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“You left a mark,” Alastor complains.
Lucifer, trying to bask in the last shreds of afterglow, sits up and settles for the tried and true response consisting of a “What?”
Alastor is in front of the bedroom mirror, and twists his neck around to point at…a hickey.
Lucifer blinks. “So? You never had a problem with that before. And that’s not even the only one.” His eyes scan Alastor’s naked body. Fuck, maybe he should have marked him more—
“The problem,” Alastor says, in that tone that means Lucifer is in danger. “Is that my usual clothing hides these. However, we are about to get ready to convene with your daughter and other hotel guests for her rid—”
“Hey!”
“For her Valentine’s Day gathering. For which I most kindly agreed to change my attire for. And as you know, since you made it, said attire doesn’t cover my neck.” He pauses and adds, as if Lucifer is too slow to figure it out still, “And appearing with such a mark would no doubt have them asking questions, which you have made clear you have no interest in answering.”
Ah, that. Alastor rarely brings up that their…relationship…is a secret. It’s not like he’s ashamed of landing Alastor—quite the opposite, in fact. But he wants to enjoy this without dealing with public shit, or how Charlie will react to the fact Lucifer is not getting back with her mother, even if she suddenly waltzes in, carrying cake and apologizing.
(And he’d said as much to Alastor, which is likely why Alastor has, for once in his life and death, been magnanimous and respected the secrecy).
Still, all the reasons in Hell don’t make Lucifer feel less guilty about hiding and dragging Alastor down with him. Especially on Valentines.
Besides, all his reasons had been created when they’d started this. When Lucifer wasn’t even sure if there would even be a ‘this’ the next day.
“Maybe…it wouldn’t be so bad if they asked,” he says carefully.
Alastor stares at him, then his eyes soften. He crosses back to where Lucifer is and gives him a quick peck on the lips.
“I wouldn’t mind, no,” Alastor says softly. “However, it would be rude to steal the spotlight from dear Charlie, more so surprise even her. So let us leave that for another time. I do so hate sharing the spotlight.”
Alastor can call it whatever; Lucifer can still see the concession for what it is, and his eyes mist over.
“Alastor—”
Pretending not to notice, Alastor swirls around and makes a show of looking busy.
“With that in mind,” he says, “we still have your handiwork to hide. Ah, how about this?”
He picks something up from the haphazard pile that is Lucifer’s own outfit; a thick piece of white satin.
Whatever the use that Lucifer had been planning for it, it doesn’t matter, because Alastor takes it and ties it tightly around his own neck to hide the bruise and—fuck, something about the impromptu chocker is doing things to Lucifer.
“You look good in that,” he says a little too hoarsely.
Alastor snorts. “I look good in anything.”
Well shit, Lucifer certainly can’t refute that. But he can instead push his luck.
“Huh, actually, your all black getup is going to look off with that white thing,” he says carefully.
“Make it black.”
“I could do that. Or we could…exchange jackets? My white for your black?”
Alastor eyes him like he can see right through Lucifer.
“Is there nothing of mine you won’t try to possess?”
“It’s an exchange!”
Alastor shakes his head, but is already taking off his jacket.
With a snap of his fingers, Lucifer has it all on. Just in case Alastor changes his mind.
Brilliant thinking, go me. But… “I hope this isn’t too obvious
Alastor lets out a derisive noise. “I doubt they’ll notice.”
“Yeah, they probably won’t.”
*
Everyone noticed. No one said anything. They already knew.