Archive of Our Own ^beta

The weeks following Vox’s spectacularly ill-advised attempt to overthrow Heaven marked an unexpected turning point for the Hazbin Hotel. What had once been dismissed as a naïve passion project had become undeniable proof that redemption was not only possible, but achievable.  

News and reruns of Sir Pentious’s broadcast spread quickly throughout Hell, carried via social media and good old fashioned word of mouth. Sinners poured into the hotel, eager for a chance to turn over a new leaf—to become something better than themselves. And perhaps, even more surprisingly, a handful of Overlords had inquired about checking in, signaling a possible shift in the political landscape of the Pride ring. 

Soon, every room was filled, the building near bursting at the seams with those seeking a dream once thought impossible. It was as inspiring as it was overwhelming.

Charlie, however, was determined to keep the foundations that had built the hotel strong, and those foundations were her found family. Despite the ever-growing laundry list of work to be done and therapy sessions to attend, the Princess made certain that at least one night each month was set aside for the core group who had been with the hotel since the beginning—a chance to spend time together, just among themselves. 

To Charlie, success meant nothing if she lost the people who had helped her build it.

It was also a chance for Lucifer to breathe as he worked to acclimate to life back in the public eye…and with his punishment known every ring over. 

Adjusting to the hotel packed full of Sinners who knew he could do nothing to harm them had been an adjustment. Recovering from injuries so severe—the likes of which he had not experienced for thousands of years—had turned his wariness of them into thinly veiled paranoia. 

And though the first few weeks had been fraught with anxiety, the King found himself surrounded by no small amount of support. Charlie and Vaggi had been sure to stay close by after his jaunt as the battery for Vox’s doomsday weapon (he refused to speak its name. What a dumb name!)—which he was more than thankful for.

As he recovered and began to venture back into the hotel proper, he would often do so in the company of Husker, Cherri and even Niffty. It surprised him to find that his dislike of Sinners didn’t seem to extend so strongly to those three—and he was certain it would be the same for the spider Sinner, Angel Dust, if he were still around. 

Perhaps it was because he had seen these mortals lay everything on the line for his daughter and her dream, changing his preconceptions of what he had shrugged off as the dredges of humanity in some small but significant way? He didn’t really know. 

But even Alastor (yes he knew his name—no he wouldn’t admit to it thank you very much), had helped soften the edges of his perceptions. He still couldn’t stand the guy and found him to be pretentious, flashy on the edge of attention seeking, and particularly moody. But there was no denying what he had seen while locked in that box—he oozing, angry gash the TV-headed Sinner had taken every chance to rip open. 

That wasn’t a wound the Radio Demon would have gotten from his nemesis, especially with the way it reeked of angelic energy. No, Lucifer was certain it had been the result of his clash with Adam all those months ago.

Which meant, infuriatingly, that this confrontational, arrogant, thorn-in-his-side Sinner had not only been willing to lay everything on the line to help his daughter…but he’d suffered for it too. Was no doubt still suffering, if Lucifer was being honest with himself. 

Wounds like that didn’t just heal overnight.

But that was just one piece of the puzzle. As the weeks stretched into months, and the fallen angel felt himself growing stronger (and a touch more brave) he began mingling with the Sinners staying in the hotel without an escort nearby. It was generally small stints, passing moments of greeting his subjects, exchanging encouraging words and then disappearing into the staff area to decompress. Every so often, however, a Sinner might get a bit too enthusiastic— invading his personal space a bit more closely than he’d like or speaking with a little more familiarity than he considered appropriate. Those moments saw a cold sweat pricking at the back of his neck, the paranoia beginning to build.

Would this be the one to try to end him, he wondered? Could this overly friendly Sinner be here on false pretense, their only intention to be the one to put an end to the King of Hell?

It was in those moments that Lucifer would find himself rescued by the most unlikely of knights: Alastor’s shadow. It was impressive really, the sheer amount of fear the Radio Demon could inspire with just his shadow. Any time the fallen angel felt he was just this side of a full-blown panic attack, the umbral shade would appear like a looming gargoyle, chasing away whichever wayward Sinner pushed him so close to the brink. 

But just as quickly as it came, it returned to its master, who offered no form of explanation for its actions. In fact, more often than not, the Sinner wasn’t even looking in his direction, leaving Lucifer to wonder if he was intentionally avoiding talking about it or simply unaware of his shadow’s actions.

