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Prologue
Lucifer stared at the flashing red light on Alastor's broadcast console, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. Actively withering away even as Alastor twisted around with a screech of static, the room darkening and the sinner's form briefly cracking into something far from human.
He winced at the crash of equipment falling to the floor, the sparks of electricity flashing where wires were torn loose. Alastor's head snapped back to Lucifer to fix him with a wide-eyed look of panic, his body shrinking back to normal as quickly as it had swelled in the first place. Save for two spots of crimson shining high on his cheeks, the colour had drained from Alastor's face, his skin gone pallid and his smile as crooked as a bent pin at the corners.
“Maybe they didn't hear–” Lucifer tried, but a spurt of static cut him off as Alastor's claws scraped a furrow along the desk, his shoulders heaving as he panted. His face tightened, pained humiliation tugging at the corners of his eyes as he shook his head.
“They heard, sire. Believe me – they heard,” Alastor muttered. Lucifer followed the line of his gaze as he looked over the city skyline, and when his phone started buzzing in his pocket, he snapped his fingers to send it straight into the hottest volcano in Wrath.
He felt sick. Angels weren't even capable of being sick, but here he was, beating the odds. Heat prickled up the back of his neck as Alastor turned an imploring look on him, a silent plea shining in the depths of those red eyes.
Fix this, Alastor's expression said, and he wasn't the kind of man who ever asked for help – with anything. But he was asking for help now, from Lucifer, and Lucifer wanted more than anything to make things right.
But how?
He could claim it was all a joke, an error, a misunderstanding—but in Hell, no one cared about correcting misinformation. No matter what, this story was out, and it would spread fast, considering the reach of Alastor’s broadcast and the fact that Vox listened to it obsessively. There was nothing he could do.
Lucifer wished his magic could turn back time. Could take the words “Come on down to bed, Al,” out of everyone’s minds and pull the sound back through the radio waves into his big, stupid mouth.
He distantly felt the tug of a summons, pulling on his soul and making his wings itch in their pocket dimension. Well, that was fast. The taste of strawberry-flavored lube on the back of his tongue told him it was Ozzie calling. He swallowed hard and ignored it, eyes fixed on the man in front of him.
He opened his mouth to apologize.
Alastor held up a single hand to stop him, and very deliberately flicked the switch to take his broadcast off the air. That red light stopped flashing, and Alastor collapsed into his rolling chair.
“Alastor,” Lucifer said, approaching slowly. He hesitated. Comforting words didn’t seem like they’d go over well, and he knew Alastor wouldn’t tolerate a soothing lie. “...How do you want to spin this?”
Alastor looked up at him, despair in those normally bright red eyes and his ears pinned flat to his head. “I don’t see a way out of this, sire.”
Well. That was…not encouraging.
Lucifer raised his eyebrows theatrically, trying for humor. “The almighty Radio Demon is at a loss for words? How shocking. I’m sure Vox will be beside himself.”
Alastor’s smile faltered and his static popped as he stared at the floor. “How can we possibly spin ‘Come on down to bed’?”
“Well, I don’t know, that’s why I was asking you!” Lucifer chewed his bottom lip anxiously, wincing when he tasted blood. Alastor’s eyes flicked to his mouth as gold beaded on his lip and the smell of asphalt baking in the sun filled the air. “Do you think it would improve your reputation if we just said we’re hooking up?” He swept his tongue along the already-healed bite mark, collecting his blood.
“Ah, yes, let’s tell all of Hell that we’re having sex.” Alastor gestured widely with his hands. His ears were so tense they were trembling. “And that would do what, exactly? It’s not accurate and it makes me seem like a hypocrite.”
“I dunno, I bet it would make you look pretty powerful, an Overlord topping the Devil himself…” Lucifer mused. “And I know you don’t care if people think you’re a hypocrite.”
“Wh—top you? You can’t be serious.” Alastor’s static hissed his displeasure. “I wish you’d never taken Angel up on that book club offer.”
“I will have you know that Pride and Prejudice was a lovely read and the literary discussions we had about it were very educational. But think about it! Seriously! And I bet it would drive Vox nuts, too.”
Alastor hummed. “Yes, that is an appealing point.” His smile stretched wider and his shoulders relaxed, his ears perking up a little. “How much of the pentagram do you think will lose power this time?”
Lucifer glanced out the window, massaging over his wing slits absentmindedly. “It looks like about a quarter of the city is down right now. Might go up, depending on whether Vox has recognized my voice yet.”
“Did you talk to him very much?” Alastor fiddled with a rubber duck that Lucifer had left on his desk.
“I mean, yeah. Well, I sang, anyway. When I went to his rally. Weren’t you there? Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Lucifer pulled out the new cell phone that had manifested in his pocket. It was vibrating aggressively and Bee had set the ring tone to a clip from a dubstep song. He stared at it for a moment, rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a futile effort to get it to stop tasting like hot sugar—calling him and summoning him was honestly a little overkill, but that was Bee for you.
“Hello?”
“Oh my gosh, Lulu!” Bee’s vocal fry was only exaggerated by the phone call, and Lucifer grimaced as he imagined her excited expression. “Ozzie said he couldn’t reach you, so I wanted to call and check in. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but he says there’s something in it for you if you call him back voluntarily. And if you don’t, something-something, glitter bomb…lube fountain…in your bedroom. Anyway, what’s the tea, babe?” He could just see her twirling an imaginary phone cord as she talked.
“Uhhhh. This is…not a great time, actually. I will have to call you back, Bee. Or, uh, Ozzie will. I don’t know. I’ll call him, though. Thanks.”
“Anytime, Lulu! And I want the full story later! Come over, okay? Smooches!”
Lucifer hung up on her, feeling a bit shellshocked.
“I think I need to call Ozzie,” he heard himself say.
“Who?” Alastor’s ears had been swiveled toward him for the duration of the phone call while he focused on the duck, but now his gaze was locked on Lucifer too.
“Asmodeus.”
“What would the embodiment of Lust want—you know what, never mind, I’ve figured it out.” Alastor squeezed the duck so hard it squealed in distress.
