Chapter Text
The weapon of the king of hell. His personal blade. Forevermore where Lucifer is, Alastor will be there.
When Lucifer wants him, Alastor will be there.
When Lucifer wants a sinner to pay, Alastor will be there.
When Lucifer thinks someone is out of line, or even if he just doesn’t like them, Alastor will be there.
When Lucifer is alone, Alastor will be there.
. . .
When Lucifer needs him, Alastor will be there.
When Lucifer needs him, Alastor will be there.
Lucifer is looking at him now. Watching him, eyes guilty and oh so serious, “this deal. Is it really worth it?”
“Of course.” Alastor doesn’t think about the words, or the way Lucifers eyes widen at whatever implications he thinks they hold.
Surprise spreads across Lucifer’s features, pushing out everything else, and he’s getting up to approach Alastor. His gait is steady and he’s covered in a garishly pink and oversized sweater – when he’s put that on is beyond Alastor – looking tinier than he ever has before within the backdrop of his wings.
Determined, he stops just short of running into Alastor’s chest.
“What exactly do you want from me? I won’t be a power source for some petty revenge plot or hostile takeover. . . again.” A soft golden hue colours Lucifer’s cheekbones and Alastor a fast breath with words.
“To be your blade.” Pausing only long enough to take another, steadier (almost) breath, Alastor clenches his fists against the absurd urge to touch. To possess. “I want to be the one being you trust to ask for retribution.”
“You want power.” And that about sums it up into three simple words.
“I always want power, never assume otherwise, your majesty.”
Stil Lucifer looks baffled, “so you came to me? You do know that there are hundreds of demons and the like down here that have a shit-ton of power and give it away for the shittiest reasons, right. Something more reasonable.” Hands thrown into the air as if it makes his point Lucifer continues, “I don’t need a blade; an executioner. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and my family.”
With great delight Alastor leans down – highlighting their vast difference in height with purposeful glee – and flicks Lucifer on the forehead.
If the angel had been baffled before he looks downright bewildered now, one hand coming up to cover the offending spot. Eyes wide, Lucifer looks to be trying to find the words.
Mouth opening and closing without any indication of finding a response any time soon, Alastor smiles wider and continues making his point, “we both know your words are empty. Sinners you may rule, but it’s with a handicap you cannot escape. . . without me.”
Finally stepping away from Alastor, Lucifer doesn’t answer, looking intently at the wall behind him. He’s thinking.
Considering.
Comfortable with silence, especially since it seems to be in his favour, Alastor takes to observing the room around them. For having moved out only days ago, the rooms looks rather lived in still – for their odd, duck obsessed king, of course – piles and piles of ducks in nearly every corner. On the far wall is a picture board filled with a collage of little Charlie’s – literally baby pictures – and of the other sins.
Then there’s the bed, duck shaped and littered with other duck-like paraphernalia. Nothing else, really.
On second thought, maybe not so lived in.
“I. . . just-” mumbling to himself and looking a little bit lost, Lucifer backs up some more and Alastor has to stop himself from following and trying to regain some of the closeness, “making a deal with the king of hell, really?”
Not rolling his eyes (it’s a close thing), Alastor answers again, “yes.”
Looking at him, Lucifer tries again, “Alastor, you don’t even like to be touched. A kiss. . . you do know that kissing includes touching. Right?”
That is. . . a thought.
A thought Alastor has been keeping to the back of his mind for sure. It has its. . . implications and feelings involved.
He’s- he’s working it out.
“I do.”
Back to being unable to respond, Lucifer looks about as surprised as he can be. . . which is, again, weird, because they’ve both been aware of the extra requirement if this deal for a while now. Lucifer for much longer than he.
The kiss is. . . it is what is it is.
Honestly, Alastor’s thoughts on the matter of kissing – in general – fell strictly under the ‘avoid touching’ rule for as long as he can remember.
Kissing Lucifer. . . is a thought.
For the umpteenth time Lucifer looks at him with meaning and speaks words Alastor is beginning to lose patience with, in any variation, “are you sure?”
Well, no, not really.
Thirst for power? Yes.
Getting that power and more from Lucifer? Yes.
Being asked to kill sinners? Yes.
Kissing Lucifer? Somehow, yes. But also, being ok with this ‘yes?’ No, not really.
The answer he gives though is, “yes.”
Lucifer scoffs. “Alastor. What are you even getting out of this?”
Leaning down, this time not lording but also not thinking about that, Alastor chuckles, “oh, so much, my liege.”