Both questions were…incredibly curious.

And it was this behavior, more than anything, that led to the Devil pondering the seemingly sentient silhouette of the Radio Demon during one of their monthly staff nights. 

Charlie had set aside a full conference room for them on the first floor, complete with a near flawless replica of Husker’s bar from the lobby, much to the cat’s chagrin no doubt. The night passed in a pleasant atmosphere of delicious drinks and card games, but the longer it wore on, the smaller their group grew. One by one (or in some cases, two by two), the other filtered out until just him, Alastor and Husk remained, cocooned in dim, gentle light and soft jazz. 

Which is how Lucifer found himself playing a silent game of peekaboo with the shadow of the most powerful Overlord in all of Hell.

“Your majesty,” the Radio Demon’s voice seemed to weave through the music to address the fallen angel at the table behind him. “I can practically feel you burning holes into my skull! Which is impressive really, given it is my incorporeal companion you seem to be enamoured with.”

Lucifer startled, his brain scrambling to think up a quick excuse as for why, exactly, he’d been gazing at Alastor’s shadow like it held the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

“Err…”

“Articulate as always, sire.” 

A gold-tinted flush crept up the Devil’s neck, his mind crashing and burning before ever leaving the station. “Oh, fuck off,” he finally shot back—though he had to refrain from cringing. That was weak at best. “I was just thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime for you, I’m afraid.” Alastor lifted his drink, taking a slow sip of a particularly crimson bloody mary. No doubt there was an extra emphasis on the bloody part of the recipe.

“Ha-ha, jackass.” Lucifer huffed, crossing his arms over his chest with a roll of his eyes. “Your shadow is just curious.”

“Yes, it tends to be. The little scamp.” The Sinner spun his stool around and casually leaned his upper body against the bar while crossing his knees together. His grin though, present as always, seemed particularly smug.

“You know, this?” Lucifer gestured broadly towards the demon now facing him. “This is why I don’t like you. All of this, right here.”

The Radio Demon gave a soft, acknowledging hum, offering the King as much of a pout as his face was able to muster. “I am heartbroken, sire, truly.”

“Look, I’m just curious, okay?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and the Devil pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his temper from running away from him…again. 

The man was just so damn good at getting under his skin—and that was just more proof of his growing tolerance for Alastor, wasn’t it? A few months ago they’d have been getting into some sort of territorial dance off, but now? They were merely trading mildly insulting barbs under a thin veil of civility.

From his perch, Alastor regarded the small angel with a raised brow before, surprisingly, offering a slight bow while gesturing towards the empty stool beside him. 

“Very well, your majesty!” He chirped. “Come, let us indulge your curiosity!”

And, again, Lucifer’s mind went blank.

“Uhhh…,” he hesitated, his eyes sliding between the Radio Demon and the seat.

Well—he hadn’t been expecting that.

“Poetry, sire, pure poetry!” Alastor cackled before lifting his drink once more and taking a long, slow sip, allowing the angel a moment to gather his thoughts

“And what price did you have in mind for…‘indulging in my curiosity’, exactly?” The King was…wary. He wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but…nothing was ever given for free in Hell. Especially not from an Overlord.

“Oh, no price at all!” The Sinner held up both hands in concession and Lucifer gave him a rather dubious glance. “I did have a game in mind, however. Nothing nefarious and it gets us something we both want. You? Answers. Me? Entertainment!”

Snorting softly, Lucifer slid out of his own chair and slowly—but precariously— made his way towards the bar, closer to the demon. 

“Alright,” he agreed. But, he knew he had to play this smart. “What are the terms of the game?”

Smiling wider, Alastor leaned forward, sweeping one arm dramatically through the air in front of him. “It’s simple, really. We take turns asking each other a question. Each question must be answered truthfully but—if a question asked is one you don’t want to answer, you take a shot instead. Easy peasy and completely harmless!”

“Just a good bit of fun between chums, huh?” The Devil said, but looked towards Husk, raising an uncertain eyebrow in the cat’s direction. “Is this safe?”

The cat pursed his lips, glancing warily at Alastor before giving a slight tilt of his head. “That man is never safe, but…he isn’t lying.”