“He probably heard.” Lucifer chewed the inside of his cheek, feeling bad for the poor duckie.
“Already?” Another squeal from Alastor’s small yellow victim.
Lucifer shrugged, dialing Ozzie’s number from memory. “Maybe Fizz told him. I don’t know. I think he likes your radio show though, if that helps. It would explain how he knew so fast.”
“I don’t know that it does help.” Alastor’s shoulders did relax a bit, though.
“That’s fair.” Lucifer lifted the phone to his ear as it rang.
“Heyyyy, Ozzie.” He felt his face contort itself into a smile—it seemed Alastor’s issues were contagious.
“Lu, my darling,” Ozzie purred. “It’s been too long. When were you going to tell me you were fucking the Radio Demon?”
“Blunt as usual, Oz,” Lucifer gritted out through his still-bared teeth. “As it happens, I’m not.”
“What was that whole thing on his show, then? I’d know your voice anywhere, honey.”
“We’re just together. Not, uh.” Lucifer glanced over at Alastor, suddenly very aware of his presence and pretty sure he could hear every word coming through the phone. Damn those big fluffy deer ears. “...Having sex.” He wasn’t even sure they were together, technically. What did the Devil call the dynamic between himself and a sinner whose bed he did nothing other than sleep in?
Ozzie gasped. “In a good way, right? Oh, you know I love a romantic partnership. Knowing you, though, I’m sure y’all have worked out some kind of arrangement?” His tone indicated raised eyebrows and a pointed look. “To make sure everyone’s needs are met?”
“I appreciate your concern, Oz.” Lucifer laughed awkwardly, his face surely flushed gold by now. “Yes, in a good way. Everything’s kinda, um, in progress. No arrangements yet. It doesn’t feel…necessary, so far.”
“You let me know if that changes, boo.” Lucifer could hear Ozzie’s smile through the phone. “I’m thrilled for you. Explore that ace spectrum! And if you decide to get all kinky regardless, I’m here to help.”
He blushed harder, if that was even possible, stealing another peek at Alastor. They still hadn’t had that talk yet. Alastor could definitely hear both sides of the conversation, considering the faintly bemused look on his face.
“Ahaha, yes, thank you so much, pal! I will keep you in the loop! Okay, bye now!”
He hung up without waiting for an answer, and hoped Alastor wouldn’t ask after anything Ozzie said.
“Ugh, I hate this,” Alastor said miserably, and Lucifer thanked his lucky stars. Alastor sighed and scrubbed his palms over his face, having finally released his rubber duck.
“I’m really sorry, Al,” Lucifer tried weakly, but Alastor waved the apology off, one ear twitching.
“No undoing what’s done. And no point wasting any of your admittedly infinite existence on apologizing for it. Frankly, your time would be better spent making more ducks.”
Lucifer wrapped his arms around himself. He resisted the urge to apologize again. Alastor wouldn’t leave him over this. He knew that. Probably. “Okay.”
The silence hung in the air like New Orleans humidity at the height of summer—choking and thick. Alastor’s static buzzed like a cloud of mosquitoes.
Finally, Alastor took a deep breath and stood up, shaking out his ears. “Well then. Bed?”
Lucifer blinked at him. “Do you still want to?”
Alastor rolled his eyes, ears flopping to one side as he cocked his head. “Well, I certainly can’t go outside right now.” His expression softened. “...I must admit I’ve grown rather accustomed to sleeping in a bed warmed by your body. Whatever would I do without my devilish hot water bottle?”
Lucifer blushed again. That should not have been endearing. Alastor had just called him a space heater, and he was flattered. He hoped God wasn’t laughing too hard at him.
“Come on, little king. Let’s go. I’m tired.” Alastor certainly sounded it. Lucifer felt it too, the depression creeping in at the fringes of his thoughts as he contemplated the next few days.
He followed Alastor out of the radio tower and into his bedroom-slash-bayou-slash-home office. Alastor turned away from him and shrugged his suspenders off so he could start unbuttoning his shirt, and Lucifer occupied himself by looking around. Some people might call it snooping, but some people were lame.
“Hey, cool crown.”
Alastor froze, then turned to look at him, shirt half undone.
“...I beg your pardon?”
Lucifer motioned to the leafy crown festooned with roach corpses—clearly the maid’s handiwork. “It’s neat. The threads holding the roaches on are nearly invisible. Quite the fine piece of taxidermy, and I should know.”
Alastor didn’t seem to know what to do with that. “You should?”
“Yeah, I got into it a couple centuries back. Never quite mastered it, but I got pretty good, I think. The bigger animals are much easier, which you wouldn’t think would be the case, but bugs are fiddly little fuckers.”
Alastor smirked at him, though his ears still showed some stress.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing, sire. It’s just that I’d find it much more impressive if the creatures didn’t stay dead.”
Lucifer stared at him, nonplussed. “You know I can’t hurt sinners. How would I taxidermy them?”
Alastor shrugged, static crackling smugly, if that was even possible. “I only mean to say that if the hide isn’t actively trying to knit itself back together, it’s not nearly as challenging. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh, stop bragging, you psycho,” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Although if you and Rosie ever try that experiment again, I wouldn’t be opposed to spectating.”
Alastor grimaced, both ears twitching wildly. Lucifer resisted the urge to reach up and smooth his hand over them. “I don’t know if Rosie and I will ever do anything like that again.”
“Aw, give it a few decades. Tr—er, believe me, it’s hard to hold a grudge that long, even if you are functionally immortal.”
“Have you ever met Rosie?”
“I don’t…think so? Maybe?”
“Well, let me assure you,” Alastor drawled, turning back around to finish unbuttoning his shirt, “both of us are far more stubborn and far less forgetful than you could ever possibly manage.”
Lucifer didn’t bother to hide the way he admired the taper of Alastor’s waist or the way his back muscles shifted as he lifted the bottom hem of his undershirt over his head. He would truly never get bored of looking at humans. They were all such little marvels.
This one especially, he thought to himself.