The name dropping is noticed but goes un-mocked – for now.
With an eyebrow raised Lucifer starts counting off fingers, “you want to be my executioner.” One finger.
“Yes.”
“You want to kill sinners for me – anyone I want, but only those I want – to get me out of my punishment.”
In so many words, Alastor supposes, “mhmm.”
There’s a short pause, “you want my trust,” and there’s a lot of distrust in that tone as he folds down another finger.
Smiling so wide his eyes crinkle, Alastor resist another absurd urge, this time to ruffle Lucifer’s hair, “in due time, yes.”
“And that’s all?”
“That is all.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Clearly not convinced, Lucifer looks him over, “I don’t see how any part of that benefits you.”
“We’ll take care of each other. . .” that wasn’t part of the plan.
What Alastor had meant to say was: ‘I’ll get unimaginable power. Power that a sinner could never hope to obtain.’ But the words had just spilled out of him and there’s no way to take them back now.
Seemingly too shocked to notice Alastor’s jaw dropping and mini panic, Lucifer processes the newest condition, “take. . . care of each other?”
Thinking quickly, rapidly sorting through any scenario that can save him now, trying to find a reason for the slip of his tongue, Alastor finds it. A satisfactory bluff, “yes. Take care of each other.” Saying it for the second time doesn’t make his heart skip any less but he powers through, determined not to show anything other than composure, “I will be your blade, sire. With some of your power I can be what you can’t. To do this, I need you to be in tip top shape.”
Hence, taking care of each other.
Genius, really.
Silence rules them again and Alastor finds himself studying the soft curves of Lucifer’s wings. There are very few things in hell that can truly be called ‘beautiful.’ Even less now that Alastor has seen and felt true beauty in the soft feathers and how they razor sharp edges slide against his fingers.
Since cleaning the wounds and preening his wings, Lucifer has been looking and moving significantly better.
Echoes of warmth their make Alastor’s fingers tingle as he continues to wait for the king’s final decision.
Evidently getting lost in his perusal Alastor has to hide his twitch when Lucifer’s voice fills the room, “ok.”
Facing him again Lucifer pulls himself up to his full height and Alastor does the same, “ok.”
The telltale feeling of magic pulls at the edge of Alastor’s conscious as Lucifer begin listing the stipulations of their deal again, voicing the intricacies, the exchange, and the binds, “you will be my blade; my executioner.
“You will be at my beck and call for when I require your services. In return I will lend you my power and you will be permitted to use this how you see fit so long as your use does not harm myself, my daughter and her dreams, or any being my daughter considers her friend.”
The list is comprehensive but Alastor also recognizes the simplicity and solidity. There are no points in this list the angel would be willing to compromise on, and Alastor is willing to navigate these restrictions if it means power.
And protection.
“It’s a deal, your majesty.”
Neither of them move, the words ringing and then going quiet in the air, their eyes locked in some sort of staring contest and fighting for some kind of dominance.
For some reason, this is thrilling to Alastor who only becomes more and more determined to win. . . whatever this is. To keep this feeling going as long as possible; this delicious, addicting tension permeating the air.
It’s Lucifer who speaks up first, “the deal is not set, my blade, until it is sealed.”
Ah. Right. . . yes. That part.
Still, neither of them move, Lucifer’s eyes searching Alastor’s, “seal the deal Alastor.”
Time seems to halt at Lucifer’s words and Alastor is finally forced to come to terms with the inevitable realization that he’s about to kiss someone. Kiss Lucifer; a man he’s been coming to some rather unfortunate realizations about these past few hours. Months even.
Leaning down takes forever, both too fast and too slow, until they’re face to face again and Alastor has a brief moment to mourn the loss of the breathing room provided by their differing heights. And then he’s there, and Lucifer is mere inches away and their eyes are still locked and Lucifer isn’t helping things along at all.
Standing there, waiting for Alastor to make his final decision, no smile or frown, just looking on.
It’s infuriating.
Swallowing once more Alastor closes the space, their lips brushing softly against each other, and then a little bit harder, warm but not too much so. Soft. Tingly.
Good? Undecided.
Then they’ve parted again and Alastor is opening his eyes to see the residual crackle of green static draining from the room. Lucifer’s eyes are red again but it fades quickly, along with his wings, tail, and horns, and they’re standing there staring at each other again.
Banging can be heard at the door, evidence that their powers surging in the midst of making the deal hadn’t gone unnoticed by the other patrons of their fine hotel.