“See? Nothing but glowing reviews!” The statement was followed with equally enthusiastic jazz hands. “Shall we then?”

With a resigned sigh, Lucifer hopped onto the seat next to the Radio Demon and spun himself around to face the bar. 

It seemed harmless enough, he supposed. And the lack of it being any sort of official deal (with a capital D) did make playing rather appealing. 

“Alright, then,” he agreed after a moment. “Game on.”

“That’s the spirit!” And before Alastor had even finished speaking, Husker set down two bottles of liquor, accompanied by pretty, crystal shot glasses. One, Lucifer recognized, as apple brandy, no doubt chosen because the bartender was aware of his tastes. The other, however, looked unfamiliar but it seemed to be some manner of dark liquid in a slightly dusty, green bottle.

“Since you’re playing for the away team, I’ll let you have the first question, sire,” the demon surrendered, reaching for the green bottle, and pouring himself a shot of the tawny spirit before

taking another sip from his extra bloody mary. The King followed suit, pouring himself a healthy amount from the brandy bottle.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” Lucifer said as he set the liquor back down—a little too roughly, he had to admit—unable to stop the annoyance from flashing across his features. “I’m clearly the home team. This is my daughter’s hotel.” 

“Oh come now, your royal shortness, don’t be a spoil sport,” Alastor replied, resting his cheek against the gentle curve of his knuckles “I’m just trying to be a gracious host.” And then he grinned—wide, conniving, infuriating—as he waited for the King to ask his question and start their game.

“Okay, right, well…” 

Lucifer cleared his throat, willing his mind to focus—just for a little bit— so he wouldn’t waste this opportunity. Of course he wanted to ask about the shadow, but perhaps it would be better to try a less obvious approach first? Was the game really so straight forward or could he tilt the odds of getting the answers he actually wanted by exploring unexpected avenues first?

“Do you have a tail?” The question slipped past the fallen angel’s lips with little thought. It immediately drew a soft snort from Alastor and a quiet, almost strangled sort of sound from Husk behind the bar.

“Even with all that talk about being curious about my shadow, this is where you start?” A heaving sigh eased its way past the Overlord’s lips as he simply shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why, exactly, so many people are so very interested in that particular part of my theoretical anatomy.”

With that said, the demon picked up his glass and tossed the shot back with a huff of satisfaction. “A mystery for another day, I think! You won’t be finding out what’s in my pants that easily, your majesty.”

This time, the choked sound came from Lucifer, whose entire face had turned the color of caramel. “You can’t just say things like that!”

“Like what now?” Alastor’s neck tilted at an unnatural angle, filling the space between them with a disturbing squelch. 

“Ooookay, right. We’ll just…unpack that one later.” Clearing his throat a second time, the King gestured towards his companion. “Your turn.”

The Radio Demon did not immediately ask a question. Instead he took the moment to finish his cocktail, signalling to the bartender his desire for a refill before settling his crimson gaze upon Lucifer. “Do you regret giving humanity free will?”

If the Devil had been sipping on a drink, he probably would have choked. His eyes snapped toward Alastor, expression twisted into something complicated, probably even painful.

It was an incredibly touchy subject for him.

“What the fuck kind of starting question is that?”

Maybe Lucifer’s initial assumption had been right afterall, perhaps this would be some manner of mind game.

“A rather simple one, I would think.” Alastor idly tapped one of his long, red claws against the bar top, drinking in the King’s unsettled demeanor with a surprising amount of scrutiny.

“Well it’s…it’s not!” Lucifer sputtered, his arms flailing slightly as he tried to re-find his balance. “I don't exactly like…regret it! It just…it just didn’t go exactly how I hoped, okay? But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a…you know…” 

It was like trying to tread water in alphabet soup.

“I am not nearly drunk enough for that fucking question, Bellhop.” With a quick swipe, Lucifer grabbed his shot glass and threw back his brandy so quickly it almost went down the wrong tube.

“That is why the rules are as they are, sire.” Alastor’s grin widened once more, that same claw now dragging a slow circle along the rim of his glass. “Your question, then.”

“What’s the deal with your shadow?” The fallen angel had been resolved to wait before actually asking about it, but the Sinner had ruffled his feathers so thoroughly with that out-of-left-field question that it was the only thing he could now think to ask.