“You’re leering again, sire.” Alastor’s tone was light.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “You’re posing again, sinner.”
Alastor shifted his weight so he was standing in perfect contrapposto, looking for all the world like a spindly, rangy, scarred Greek bronze come to life. Galatea had nothing on him. Still facing away from Lucifer, he made a show of unclipping the suspenders hanging off his pants and wrapping them neatly around his hand. Lucifer watched his shoulder blades as he reached out to place the suspenders on his dresser.
A crackle of static, and Alastor’s shoulders tensed. “I’m not stripping for you,” he said, suddenly.
“You’re not,” Lucifer agreed easily. “You’re changing into your nightclothes.”
Alastor nodded once, stiffly. “Turn away.”
Lucifer did as he was asked, facing Alastor’s vanity and staring at the ashtray there. A couple packs’ worth of crumpled cigarette butts lay forlornly on top of a layer of ash, and Lucifer leaned in to look more closely.
“Your pain’s worse,” he noted, tone as neutral as he could get it. Alastor did not appreciate being worried over.
...No,” Alastor corrected, and Lucifer heard the scuffing sound of a hoof kicking over carpet. “My dreams are worse.”
“Ah.” Lucifer waved his hand over the ashtray to clear it. “Can I turn around?”
“I don’t know, can you?” Alastor sniped, and Lucifer snorted, spinning around to see Alastor in his flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt that said “Can-I-Ball? Yes, I Can!” over a picture of a basketball. Lucifer stifled a laugh.
“Where’s that from?” he asked, motioning at the shirt.
Twin red blotches graced Alastor’s cheeks and his ears dipped as he said, “The Cannibal Town community center. It’s a program for the children.”
“Aww, and do you go and mentor the youngins?” Lucifer joked.
To his surprise, Alastor’s ears pulled back further. “...No. They know I wouldn’t hurt them, but my reputation would be tarnished if I was seen participating in charitable work.” He shook his head, ears lifting a little bit. “No, I donate money to the center under Husker’s name, and he refused to accept the shirt.”
“I see.” Lucifer pulled a little gold case containing cubeb cigarettes from the ether. Alastor continued dredging up hidden depths, and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. “You want?”
He reached into the ether again and dug around for a second until he found a lighter Ozzie had picked up for him from an Earth gas station. It had an image of a tattooed, naked woman on the shrink film it was covered with, and Lucifer got a kick out of the annoyed scoff it pulled from Alastor every single time.
Alastor rolled his eyes when Lucifer held the case out to him. “My mother smoked those, Lucifer. I’m not asthmatic—I can handle the normal ones just fine.”
Lucifer huffed—God forbid he try to reduce Alastor’s nicotine intake. He’d even gone so far as to pick an alternative that was popular during Alastor’s time on Earth! His efforts were tragically underappreciated, of course. “Bold of you to assume I’m catering to your tastes, here. I happen to like these better than the normal ones. C’mon. I rolled ‘em myself.” He wiggled the case enticingly.
A sigh whistled its way through Alastor’s teeth. “If I must. But there is no world in which cubeb is better than good tobacco.” He plucked one from the case despite his protests, and Lucifer stuck his own between his lips before snapping the case shut and vanishing it again.
He leveled a mild glare at Alastor. “I didn’t have to share, you know. I’m more than happy to take it back if it’s not wanted.” When Alastor didn’t answer, he smirked and flicked the lighter, sparking a flame. “C’mere.”
They leaned in, foreheads touching as the flame licked the ends of their cigarettes. Lucifer inhaled deeply, then blew his smoke into Alastor’s face, slipping the lighter into his pants pocket. With a snap of his fingers, he was dressed in a pair of sleep shorts that said “Hell’s Hottest” on the ass and a babydoll T-shirt from Ozzie that said “Lust SUCKS” on the front. Never let it be said he wasn’t willing to be cringey on purpose to make Alastor more comfortable.
Alastor appraised him silently, then turned on his heel and headed into his bayou. Lucifer followed, figuring he’d get kicked out when Alastor decided he wanted to be alone.
They walked for several minutes before ending up at a pier that extended into the swampy pool that Lucifer just knew contained something nasty and bitey. Alastor let a bit of shadow pool at the end of the pier and sat down on it. Lucifer huffed a laugh—leave it to this guy to worry about getting a pair of pajama pants dirty. The pool of shadow extended, and Lucifer sat down on the new piece, close enough to Alastor to feel the warmth of his body, but not touching him.
“I know you said not to, but…I’m sorry.” Lucifer let his hooves dip into the tepid water. The algae felt silky around his ankles, and he swished his legs through the water.
Alastor scoffed and aimed his next puff of smoke at Lucifer’s face. “I did say not to.”
“But still.” Lucifer worried his lip again.
Alastor sighed, leaning back to look at Lucifer. “It was never going to be a secret forever.”
“We haven’t even told Charlie.”
A humorless laugh. “Well, she probably knows now.”
Lucifer felt the blood drain from his face as his cigarette fell from between his lips. It landed on his bare thigh and rolled harmlessly into the water. “Oh, fuck.” He twisted his hands in his hair as his breathing sped up. “I—I don’t even know what to do. Should I go talk to her? I should go. Oh, she’s gonna kill me. Fuck, this is not how this was supposed to go.”
A hand landed on his shoulder. “Hey. It’s not what you wanted. But it’s going this way.” Lucifer dragged his gaze over to Alastor’s face. Alastor had fixed him with a piercing stare, the closest to unsmiling Lucifer had ever seen him. “Stop panicking.”
Lucifer’s scalp ached where his hands tugged on his hair frantically. “Stop panicking? Stop panicking? I fucked everything up for both of us, you won’t even let me apologize for it, and you want me to stop panicking?” He knew his voice had taken on the thousand echoes that chorused with it when his eye colors inverted and a flame burned between his horns.
Alastor flinched. Lucifer stilled, untangling his fingers from his hair and taking a deep, deliberate breath. “Sorry,” he said on the exhale, down to maybe a hundred echoing voices. “Okay. Okayokayokay. Where is Charlie.” It wasn’t quite a question, because Lucifer was already closing his eyelids and opening his other eyes. It was a rare trick for him to use these days, but—desperate times.