Moments later Charlie is shouldering her way through the door with wide eyes and million words on her lips. Only when her hand hits his shoulder does Lucifer look away and Alastor feels a little bit cold about it.
In the doorway are several sets of eyes staring at him, wide with surprise, but he says nothing as he fades himself into the shadows of the rooms, slinking to his own room to take stock of his injuries in peace.
An unseen benefit to having tied himself to the angel, dredges of Lucifer’s power coursing through him simply from their deal-making, Alastor can feel where Lucifer is.
If he focuses, Alastor can even pick out the mood of their king, can feel the delight coursing through him as he speaks with his daughter. And, the mild embarrassment that she knows he’s struck a deal with Alastor.
The specifics of said deal will stay between them, however. This Alastor know for a fact.
Being able to now feel where the king is is what tells Alastor that he’s coming over here now, apparently having corralled little Charlie and her friends off to their respective spaces.
He feels the angel walk until he’s right outside the door, pause for a moment, and then pop into existence right beside where Alastor has situated himself on the couch, dressed and poised once again.
“Your majesty.”
Getting right down to business Lucifer approaches until they’re only a foot apart, “let me see it.”
Tensing Alastor tries to gauge what is happening. He isn’t aware of anything they left unsaid or unseen in their deal, so this demand has to mean something else, something Alastor really doesn’t want to show.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Apparently unfazed by Alastor’s clear deflection Lucifer barrels on. “Your chest. You’re hurt. I want to see it.”
Notably, he doesn’t move, just continues to look at Alastor with weirdly intense focus.
Clenching his teeth Alastor tries to find an excuse. Anything to divert the king’s attention. He comes up with nothing.
“There’s no need.”
“Uh-uh. Don’t give me that, Bambi. You’re the one who said we’d take care of each other. How can I stand to hold up my end of the deal if I leave you like this?” curiously Lucifer glances down at Alastor’s arm as he continues to ramble. “The wound is from your fight with Adam, isn’t it? Clearly it’s not healing on its own. Let me help.”
Clever; turning his own words around on him. . . Alastor has no comeback, follow up, or reason to say no. The words are his own after all, completely infallible.
Rolling his eyes Lucifer takes a theatrical step forward.
“Fine. If you won’t let me see, I’m just going to have to guess and that means touching – a whole lot of touching – and feeling you up until I can find it and-” Lucifer’s smirk is positively shit eating.
With a growl Alastor cuts the angels rant off and lifts a hand to undo his tie and first button, “you are infuriating.”
Lucifer’s smirk only widens in answer and Alastor fights the surge of static, “I know. I try.”
Asshole.
Still, Alastor undoes the three topmost buttons, revealing the jagged and unhealing slash on his chest stitched together with his own powers. The perpetual ache of the gash is nothing in the face of the instinctual shame that comes with revealing his weakness to the king.
It is only fair – even if fair isn’t the way hell works – that he place a modicum of trust in Lucifer, just as he is asking the angel to place in him. Coherent thought doesn’t have much say over base instinct, however.
Zeroing in immediately Lucifer takes another step forward, enough that Alastor can feel the telltale heat of his body against his front, studying the ripped skin.
“Shit. I know Charlie said you’d taken a hit from Adam but I never realized. . . how are you even standing right now?” his fingers twitch from where they stay stiff at his sides, like Lucifer had thought to bring them up, to touch, but then thought better of it.
Alastor refuses to feel any warmth in this discovery.
“Spite.”
Barking a laugh Lucifer finally looks away from Alastor’s chest and he can finally breathe again, “no shit, Bambi!” his eyes turn suddenly serious again, “I’m going to need to touch you to heal this much damage, Alastor.”
The concern is. . . appreciated, Alastor supposes, though they are long past fussing over a simple touch, “ok.”
Softness isn’t something Alastor is familiar with, so the tentative touch is almost more disconcerting than if Lucifer were to have gone for a harsh blow.
Alastor keeps his breathing precisely even, clenching his teeth to prevent any stray reactions.
For a time that’s all Lucifer does; move his fingers around the torn flesh, pushing softly, and Alastor can hardly take it. When Lucifer drags a fingernail over the magical threading he mumbles something to himself, “green, huh?”
“Your majesty?”
He needs Lucifer to do something. Heal him. Hurt him. Leave him.
Something other than the soft touches and guilt ridden eyes, like he actually does regret not noticing Alastor had been hurt, even if Alastor had hidden that fact quite well.
It doesn’t make any sense.
Finally Lucifer pulls back a bit, his fingers easing away from the sore skin. “There’s a lot of damage here.”