“Ah, yes, that,” Alastor remarked casually, as if this wasn’t the entire reason the game had started in the first place. 

Fondly, he looked to where the incorporeal patch of darkness had made itself at home amongst the various liquor bottles, purposefully making Husk’s job infinitely more difficult by swapping the labels whenever he wasn’t looking. “It has free will.” 

That revelation was followed by a particularly loud cackle.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Lucifer groaned, burying his face in his hands faster than the speed of his fall from Heaven. “You baited me with that shit, didn’t you?”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Alastor tutted loudly, jovially waggling a finger back and forth. “That, sire, was not your question!”

“What, I can’t ask follow-up questions?” Lucifer huffed, glaring at the deer, quietly imagining what it might be like to choke the man with the celery stalk from his drink.

“Of course you can! But only if it’s in the spirit of the original question.” 

And as if reading the King’s mind, Alastor plucked the garnish from his bloody mary and bit down on it, the loud crunch echoing across the quiet in the room. 

“Okay…then how did you manage to give it free will?” The Devil’s curiosity far outweighed his annoyance for the time being. Being gifted with the ability to create sentient minions was not an incredibly common power in Hell—especially one’s own shadow.

“I—have—no—idea,” came Alastor’s sing-songed reply, and Lucifer’s face practically crashed into the countertop.

“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” The Devil’s hands were doing a magnificent impression of playing an accordion as he tried to wrap his mind around the Overlord’s answer. “You don’t just…accidently give something free will! What was your process?” 

“No doubt you’ll think I’m lying, but I’m not exactly sure.” Alastor looked from his shadow to Lucifer, a rare hint of honesty reflected in his gaze. “Hell doesn’t exactly come with welcome packets that spell everything out for you. When I spawned here, I did so with a number of powers—one of which being the ability to control shadows.”

Gesturing towards his ethereal companion, the creature in question ceased its attempts at braiding Husker’s whiskers and swirled along the Radio Demon’s arm, draping itself across the man’s shoulders like an overly large boa. 

“At some point, I decided to see if that applied to my own shadow and somewhere along the line it just took on a life of its own.”

Lucifer was dubious of the Sinner’s explanation, but it lacked so much of the man’s usual theatrics that it carried an odd ring of truth. Bringing his eyes back to the shadow once more, the fallen angel found himself unable to resist reaching towards it with blackened claws. And like a curious kitten, the shade unfurled from its demonic roost and reached forward with its own hand, their fingers touching in a scene straight from the Sistine Chapel.

“Perhaps that’s something we ought to suggest to Princess Charlotte.” Alastor’s voice broke through the peaceful, curious moment, calling Lucifer’s attention back to the Sinner.

“Huh?” It was, again, the King’s turn to be confused by the sudden shift in subject—like tonal whiplash.

“Welcome packets, of course! I think that would be right up her whole ‘helping my people’ alley.” The jazz hands made a reappearance as the Radio Demon continued to beam that Cheshire grin towards Lucifer.

“Oh, uh…suuure,” the Devil drawled, entirely insincerely. “I’ll definitely workshop it with her later, yeah.” 

“Fantastic!” Alastor gave no indication he’d picked up on the hidden meaning of the King’s words, instead turning to him with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I do believe that makes it my question now?”

“Yep.” Popping his lips softly on the ‘P’, Lucifer mentally braced himself for whatever insanely inappropriate question the deer had prepared next.

“What is your favorite duck?” 

There weren’t enough words to describe the cacophony of noises that escaped the fallen angel in that moment. It could, perhaps, be best described as a goose attempting to play the trumpet by inhaling but that didn’t quite do it justice. 

“Really?” He asked hoarsely, and the demon hummed in agreement.

Well, that was enough for him.

Clapping his hands together, Lucifer leaned forward as he sucked in a deep breath, excitement surging through him like electricity. 

“OKAY, SO–”

An hour passed like this. The dissertation on ducks, their plumage and why Lucifer’s water fowl grading scale was the way it was passed into other questions that varied from serious to silly like the first few had. Shots and cocktails were consumed in equal portions, while jackets were discarded and bow ties were loosened in the wake of the alcohol wrapping its tight embrace around them. 

Husk had settled onto his own stool, idly scrolling through his phone, looking up only as often as he needed to be sure that they weren’t about to burn the hotel down. Alastor’s shadow had now taken up the mantle of bartender, though it seemed more interested in making paper napkin swans than pouring drinks. 