“Got her. She’s in the staff kitchen.” Lucifer glanced at Alastor, then looked away as the sinner took a slow drag off his cigarette. “I don’t deserve to ask this, but…”
“Yes, sire, cease your self-flagellating.” Alastor’s voice was irritated, but fond. “I will accompany you to tell the princess about our arrangement.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Lucifer asked, then winced. This was not the time for the ‘what are we’ discussion. Right now, they needed to tell Charlie what was going on before one of the hotel’s residents got to her—or worse, she saw a clip on Sinstagram.
Alastor had the decency not to look too exasperated by his question—in fact, he seemed to think this was a perfectly appropriate time for the ‘what are we’ discussion. He ground the very end of his cigarette into the dock, then dropped it into the water to float next to Lucifer’s. “Is there another term you’d prefer? Bedfellows, perhaps? Close personal friends? An artist and his muse?” He sounded like he was barely restraining his amusement.
“There’s no need to tease,” Lucifer grumbled, and Alastor laughed (more exuberantly than was strictly necessary, in Lucifer’s humble opinion).
“Oh, but there is,” Alastor said, removing his monocle to wipe away a tear. “You’re so amusingly childish sometimes, my dear, considering your advanced age. It’s highly entertaining.”
“Hmph.” Lucifer crossed his arms, and he knew he wasn’t beating the child allegations. “Well, I don’t know. Is ‘lovers’ off the table?”
Alastor raised an eyebrow as his ears lowered. “Most definitely.”
Lucifer should’ve guessed. “Partners?”
“You’d have better luck hoping for it to snow down here,” Alastor snickered.
Lucifer reached for another term that felt even close to correct and came up empty. “...Friends with benefits?”
Alastor tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “It’s almost as if you’re trying to make me call the gators over and go for a dip.” His static hummed with glee.
Lucifer quickly pulled his hooves out of the water. Helligators matched his earlier prediction of nasty and bitey to a tee. They couldn’t do anything to him, but the feeling of being gnawed on by a feral creature was an experience he would prefer to get from the sinner sitting next to him. “Do you seriously want to go with bedfellows?”
Alastor grinned. Well, he grinned more. “How about just ‘in an arrangement’ for now, like I said? Better hurry, dear. Time is ticking.” He made his eyes turn to ticking dials and practically sang the last sentence, the dramatic bastard.
“Okay, whatever. Charlie’s gonna take it the wrong way, but whatever. Let’s go.” Lucifer got to his feet. He conjured a portal to the kitchen—deliberately sized for himself so Alastor would have to stoop—and waited for the sinner to precede him through it.
The power did go out for the rest of the city. Vox was furious, but even that didn’t give him the ability to break through the hotel’s wards to fuck with their generators. But, oh, how he fucking wished.
“Velvette!” he called, and then went silent, listening for footsteps.
When none approached, he increased his volume by a couple decibels and tried again. “Velvette!”
This time, he heard her shoes on the carpet. “What,” she said, venomous. “Val and I were watching the shark documentary you said you were too tired to join us for. And now you want attention? Make up your fuckin’ mind, Vee.”
Vox was so incensed he didn’t stop for even a nanosecond to consider the potential fallout of bringing up the smug red bastard he’d almost killed them all over. “But, Vel—”
“Vel, I’m so sorry, please forgive me for snapping at you when you very kindly offered to put on my favorite shark doc?” she finished for him, aspartame-sweet, and he scowled.
“Yeah, yeah, that. But Vel—”
“Vel, please carry me into the living room so I can cuddle with you and Valentino while we finish the shark doc?” She didn’t even look up from her phone.
“But, Al—”
“Think about whether you want to finish that sentence, Vee.” Her eyes glinted dangerously. “I’ve been working on my throwing arm, and I am not above smashing a TV through a wall.”
Valentino chimed in from the next room, because in compensation for his shitty eyesight, he got superhuman hearing. “Jesus fuck, Vox, how much percussive maintenance could you possibly need?”
Vox’s features shrunk to one corner of his screen. “But he—” he said, in a small voice.
Velvette launched her phone at him. It barely missed his head, hitting the couch screen-first with a thwack that seemed too loud for such a small object. Maybe she really had been working on her throwing arm.
“I caused a power outage over this,” Vox said, and if he was whining, that was no one’s business but his. “Can’t you at least let me tell you why?”
“We can see out the window—well, I can, anyway—and we have access to Tvitter. We fucking know why.” Velvette cocked a hip and rested her hand on it. “Anything else I can help you with, or would you like to continue your crashout in here by yourself?”
Vox’s features got even smaller, anger wavering in the face of her indifference. “I guess watching the shark documentary sounds good.”
Velvette picked up her phone and slid it into her pocket before lifting him into her arms with a huff. “That’s what I thought.”
Angel was out on a job when the power went down. He’d just collected his pay and stopped for a smoke break on the way back to his little room in the studio. It was so empty now that all his stuff was at the hotel, but he didn’t dare go back to get it. What if he saw something else that would help the Vees hurt his friends?
No, it was okay. He could make it be okay, for them. And he was maybe beginning to like minimalism.
Yeah. He exhaled forcefully, pushing a plume of smoke into the air ahead of him. The walk back was long, and only a couple of red-tinted emergency streetlights were illuminating the sidewalks, flickering weakly. He pulled out his phone and clicked it on, intending to turn on its flashlight. What he saw instead was a string of notifications that it took several seconds to scroll to the bottom of. Almost all of them were from Tvitter.
He tapped one at random and it opened up the app.
“What the fuck, Smiles,” he said aloud, because there was no way he was reading this right. Someone at VoxTek (name change pending) had to have made it up.
“King of Hell FUCKS Radio Demon,” read the headline of the post. “Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell, heard asking Radio Demon to ‘come to bed’ on the tail end of this evening’s broadcast.”
“Ain’t no way,” Angel muttered to himself. “Maybe if Nugs grew wings and flew.”
