Work Text:
DEAD DOVE PROMPT: Starved//Stuffed//Cannibalism-12/31/25
Time passed peculiarly in Hell. For weeks, it seemed, the pentagram hung high, glowing so brightly it reflected off of windows, blinding you at the most inopportune moments. And then, one would find themselves plunged into endless blackness; no candle or bulb would illuminate more than a few feet in any direction. And other times, it passed it perfectly human-like fashion; eight hours of daylight, eight hours of night. Sometimes a pretty sunset in between. Lucifer, of course, had no explanation for any of this. For being the King of Hell, he seemed to have very little interest in the workings or design of the place. Alastor had stopped asking years ago; the answers left him wanting.
And so he found himself in his little cabin in his bayou, a perfect replica of his time on earth, minus a few pests here and there. Why make Hell worse by inventing black flies and mosquitos into his domain? He knelt quietly, in his cabin, before his barely lit fireplace. On his knees, waiting on his blood stained carpet. Lucifer was in the other room, making a lot of noise, making sure Alastor knew exactly where he was. A little game they played; knowing his angelic lover was in the bedroom, but not the reason or for how long he would be waiting, hungry. He could of course go forever without eating; being already dead had its advantages. But he seemed to have been saddled with a Wendigo curse, always hungry, a constant gnawing beneath his ribcage that no amount of liquor, meat, or violence could soothe. In the beginning, it had made him agitated, then furious, eating everyone he could get his hands on. Until Rosey tutored him in the ways of the eternally damned. He learned to enjoy the hunger, to never anticipate that feeling of fullness and warmth he’d experienced in his mortal life. Enjoy the process, the kill, the flavors. Cannibalism was an art form.
“You still with me, dear heart?”
Blinking, Alastor looked up, hands folded neatly in his lap. His angel stood before him in black slacks, black button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, an arrogant, loving smirk on his face. ‘I know exactly what you need, and you’re going to let me give it to you’ wordless expressions. Too easy to read. “Yes Sir,” Alastor sighed as those white fingers caressed him, smearing blood on his lips like rouge; he waited until given the order before letting his tongue flicker out to taste the first of the gift brought to him. The blood coated his tongue better than any wine ever had. He sighed, bliss.
“With your physique, it’s difficult to tell,” Lucifer sighed, circling him, tail flicking lazily behind him, caressing the kneeling form as he went, “But how long HAS it been since you’ve indulged in a proper meal, my pet?” Alastor swallowed, the blood diluted by the saliva rapidly filling his mouth, “Four weeks. Give or take a few days.” Lucifer tsked, “I thought we talked about this last time…you taking care of my property.” The sinner shuddered at the weight of the words, the blatant accusation of disrespect. “I am sorry, my king,” he bowed his head. He offered no excuses, asked for no mercy. The devil placed a finger under his chin, tilting his head so their eyes met, “No need. It is easily remedied. Come.”
Alastor followed him to the chair, was pulled to straddle him, face to face. A bowl was set quietly on the table beside them, covered with one of his nicer cloth napkins. He could smell what lay beneath, the fresh, iron tang in the air. Lucifer nuzzled him affectionately, blackened, sin-stained hands combing through cherry-red hair, “And now my love,” he murmured, kissing him sweetly, sweeping his tongue across sharp teeth, “I believe I promised you dinner.” He reached over, delicately pulled the cloth to reveal the pile of fresh, dripping meat beneath. “Give yourself to me,” Lucifer cooed, “I will give you all that you desire. You will feel no hunger tonight.”
Alastor could never resist such a tempting promise. He leaned forward, bestowing a series of small kisses, tasting fresh mint, basil, sunlight, “I’m at your mercy,” he whispered against the soft lips he could never get enough of, “I am yours. All of me, mon ange.” Lucifer chuckled darkly, “That’s my good boy.”
Lucifer fed him perfectly sized strips of meat, letting the demon lick his fingers clean between bites, making sure he didn’t miss a single drop. “You are beautiful when you are enjoying yourself,” Lucifer whispered. As if speaking would shatter the rare moment of vulnerability between them. Alastor leaned forward, placing small kisses along his neck that sent shivers through the angels spine.
Alastor suddenly froze at the last bite, Lucifer’s thumb still in his mouth, trapped between sharp teeth. “Something wrong?” Lucifer didn’t at all sound concerned. He sounded amused, if anything. Alastor hummed curiously, sucking the finger clean and looking down at the empty bowl, “There’s a…curious sensation,” he said softly, “But…I think I’m full.” There was a warmth in his stomach, a slight pressure. The empty, hollow ache was gone. “My, that’s concerning.”
Lucifer grinned, leaning up to kiss Alastor, a little rougher than before, demanding nothing, “This was a very special meal, my beloved doe…” Alastor quirked a brow at him, “You didn’t feed me some demented roadkill you found in a ditch did you?” Lucifer laughed, musical, “Hells Bells, no. Besides you cleaned that out yourself last night. No no, I fed you something very, very unique. A one of a kind dish, beloved…” Looking around, Alastor’s sanguine eyes landed on the bowl, the little pool of blood at the bottom. Except…it wasn’t blood was it. Not proper blood anyway. It had been colored with something…
“Lucifer, did you put some bizarre illusion in the meat??”
“I had to,” the devil shrugged, “you would recognize golden blood right away.”
The bandage. The insistence that Alastor stay out of the kitchen… Wide-eyed, Alastor yanked Lucifers sleeve up, jaw dropping at the thick bandage soaked in goldenrod blood. All the pieces fell together; the secrecy, the fact that Lucifer insisted on being alone in the kitchen. Alastor grinned, “Did you really carve up your own arm with one of my good knives?”
“It’ll heal in about an hour. Your precious knife is sharp as ever,” Lucifer chuckled, wiping a smear of now-golden blood from his lover’s mouth, licking his own thumb clean, “Well worth it to finally get to feed you… You are so beautiful when you enjoy yourself.” They kissed, languidly, starving for each other. “I almost forgot,” Lucifer whispered, “I made you a dessert too.”
Alastor took his pale hand, pulling him with him away from the kitchen, the plate of drippings to be enjoyed later. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Alastor kissed him, harsh, passionate, “But I believe, mon ange, that I’m finally full.” Lucifer scooped him up in his arms, tossing his lover onto the bed playfully, “Oh, not yet you’re not.”