…Not that the pair, far too deep in their cups, seemed to mind.

The questions had grown more outrageous by this point, with the more somber subjects lost to obscure and eccentric curiosities. 

“Alright, duckie.” The Overlord’s words slurred slightly, his radio filter nearly forgotten amidst his drunken haze. “Can I touch your wings?”

Lucifer startled like a cat caught on the kitchen counter in the middle of the night.

“What?!” He sputtered, heat flooding his face.

How—how dare he—he thought that he could—

“Your wings,” the Sinner repeated, his crimson gaze dragging up the angel’s torso before reaching out with his red-tipped claws, despite the fact that the feathery appendages were safely tucked away in Lucifer’s back. “They look so—”

Lucifer jerked backwards on his stool in response, nearly losing his balance in the process.

“N—no!” He damn near shouted, quickly grabbing the bartop to catch himself. “Ab—Absolutely not, Red! You are straight delulu if you think I’d ever let you touch them!” 

His heart pounding in his chest, he stared the other man down as he tried to catch his breath. Alastor’s languid expression hadn’t changed in the least and the only excuse the King could muster for how casually the man had asked to do such a thing was that he clearly had no idea how intimate such an act was.

Fuck—not even Lilith had been allowed that. 

“Non,” came Alastor’s voice, the man leaning so far into Lucifer’s space that he was practically looming over his companion. It made it easy for him to tap the little angel right on his nose. “You are De Lulu.” 

His voice had slipped into something smoother, a far more natural cadence than the transatlantic accent he wore like a mask and Lucifer’s cheeks flushed further, in a manner that had nothing to do with his current inebriation. 

“W-What...did you—,” the Devil stuttered, struggling with the revelation that Alastor had A) spoken another language and B) said something genuinely funny. “Did you just combine modern day slang and another language to make the stupidest pun ever?!”

“Oui!” The response was followed by laughter so uncontrolled that Lucifer worried the Sinner would be making friends with the floor in a matter of moments.

“You are unbelievable, you know that?” 

Still, the fallen angel couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips. Seeing the Overlord so pleased with himself was…amusing in a way that was far less obnoxious than normal.

“What I am, your royal quackness, is hilarious.” 

More laughter ensued and the sheer volume of it left Lucifer to ponder if Alastor might secretly be part hyena.

“Yeah Red, absolutely hysterical.” 

The words may have been dry, but there was a new…warmth to them. With his elbow resting on the bar, Lucifer settled his chin against the palm of his sin-burnt hand. 

“I don’t get you sometimes, Al. Like…why are you here?” There was no accusation in the Devil’s tone, just a soft curiosity that was dangerously close to genuine. 

“Come now, that’s an easy one. I’ve been rather forthcoming about it since the start: I’m here for entertainment.” The Radio Demon scoffed softly and rolled his eyes, acting just offended enough to make the fallen angel wonder if he really had taken exception to the question.

But only for a moment.

Lucifer huffed a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t buy that for a second.” 

Lifting his empty cocktail glass, the Devil gestured towards Alastor vigorously enough for the ice cubes to dance against each other. “No one sticks around this long just for a punchline.”

“Oh, but I disagree!” The Sinner sat up straighter, waving an arm like a conductor getting into position to lead his orchestra. “Entertainment comes in many forms. Failure is just one of them; ambition is another.” His smile widened, head cocking to the side. “So is the occasional, unexpected success.”

“All I’m hearing,” the Devil started, lifting the glass to his mouth. “Is that you enjoy this place way too much for a guy who claims not to care.” He tipped the cup back, but winced as he realized too late that he’d tried to take a sip of nothing. 

“You wound me! I care immensely.” Alastor clutched at his chest, right where his shriveled black heart would be.

Lucifer snorted. “There is no way on Father’s green earth that you actually give a single shit about anything happening here.”

That earned him a chuckle.

“I suppose that was a bit of a reach, even for me,” the Radio Demon acquiesced with a shrug. For a moment, he tried his hand at looking sheepish before throwing in the towel and waving the thought away like smoke in the air. “I do, however, care about people’s perceptions of me.”

The King opened his mouth to inquire further, but the deer went on—on his own accord.