Then again, there was the power outage to consider. It would make sense if Vox heard Lucifer’s voice on Alastor’s show.
Angel shoved his phone into his pocket and turned on his heel. He had to get to the hotel. Just to see if anything was different from the outside. Maybe Alastor’s tower was apple-shaped now, or something.
Angel stretched to his full height as he stood in front of the hotel’s front door. It looked the same as it always had, the golden glow of its sign casting all the faces gathered below it in warm light. The door, as usual, was very firmly closed. Someone was rigging a line of explosives on the outside face of The Wall, and Angel winced as he watched them chase their duct tape as, strip by strip, it came unstuck from the bricks. It was so rough to watch newbies learn sometimes.
He tore his eyes away from the pitiful sight, instead focusing on the crowd. It seemed to be mostly reporters, which made sense, and indignant women from Cannibal Town, which also made sense. Alastor’s unwillingness to recognize that he was attractive didn’t make it untrue. Angel turned to the girl next to him.
“What’re you in for?” he asked jokingly, and she stamped her foot angrily.
“I refuse to believe Alastor would stoop so low!” she exclaimed. “The King of Hell is nothing but a useless figurehead! He would do so much better with someone respectable by his side!”
Angel raised his eyebrows. “And by respectable, I’m sure ya mean a cannibal.”
“Well…yes! He’s one of us, after all.” The girl fluffed her hair. “Even if he’s not interested in ladies, we’ve got plenty of lovely young men in our district. I’m sure he could find someone he was satisfied with.”
“Somethin’ tells me that’s not the case,” Angel said, but she was already going off in a huff, trying to get closer to the door. Angel had a distinct feeling that whoever Alastor ended up with, the most important quality for them to have would be durability—and the king was definitely the most durable creature around.
The bulbous, squishy-looking, toadlike reporter next to him started speaking to their camera. Angel sidestepped the blue ooze weeping from the glands all over their skin, but stayed close enough to hear what they were saying.
“Thanks Katie! This is Bleck, on location at the Hazbin Hotel for 666 News. Breaking tonight, we’ve heard that the King of Hell is getting down and dirty with Hell’s most feared Overlord. Many of Hell’s residents are devastated that an eligible bachelor and a possibly divorced king are off the market, and while the implications for the annual Hell’s Hottest poll are certainly significant, we are here to ask a much more pressing question: What does this mean for the Overlord Council?” The reporter paused to clear his throat, puffing out his skin and croaking loudly as it deflated. “How will this affect Hell’s legal system? After seven years without a queen, should we be expecting a new prince consort, and if so, can we expect our lawyer population to be well-fed under the rule of someone who clearly does not care about making new laws?”
Angel rolled his eyes and moved away as Bleck’s puddle of ooze got bigger. He’d had enough interactions with lawyers to last an eternity when he was alive—if Alastor really did become the prince consort (not that that was anywhere close to likely), Angel hoped he ate them all. Ugh, some of Bleck’s slime had stuck to his boot. Hopefully it wouldn’t stain.
The clamor grew louder as someone opened the door. Angel wrapped his arms around himself as Cherri stepped out, followed by Husk and Vaggi. His eyes burned as he watched them.
Cherri was being her usual charming self, lobbing hand grenades into the crowd. This being Hell, a handful of small explosions wasn’t enough to make it disperse. Vaggi was clearing the steps with military efficiency, forcing everyone back by waving her spear threateningly. Husk was behind her, throwing empty beer bottles with startling precision. When the guy in front of Angel got beaned and went down, Angel ducked so he wouldn’t be seen. The last thing he needed was his friends tempting him to come back and put them all in danger again.
He started on his way back toward the Entertainment District, half-running away from the hotel.
“Take this, fuckers!” he heard Cherri yell faintly, and he smiled through the mascara-tinted tears that were now falling freely.
It had been nice to see them again.
It was quiet in the kitchen. There was no indication of the commotion going on outside.
Charlie was sitting peacefully at the kitchen table, back to the portal, fiddling with some small pieces of paper. Lucifer announced his and Alastor’s arrival with a tentative, “...Charlie?” and she jumped, scattering brightly colored paper squares across the tablecloth.
“Oh, hi, Dad! And…Alastor! What are you guys doing…not fighting each other?” She looked immediately suspicious to see Alastor grinning away at Lucifer’s side, seemingly not up to any mischief. “Are you two…getting along? Like…for real?”
Lucifer rubbed the back of his neck, trying to smile. He was pretty sure he was ending up somewhere in the land of pained looks instead, but he didn’t bother to correct for it. “Uh. Yeeeeah. About that,” he started, then didn’t finish. He had no idea how to proceed. “Well, uh.” He gestured uselessly with his hands, searching for the right words. He could hear Alastor rolling his eyes.
“May we join you, my dear?” Alastor asked, gesturing to the empty chairs.
When Charlie nodded tentatively, her expression guarded, Lucifer breathed a sigh of relief. Yes. Sitting would help, he was sure.
Except now he was staring Charlie down, face-on, and she looked so much like her mother it hurt, his tongue going numb.
“Go on, sire,” Alastor prompted, filter more pronounced than usual. It was comforting that he was nervous too.
“Um.” Lucifer scrubbed his hands backwards through his hair, then brushed it back down. “So, there was a little mishap with Alastor’s broadcast.”
Charlie’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my gosh! Did Vox try and attack him again?”
Alastor’s static popped. “Need I remind you, dear, that even when Vox wasn’t just a disembodied television screen, the only time he ever posed a threat to me and mine was when I let him.”
Charlie nodded, unconvinced. Lucifer was gonna have to have a talk with him about who exactly “me and mine” encompassed, considering the whole ‘divine battery’ thing, but that was for Later Lucifer to handle. Current Lucifer had enough on his plate, thank you very much.
“No, Charlie, it’s not that. No external threats. No, uh, it was me.” He resisted the urge to stare at the table like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. This was Charlie, and as much as failing her felt like falling all over again, he was her dad and she would still love him at the end of the day. Hopefully.
