with Adam, but he wasn’t there because the first man needed him, he was a replacement until things smoothed out with Lilith. As for Eve, he never truly thought that he had tempted her. Eve yearned for knowledge from the beginning. She knew she was being kept in the dark about a lot of things and she was passionate about the world. Lucifer wanted to grant her wish, and he did.
The price was a heavy one. Lilith and him were banished from Heaven and were stranded in Hell, but they made do. They built their own nest in Hell and, for a while, the fallen Angel truly felt loved. He loved Lilith and she loved him. In every waking moment, he was there for her. But again, things started to fall apart. She became distant, she seemed bored of him. After Charlie was born, she slowly started isolating him from their daughter and herself, leaving him as directionless as he was in Heaven. He, as a person, had never been enough.
The one thing that had never failed him was his body.
In Heaven, with Lilith
And right now,
His body could satisfy people. That was all he had to offer and he gladly did.
-Get a taste, if you want.
His comment shook Alastor out of his trance, his dilated pupils regressing as his thoughts came back in order.
-No, you’ve lost enough blood as is.
Lucifer cocked his head, his face wiped clean of any readable emotion.
-Did they feed you when that box kept you in his tower? I bet they didn’t, seeing you starving probably amused him. You won’t get another chance to taste angelic blood until they attack us again.
The red head’s gaze moved to the scars, watching golden blood seep out of the wounds and racing down the curves of the fallen angel’s body.
-Why are you trying to convince me?
Lucifer shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable at how Alastor rephrased his sentence.
-Look just… just do whatever you want. I’m vulnerable, my fate is in your hands. Heal me, eat me, I don’t care. I just don’t want to be in this pathetic state any longer.
Alastor’s eyes widened, a strange mixture of rage and realization shifting his facial features. His ears went flat against his head and he grabbed the smaller man by his shoulders.
-Do not say that. Thinking like that is how you get taken advantage of and killed by lesser demons.
He said demons. Lucifer could tell that “demons” referred to more people than just sinners.
As if only now registering his reaction, the radio demon pulled his hands off the other’s shoulders, turning his head to stare at the medical equipment, sitting unused on the other side of the duck themed duvet. He started busying his hands by taking out the supplies, sorting the order of what he needed. He prepared a few cotton balls and dabbed the first with rubbing alcohol.
He approached the cotton from the nearest scar, but took a moment to glance at Lucifer’s face, an expectant expression staring back at him, observing his movements. Little hisses escaped the blond’s mouth as the disinfectant made contact with every wound, leaving him somewhat breathless, but still urging the sinner to continue anytime he would hesitate or ask if he was okay.
A small pile of blood soaked cotton balls formed on the floor as time went on, breaths and silent glances being the only exchange between the two. It was awfully domestic for them, but neither found it as disgusting as they thought they should. They hated each other and yet, this felt so normal, like this was an old habit they decided to pick back up, like it was second nature for them. No one had cared much for them in the last few weeks, so they would care about each other as consolation. A fragile yet delightful balance.
-I don’t know how angelic bodies work, but I suppose it would be better for you to clean yourself before we put any bandages on.
Lucifer sighed and put a hand through his hair as he shakily got up. Grabbing a towel and a bathrobe on his way, he looked back to his bed.
-Would you like to clean yourself too?
Of course he would. In all truth, Alastor felt nothing but sweaty and crusty at the moment. He had been raised to always be well-groomed, taking pleasure in being coquet and taking care of his appearance. He felt stronger in a clean suit than with any powerful magic weapon in his hands.
-Are you asking me to take a bath with you, your Majesty?
Lucifer glared slightly at him. It was easier to play with his nerves than it was trying to understand the strange sensation in his stomach. A sensation of apprehension roared in his guts and yet, he couldn’t feel disgusted at the idea. Rather, he felt tempted to scratch that itch.
He wasn’t inclined to trust Lucifer, or anyone, really. But just a few minutes earlier, the man had on a silver platter the opportunity to overpower him, to take advantage of him, to prove to him that every man in his life was only a filthy animal who only seeked to steal everything from him.
Anything that could be stolen.
His time, his efforts, his dignity, his powers,
His body.
And yet, as infuriating as the short man was, he couldn’t say he fit that mold. A part of him truly loved their daily bickering. It kept him sharp, kept his comebacks on their toes and stimulated him far more than killing small fries or new arrivals in the darkest alleys of the Pride ring.
-You can bathe in your own room, of course. It’s just a proposition, ignore it if you want.
Alastor smiled softly, heading towards the Angel. Red claws snaked their way between Lucifer’s pale fingers, bringing the other’s knuckles to his lips.
-I would be delighted.