“And I don’t just mean in a broad sense. I mean specifically here, in the hotel.” A pause. “And by that I mean: the core group. Not just the wayward Sinners who have wandered in on the coattails of success.”

Damn, he really was drunk off his ass, huh?

“Yeah?” Lucifer queried instead, raising one eyebrow. “And uh…what do you think people think of you?” 

As if waiting for that very question, Alastor threw his arms wide and kicked one of his legs upwards, dipping back just enough to threaten his precarious perch on the stool. “That I’m the prettiest princess in the building!”

Gravity and alcohol choose that moment to conspire against the Radio Demon, the man slipping backwards in penance for his theatrics. But his fall stopped before it even started as he found himself wrangled into the arms of Lucifer, who had leapt forward to grab the drunken idiot before he could hit the ground.

“My hero~,” Alastor cooed, his smile shifting into something wider and far more playful than it’d been during the entirety of the game. Combined with the way he gently batted his eyelashes at the King, one could even assume he was flirting. 

It made Lucifer seriously consider dropping him.

“I think that’s enough for the both of you.” Husk’s voice cut through the odd moment, the cat reaching over to collect the nearly-empty bottles and glasses.

“Erm,” Lucifer cleared his throat, still awkwardly holding the Sinner. “Yeah…you’re probably right.” 

As professionally as he could manage, the Devil set Alastor to rights, though the deer seemed intent on using him as his own personal support now. 

“Why don’t I get this idiot to bed? You’ve got enough to worry about here.” The King hesitantly wrapped an arm around Alastor’s waist, looking up at the man to gauge his reaction. The Sinner wasn’t exactly well known for his tolerance to touch, but given the way he was swaying and the fact that he had practically draped himself over Lucifer, the fallen angel suspected he might just be able to get away with it—which would make things much easier for him. 

Husk looked towards the duo with a raised brow before he settled his gaze on the smaller man. For a moment it seemed like he might say something, but instead decided to simply incline his head towards the door, offering Lucifer a look that said: ‘good luck with that’ and ‘he’s your problem now’ all at once.

And with the Sinner in tow, the angel began the long trek back to their rooms.

“My, my, a personal escort from the king? I am beyond honored.” The words spilled from the Sinner like a purr, accompanied by the gentle hum of jazz. Lucifer had to admit to himself, somewhat begrudgingly, that it was a rather neat trick that the Overlord could use himself as his own personal radio.

“Friends don’t let friends drink and shadow travel.” The reference was probably too recent for the likes of the Radio Demon, but he’d already surprised Lucifer by knowing modern slang. 

Perhaps this joke wouldn’t completely fly over his antlers?

“Is that what we are, duckie?” Alastor craned his neck around in a wholly unnatural way, catching the King’s gaze while clinging to the angel like a badly tailored coat. “Friends?”

Any other time Lucifer might have assumed there was something dangerous in the Sinner’s tone, but the man had just voluntarily listened to him rant about ducks for a full hour. If there was anything sinister to the question, it was lost beneath the veneer of alcohol and a surprisingly good time spent together.

And warmth. 

Was it normal for Alastor to be this warm? Because he was incredibly warm. It was the type of comforting heat that one craved during the coldest night of the year, or while fighting off a persistent flu. 

Perhaps not something one desired in Hell given the whole…fire and brimstone aesthetic, yet there was no denying the allure of another person’s body heat.

Oh, damn. 

Was Lucifer seriously that lonely?

“Have your legs stopped working, sire?”  Alastor’s voice was so close to his ear that he could feel it, which brought the Devil back from his thoughts—only to realize that they had, in fact, stopped walking. 

Which, of course, led to an even longer stretch of silence and immobility as he attempted to parse the abrupt shift in the tension between them. 

He was sure his silence wasn’t helping the situation either. He needed to say something—some witty quip, or even better: he could just start walking again. 

Yet his feet refused to move, and all he could focus on was how close the Sinner was now. The way he could feel the heat of the man’s hands from where they had found purchase against his forearms.

“Never you worry, I know the perfect cure for that.” The filter on Alastor’s voice had dropped once more.

And before Lucifer could summon his presence of mind to ask exactly what the man meant by that, the Sinner shifted his grip on the King. One hand slid from the angel’s arm to his palm, purposefully entwining their fingers. The other settled at Lucifer’s side with an easy confidence, gently curling around the smaller man’s waist as if that had been its rightful place all along.