“I don’t understand. I thought you guys were…tolerating each other,” Charlie said, starting to gather up her pieces of paper. Lucifer realized she’d been folding origami hearts, finally spotting the stack of them near Charlie’s elbow.
“Well, I suppose we have been, in a way. But, about just now, I interrupted his broadcast—” Lucifer started, but Alastor cut him off.
“Sire, if I may? It was an accidental interruption. I neglected to make sure my ‘On Air’ sign was illuminated outside my radio tower door. It was right around the time when I usually finish up my broadcast, so your father must have assumed I was off the air for the day.”
He clammed up and waved at Lucifer to continue. Lucifer, for his part, was taken aback. Alastor, providing context so he didn’t look like as much of a fool? He was tempted to check outside for snow. “...Well, in any case—Alastor was still broadcasting when I walked in, and I said something to him that the mic picked up, and now it’s been broadcast across all of Hell, and we just wanted you to hear it from us, first.”
Charlie was back to looking deeply suspicious. “What are you talking about? Did you spill a hotel secret or something?”
Lucifer took a big breath in. Released it. Was about to return to fumbling his way through this explanation, when—
“Your father and I have an…arrangement.” Alastor said. Wait—was he blushing? No. Not possible. The Radio Demon didn’t blush in front of anyone but Lucifer.
Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” One eye was flickering red.
Lucifer cut in. “Uh, sweetie, you seemed like you were glad we were getting along a minute ago.”
“Oh, I would still be glad if you weren’t about to tell me you’ve been hooking up with my hotel’s host! Behind my back! He’s not interested in that kind of stuff, Dad! Ask anyone!” She flung her arms wide for emphasis. “For a second I thought you guys were actually friends, but no! It seems you’ve just moved on from fighting to hate sex!” Both of Charlie’s eyes were red now, and smoke was pouring out of her mouth.
Lucifer winced. “Charlie, we’re not hooking up.”
“What, then? Did you two make some kind of deal? You can’t honestly tell me you’re that desperate for power, Dad! Or, I don’t know, affection, or whatever it is you’re looking for from him! And don’t even get me started on how you’ve betrayed Mom!” Charlie’s smoke turned to a full-on blaze, flames flickering at the corners of her mouth.
Lucifer shrank into himself. This wasn’t happening. He was dreaming, this was all a bad dream.
“Charlotte Morningstar.” Alastor’s voice was sharp and his ears were stiffly upright. “This is not behavior befitting the crown princess of Hell. Leave your mother out of this—she’s not here, and you have no say in their marriage. Additionally, that is a completely bad-faith interpretation of what we were both trying to tell you.” He took a breath, angry static fizzing in the air. “You needn’t worry about my virtue, nor my interest in romance. I resent the implication that this clown,” he gestured at Lucifer, “could force me to do anything at all. You should be grateful we came to you first, instead of letting you find out from your fucking Tvitter feed.”
Charlie froze. “How…who told you about Tvitter?”
Alastor groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Unlike your father, I’m old, not fossilized. Anyway, that misses the point by a country mile. Control yourself, dear. Over-emotional reactions like this are what got you in all that trouble with VoxTek. Use your head. Listen.”
“Hey—” Lucifer started, not even sure which part of that he was about to protest against.
“And you, sire,” Alastor said, rounding on him. “Stop mincing words. I said I would help you, not do this for you. Tell her, before I start getting irritable.”
Lucifer huffed. “I was trying.”
Alastor shot him a dirty look. “Do it or don’t. Trying is useless.”
“Okay, Yoda, fuck you. Charlie,” he softened his tone as he turned to his beloved daughter, who still looked equal parts angry and chastised. “Alastor and I do have a…relationship, of sorts. We’re…” he searched for a word, and felt a flicker of pride when he finally landed on something that seemed to fit. “We’re companions. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Alastor grunted next to him.
“Something you want to add, Al?” Lucifer glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
His static crackled loudly, and he seemed to steel himself, straightening his spine and deliberately relaxing his ears. He looked Charlie directly in the eyes, and she shrunk a bit under his gaze. “I am perfectly capable of handling myself, and I have killed demons for lesser offenses than assuming otherwise.” He shifted in his seat, ears dipping slightly. “...I’d like you to apologize to your father for implying that he would somehow ignore my boundaries.”
Lucifer turned to him, gobsmacked. He was sure his own shocked face was a mirror of Charlie’s. She quickly crumpled, her expression dissolving into tearful contrition.
“Oh gosh, Dad, I’m sorry. That’s not—I mean—oh, I’m so sorry!” She began to sob in earnest, and Lucifer sighed. He wasn’t going to say he forgave her just to make her stop crying—he did try to pay attention in his therapy sessions, and that was generally frowned upon. On the other hand, he was desperate for this conversation to end.
Alastor must have felt the same, because he shifted uncomfortably before dissolving into shadow. Lucifer didn’t even have time to feel betrayed before he returned with Vaggi in tow.
“Pendejo,” she swore, shaking Alastor’s hand off her arm and pointing the tip of her spear at him. “What do you want?”
Alastor motioned at Charlie’s weeping form, visibly irritated by the threat. “Handle that, if you please, my dear.”
Vaggi gasped and rushed to her side. “What did you two do?” she asked, leveling an accusatory glare at Lucifer. He opened his mouth to defend them, but Alastor beat him to the punch.
“For fuck’s sake,” he spat. “This has got to stop. Charlotte, your father and I will be keeping to ourselves until you and your girlfriend manage to find your manners. Don’t bother seeking either of us out for help before then.”
Alastor wrapped a hand around his arm, and it felt almost protective. Lucifer closed his eyes and let Alastor’s power rush over them both, allowing himself to be transported through the shadows to land on a soft surface.
“Well, that went over like a lead balloon,” Alastor said through a smile that looked about as solid as a cicada’s wing. He had landed a couple feet away from Lucifer, and he was pacing. “Was that girl raised in a barn?”
Lucifer grimaced up at him from the bed he was sitting on. He realized with a start that they were in his own bedroom when Alastor stepped on a duck and it wheezed a protest. “Yeah, she’s, uh. Definitely an only child.”
Alastor cut him a sly look as he flopped down to lie next to Lucifer. “I was an only child too.”
“I said what I said.” Lucifer smiled wryly at him, then sighed. “Ugh, I have no idea why she’s being like this. Ever since the whole…Vox incident, she’s been different. Sensitive. Easy to ruffle.”
Alastor raised his eyebrows, incredulous. “She wasn’t easy to ruffle before?”
Lucifer shook his head. “Lilith taught her how to be unflappable. She was getting Charlie ready to run this place. Not that I’ll ever die, or abdicate, but she saw the writing on the wall. I’ve never been what you’d call an active ruler.”
Alastor snorted. “Yes, I had noted that. It’s a bit hard to believe Lilith trained her at all, if I’m honest, sire.”
“Where did we go wrong?” Lucifer let himself fall back onto the mattress beside Alastor.
Alastor hummed. “She’s young, still.” His voice was uncharacteristically tender. “She’s learning. This hotel is perhaps the first instance in her life where things don’t easily go her way—where she has to force things to turn out the way she wants. As much practice as she’s had, it seems she’s not used to being in charge of anything yet. She’ll find her way.” He patted Lucifer’s thigh. “...Or she’ll crash and burn, in which case we’ll at least be entertained.”
Lucifer groaned, face still buried in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m getting parenting advice from a psychotic serial killer several thousand years my junior. And that’s not even to mention your obsession with seeing pure hopes get crushed.”
“Oh, you do know how to make a man feel appreciated,” Alastor purred. “...And cradle-robbed.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Lucifer laughed, finally letting his hands fall away. What he saw made his voice die in his throat. Alastor was looking at him like…he couldn’t even say. It was a completely foreign type of smile on the sinner’s face, one he had no idea how to parse.
“...You’re a bad parent,” Alastor finally said, breaking the silence.
“Gee, thanks,” Lucifer replied, deadpan.
“It’s not entirely your fault, though. Heaven sets unreachable standards that even they fail to meet. This place is designed to bring out the absolute worst in everyone, all the time. All any of us can do is keep trying.”
Lucifer didn’t know how to respond to that. He settled for a loud sigh. “Yeah, I guess.”
“It’s over now,” Alastor offered. “You’ve told her. Done your part. From here on out, this is my problem.”
Lucifer sat up. “You know what,” he said, Alastor’s low, seductive purr still ringing in his ears. “I think I have an idea of how I can help you deal with all the rest of it, too.”
He pulled his phone out and dialed Ozzie’s number.
“Come on down to bed, Al,” Lucifer purred into the mic, heroically keeping his giggles in check. This had been a genius idea, and nothing, including the pained slant to Alastor’s smile, would convince him otherwise.
Finding a recording studio had been a fucking nightmare, searching the Entertainment District for a place not controlled by the Vees. Lucifer spent a significant amount of time cursing his Father’s name over the fact that Alastor couldn’t leave Pride for one of the studios in Lust or Greed, though he knew it was more likely the fault of one of his siblings. Going straight to the original cause of the problem was the most efficient, though, and it was no less than He deserved. Luckily, Alastor still had some friends in the industry.
“Why, how sweet of you, your majesty,” Alastor ground out, ears pinned to his head. “Whatever could be the reason for your sudden interest in me?”
“I’m not sure,” Lucifer said, still proud of himself for keeping his tone under control. “You just smell so divine.”
“Love Smoke,” Alastor’s voice changed from a low growl to that of the chirpy narrator. “The new fragrance by Velvette. You’ll knock ‘em dead. The company formerly known as VoxTek paid handsomely for this ad spot, so I’d dearly appreciate it if absolutely nobody made it worth their while.”
He made a slicing motion with his hand, and the light indicating they were being recorded flicked off. Lucifer couldn’t help but chuckle at the affronted look on his face, even after their fourth run through the script.
“I will repeat myself: this is ridiculous, sire. Do you really think it’ll be convincing to pretend that was the beginning of an ad read?”
“We can always go back to Plan A and tell everyone you top.” Lucifer donned his most shit-eating grin.
Alastor groaned. “I’d rather die. Again.”
Ozzie waved excitedly at them from the other side of the glass. Lucifer sent him a thumbs-up and a crooked smile. “Looks like we’re all good…unless you wanna do one last take?”
“I’m sure this will suffice, if Asmodeus says it’s acceptable.” Alastor looked about three seconds away from smashing something, even though the only things around to smash were his beloved recording equipment and the little stools stacked in the corner of the room.
Lucifer let his voice take on a teasing lilt. “You sure, dear?”
Alastor stopped in his tracks, then turned a glare on him that could have melted solid marble. “I will never indulge your depressed, pale, spineless ass in anything, ever again.”
Lucifer only laughed. “Okay, buddy. I hear you. You’re tired. Let’s go home.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You’d prefer Bambi?” Lucifer said coyly.
Alastor snarled as they stepped out of the recording room, only for Ozzie to sweep Lucifer off his feet into a massive hug. “That was great, Lu! You’re a natural!” He set Lucifer down and turned to Alastor. “And of course, you were a consummate professional, as always. All that acting talent—and your voice! Smooth as butter! Are you sure I can’t get you into making audiobooks for distribution in Lust? I happen to know you already have a devoted audience.”
And there Alastor went, blushing again. Wonders would never cease. “That’s very kind of you, Asmodeus. Truly. I will…give the matter some thought.” His ears twitched at the flattery.
Ozzie chuckled. “I know a ‘no’ when I hear one, unlike certain moth demons.” Lucifer nodded sympathetically. He’d patiently listened to all of Ozzie’s grievances about working with the Vees after the initial agreement for the ad had been struck. “No worries, Alastor. You just tell Lu if you change your mind, and he’ll pass it along. It’s been an honor.” He stuck his hand out to shake, and Alastor took it.
“Thank you for your help,” Alastor said sincerely.