A new song began to play, its gentle tune and pretty words bouncing softly off the walls of the hallway around them as Alastor gave the King’s hand a gentle tug, guiding them not forwards down the hall but rather sideways in a lazy loop that even Lucifer’s stunned and booze-clumsy hooves could follow.

♪ Parlez-moi d'amour
Redites-moi des choses tendres
Votre beau discours
Mon cœur n'est pas las de l'entendre ♪

“What are you–” But Lucifer found his protest dying before it barely even began, his body falling into Alastor’s lead with unconscious thought. 

The gentle press of Alastor’s hand against the small of his back was like a kiss from Heaven to his touch-starved body. No doubt it was the alcohol talking but in this moment, the Devil found himself unwilling to pull away.

How long had it been since he danced with anyone?

And why…did this feel so…natural?

♪ Pourvu que toujours
Vous répétiez ces mots suprêmes:
"Je vous aime" ♪ 

The intricate paper on the walls blurred as they swayed in time to the tune. Alastor’s hold was surprisingly tender, giving only a soft laugh and pulling Lucifer closer when he stumbled.

And the closer they got, the more the world seemed to steady. 

Lucifer exhaled a breath that had been caught in his lungs so long they had begun to ache, the sharp buzz of alcohol receding beneath an equally addicting sensation, a need that was slowly burrowing beneath his skin like an insidious itch. 

But he didn’t want his thoughts to ruin this, so he simply turned them off, shutting them away as deep into the back of his mind as he could and simply…let himself live in the moment. His feet no longer seemed to catch on every snag in the carpet, his stride now shifting into something one could almost call graceful.

“There we are,” Alastor whispered against his ear. “That’s better, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose you might be on to something,” Lucifer had to admit, though it was difficult to tell if his voice was too loud or too quiet. 

His ears were filled with the sweet words of the song, his mind empty but for the buzz of contentment. It felt so good to be close to someone again, to be able to close his eyes and for a moment…pretend like he was wanted.

♪ Votre voix aux sons caressants
Qui le murmure en frémissant
Me berce de sa belle histoire
Et malgré moi je veux y croire ♪

Sparing no thought for the action, Lucifer leaned into the Radio Demon, resting his cheek against the man’s chest. Faintly, he could hear the Sinner’s heart beat, the gentle sound of it coaxing a soft sigh out of him. Breathing in, the man’s scent tickled the King’s nose, a pleasant smell that called to mind dark earth found beneath the top soil.

And all at once, the years he’d spent alone and the comfort of this tranquil moment unfurled like a dragon that had spent hours slumbering atop its horde. Need, want, and desire reared their heads simultaneously, making their presence known in a violent clash of sensibilities. 

A quiet but needy whine clawed its way up from the depths of Lucifer’s throat, his grip on the Sinner tightening. But instead of pulling away, Alastor guided their steps into an easy turn, letting his thumb slowly drift along the angel’s knuckle.

“It’s alright,” Alastor assured him. “I’ve got you.”

But something about those words broke something inside of Lucifer, and reality came crashing back into him against his will.

Suddenly, panic gripped him. 

What was he doing?

With a firm push, the King disengaged from the warm embrace he found himself taking an unexpected and unacceptable amount of comfort in. 

“I’m sorry. Uh, I’m—I’m so sorry.” 

The words tripped over themselves on their way past his lips, his tongue jumbling them up before spitting them out. 

“I—we—we shouldn’t be doing this.” 

Holding his hands up as if in surrender, Lucifer began to back away from his impromptu dance partner.

Alastor watched him with a curious—albeit, somewhat surprised—gaze, his lips pursed in what could have been the suggestion of a frown. But as the Sinner opened his mouth to speak, Lucifer found himself unable to bear whatever he might have to say.

“Th-Thanks for the game and—and the booze, Bambi. But—uh—Goodnight!” 

And in a whirl of flailing arms, flame and red glitter the Devil vanished into thin air, leaving whatever words the Overlord had been about to voice between him and the walls.

Several floors up, Lucifer manifested in his room, immediately grabbing the back of a chair to steady himself, taking in several deep, gasping breaths. He couldn’t tell if he was about to collapse or have a panic attack. 