“Anytime, babes. I have to get back to Lust, and I’m sure you two lovebirds wanna get home.” Ozzie winked. “Go cuddle. I sent you a little goodie bag.”
Alastor’s static crackled, and Lucifer felt his face warming too. “Thanks, Oz.”
Ozzie wiggled his fingers at them. “Talk soon. I’ll have one of my people work up the audio and send it over. Tomorrow at the latest. Bye now.”
Lucifer opened a portal so the two of them could get home unaccosted. He almost missed walking places, except for the fact that he’d never liked it much in the first place. He missed having the ability to walk places, and the choice to portal instead. Instant transportation wasn’t fun when it was your only safe option.
Alastor looked at him with surprise when he stepped out into the hallway between their two wings. “What happened?”
“Oh!” Lucifer startled sheepishly. “I guess I didn’t know where you wanted to go. Or if you wanted to, uh, go to the same place I was going.”
Alastor’s look changed to one of exasperation, his static crackling. “If I hadn’t wanted to be where you took me, I would have simply transported myself away. You and your daughter are both absolutely insufferable when it comes to remembering that I can do things for myself.”
“I didn’t want to imply—” Lucifer gasped when Alastor put his hands on his shoulders and shoved. Lucifer’s back hit the wall and Alastor caged him in with his arms.
“Can you leave?” Alastor asked him.
Lucifer looked up at the sinner, then nodded, not trusting his voice.
“Do you want to?”
He looked mildly amused when Lucifer shook his head.
Alastor smiled down at him, clearly unaware of the thoughts currently swirling in the cesspool that was Lucifer’s brain. In fact, he seemed totally unaffected by the whole situation.
“So then?” he said fondly. Really, it was easier to read Alastor than people thought. Most of it was in the ears, which were at this exact moment twitching inquisitively.
“I get it,” Lucifer said. “I just…I don’t want to let myself forget that I’m more powerful than you, only to—”
Alastor sneered. “Bold words, little king.”
Lucifer stared up at him, all dirty thoughts gone from his mind. This man in front of him was clinically insane. He was sporting levels of hubris that would have broken world records, if people bothered to measure such a thing.
“Are you actually saying to me that I’m not more powerful than you?”
Alastor shivered, static briefly silent, and Lucifer only caught it because they were so close together. “Yes.” He said it like a challenge. His eyes were shining with something Lucifer didn’t dare to put a name to. “What are you going to do about it?”
Lucifer grinned. He shifted against the wall, then let his wings unfurl and slam him forward into Alastor’s chest, knocking the sinner over. He giggled madly, dodging shadow tentacles as Alastor picked himself up off the floor to chase after him.
Epilogue
The ad had gone over well. In the end, Alastor had twisted everything to his advantage, all with that infuriatingly smug expression on his face.
(Lucifer knew better. Lucifer had held him while he’d caught his breath after running the ad the first time, and smoothed his ears back as they trembled.)
Charlie had eventually come to them to talk things out, and Alastor once again did the majority of the talking. Lucifer mostly looked on impassively, and Charlie had bravely taken it on the chin.
(Alastor had held him afterwards as he sobbed, trying to convince himself she wouldn’t kick him out again.)
Ozzie’s goodie bag had contained, to Alastor’s surprise and Lucifer’s satisfaction, a deeply tasteful set of cufflinks for Alastor and a matching necklace for Lucifer.
(Lucifer had texted Ozzie later, asking if he’d meant the necklace to look quite so much like a collar. Ozzie had simply sent an emoji with a suggestive smirk on its face.)
It took a few weeks, but the story eventually, inevitably died, though Lucifer knew there would always be the occasional item on page 6 of the tabloids. He figured Alastor would wait for the moment it would cause the most chaos, then release definitive proof of their relationship. He was happy to wait until that day, until Alastor was ready to share on his own terms.
In the meantime, companionship was…nice. Lovely, in fact.
He was contemplating all this as he stared at the messy head of red hair nestled in the pillow next to his. Alastor’s hair always got curly overnight. Lucifer thought of an artist he’d met when he was visiting Earth more often—Henri something. He’d painted a lot of prostitutes. Lucifer’s favorite of his had been one called The Bed, with two women lying together, just waking up or just falling asleep, surrounded by fluffy, cozy bedding and bathed in golden sunlight.
He felt like that now, still embraced by the warm arms of sleep, and cozy in bed next to his companion. Alastor looked so different when he wasn’t holding himself up in his rigid posture and micromanaging every expression that crossed the top half of his face. His ambient static was muted, sounding like the dead air on a record before the music started.
His smile was small, now, and soft. It matched the one Lucifer was wearing.
Alastor shifted as he woke up, eyes blinking open, pupils huge.
“Morning, lover.” Lucifer wiggled his eyebrows. A pillow hit him in the face with no warning. Alastor hadn’t even put in the effort to snap his fingers to summon it—just conjured it with a thought and sent it flying Lucifer’s way. The sinner flipped over so his back was to Lucifer and pulled the covers more tightly around his shoulders, his static sounding more like a swarm of provoked bees.
“Oh, so that’s how it is.” Lucifer crawled on top of the lump that Alastor’s curled form made under the comforter and settled himself there. “Did we wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Bambi?”
Alastor grumbled something that was made mostly of consonants at him.
“What was that?”
“I said, if you fuck off and get us some coffee, I might forgive you for that.”
Lucifer laughed as Alastor rolled over, tipping off the bed. “Coming right up. Two coffees with cream and sugar.” He yelped as a shadow tentacle swatted him on the back of the head. “Fine, cream and sugar in one and blood in the other, how’s that?”
“Did you wake up like this today, or have you always been this much of an idiot and I just overlooked it because you’re so short? You know blood and coffee don’t go together.” Alastor sat up in bed, giving up the ghost on staying in the warm sleepy headspace.
Lucifer grinned, unrepentant, and went to get their coffees (one with enough cream and sugar to make a dietitian faint, one black—with a dash of cinnamon since Alastor was feeling spicy). He hummed as he opened a portal to the kitchen.
Yes, companionship was absolutely lovely.