Maybe both.

…Probably both.

“What…what the hell was I doing?” He asked himself, dragging one shaky hand through disheveled blonde locks, replaying the last few minutes through his mind.

“Oh, that was bad,” he realized. “That was bad bad. Fuck.” 

Lucifer began to pace, crossing his arms behind his back if only to stop his claws from digging into his scalp, from pulling at his hair.

“Okay,” he started, breathing out a slow breath, trying to calm his body. “Damage control. I’ll just…I’ll blame the alcohol. Easy. That’s easy right? Just a little—uh—‘hey there Bellhop, sorry about that, the booze just got to me a little! No…big deal’...right?” 

But even before he finished saying it, he cringed. 

Honestly, how much more pathetic could he be? Of all the people in the entirety of Hell to stoke such desires in him, it just had to be Alastor, the man for whom his thoughts were already ‘hashtag complicated’.

Surely he didn’t actually have feelings for the Radio Demon, right? It was a fluke—it had to be a fluke. A one-time moment of weakness brought on by brandy and allowing himself to get too close to someone for one tiny little moment. And surely if it had been anyone else, Lucifer would have gone just as wonky.

It definitely had nothing to do with how confidently the Overlord had held him as they spun around the hallway. Nor the way the man always seemed to give the Devil the full weight of his attention, be it for ill or for good.

And it certainly, absolutely had nothing to do with that god-forsaken earthy scent that had burned its way into every synapse of his brain during their brief interlude.

With a groan, the angel dropped his head in his hands.

This…was undeniably, truly horrible.

“Maybe if I just…throw myself out a window—,” he suggested to himself, though the thought was cut short when a firm knock rapped against his door.

“Oh, fuuuuuck.” Lucifer dragged his fingers down his cheeks, a sense of dread welling within him as the sound echoed a second time.

There was no way that wasn’t Alastor, who clearly wasn’t as drunk as he’d led the King to believe.

…Or was so drunk that he didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

Neither prospect sat particularly well with the fallen angel.

Taking a deep breath, Lucifer made his way towards the entrance to his rooms like a condemned man making his final walk to the gallows. Plastering a painfully awkward smile (that was probably more of a cringe if he were being honest) to his mouth, he slowly opened his door and leaned against the frame as casually as he could.

He was not going to panic—he was not going to panic—

“Heeeeeey Al,” he said by way of greeting, averting his eyes to the side and refusing to meet the deer’s gaze.

He should just…be honest, right? Honesty was always the best policy.

Heaving a sigh, the Devil raised one arm to rub at the back of his neck. “Listen, um, Bambi…”

Well, go on. Out with it.

“Look, I—”

But his explanation was cut off by the gentle press of a warm finger against his lips. His eyes widened, that same heat from earlier crawling across his cheeks again as he finally raised his eyes to the Sinner.

“No words are necessary, my King,” Alastor started, his voice calm and his smile…soft? “I am merely here because you forgot something.” 

“Er…what? I didn’t—” 

But, in the middle of patting himself down to see if he had perhaps dropped something during their dance, Lucifer found his chin captured between gentle, crimson claws that tipped his face upwards.

“It was this.” 

And, without warning, Alastor lowered his head, his lips crashing down against the Devil’s, consuming him with a hunger that once more revived every feeling that had awoken in Lucifer only minutes before.

All at once that warmth was back, enveloping him as long arms pulled him into a firm, tight embrace and it was then that the lonely angel realized…he would be unable to resist it this time. 

Not as the other man’s lips moved against his like he was something to be wanted. Something…to be loved. 

But was that…really so bad, he wondered?

Pulling back from the kiss with a gasp, sin-burnt hands reached for the Radio Demon’s face, cradling his cheeks gently between sharp talons. For a moment, the pair simply stood there, taking each other’s measures as the tension stretched between them—like a single string teased by the hand of an expert violinist.

And maybe what Lucifer saw in that moment was a lie. But…perhaps it was the truth, one that had been buried deep, deep down until given the chance to finally breathe. 

In truth, it didn’t really matter. 

All Lucifer wanted in that moment was for Alastor to keep looking at him like he was the only thing to exist in the entirety of the cosmos.

So, still cupping his face, the Devil stepped backwards into his room, taking the Radio Demon with him, and letting the door click shut behind them.