No shit.
“It looks like Adam’s angelic essence has been corroding your body since he hit you. I need to extract that first.” Those eyes are on him again, serious as they are guilty. “It won’t be pleasant.”
“Is it ever?”
Another laugh, “nope!”
A warmth slowly begins washing over Alastor, one that can’t be mistaken for anything other than angelic magic, and he breathes through the mildly nauseating process of draining Adam’s grace from his wound.
The nausea graduates to pain and then to tingling as he watches golden light bloom from the point of Lucifer’s palm on his chest. Without his consent he can feel his magic dissolve as his flesh knits itself together until it’s pink and unmarred again.
Alastor can feel the movement of Lucifer’s warmth through him, the way it follows his fingers; so softly that it’s edging on way too much. He just hopes Lucifer doesn’t notice the way his hearts kicks up with each twitch of those fingers on his skin as they move to push magic into different areas.
Aside from his chest the nicks and bruises on his arms start to knit together. The moment he feels that warmth spread and cascade over the entire surface area of his skin Alastor tries to step away.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Another chuckle is all that greets Alastor’s outburst and Alastor attributes the heating of his cheeks to the surge in Lucifer’s magic coursing through him, “what, Bambi? I’m just making sure you’re in ‘tip top’ shape.”
Growling Alastor tries to step away again – to get away from the infuriating beast who keeps turning his words against him – but Lucifer holds him fast. Faster than Alastor can track and dart away from, fingers slip behind the spread lapels of his collar and squeeze.
Alastor freezes.
Not seeming to notice, Lucifer continues to trail his free hand around Alastor’s chest and arm, healing as he goes. It’s not that touch that’s holding Alastor’s attention, though, it’s the fingers holding him steady and creasing his shirt’s collar.
Most importantly is the fact that those fingers keep brushing up against the skin of his neck every time Lucifer leans forward to reach a new spot.
Alastor doesn’t think he can breathe.
Is that static?
Is it just him hearing it?
It must be since Lucifer just keeps going about is task, searching Alastor for cuts and sore spots.
Everything is warm.
When Lucifer finally leans away, both hands dropping, Alastor can finally breathe and think again, “why heal wounds that aren’t troubling me? They would have healed in time. No need to strain yourself.”
“Strain?” Lucifer chuckles, “oh, this?” there’s a shuffle of clothing and when he looks curiously Alastor is suddenly looking at Lucifer’s bare chest again. “I’ve already healed right up again! See?”
And he’s right. You can hardly see where Vox’s cables had latched on, leaving behind an expanse of clear, unblemished skin behind.
Where there had been terrible damage only a few hours ago, Alastor having to not only clean but bandage countless wounds, there is nothing left behind save for the occasional peek of raised – still healing – skin to show for all his work. . . and his worry.
Turning away so that he can redo the buttons of his own shirt Alastor buys some time, deciding whether the question will be worth it or not.
“How did you know I was hurt? Earlier.” Not turning around he speaks to the opposite wall, tracking the sound of fabric behind him as Lucifer, presumably, puts his own shirt back on, “I’d cleaned up and masked the scent of blood by the time I went to inquire about your open door. So. . . how did you know?”
For a time there’s nothing from behind him, not even the sounds of clothing, until Alastor turns around and catches the amusement on the king’s face. He’s laughing at Alastor.
Huffing Alastor moves to leave.
He’d known the question was risky but his curiosity had won out.
No matter. If the king was going to invite himself in then Alastor could just be the one to leave.
Halfway to the door Lucifer collects himself, “wait, wait! I’ll tell you, I promise!”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“If it didn’t matter to you, you wouldn’t have asked, Bambi.” Lucifer is still smiling but its softer now, one he uses often when looking at Charlie. Alastor doesn’t really know what to do with this observation, “I know a lot of things that sinners don’t. Thing like the telltale smell of blood, even when it’s smothered. . . and I saw how your arm was shredded back at the party.”
“You saw. . .?”
Alastor can swear there’s the slightest golden hue on Lucifer’s cheeks, “I notice a lot of things.”
As a certified watcher – always looking out for opportunities and small details to file away for future use and the occasional blackmail – it’s not often Alastor is the one being watched. The watcher being Lucifer. . . shouldn’t matter, even though it somehow does.
Unable to find the words Alastor just stares and Lucifer stares back. There’s that tension back in the room, the same strain that had been there just before they’d sealed their deal, and Alastor finds it just as addicting now as he had before.
But, this time there’s no reason for it.
No deal. No power exchange. No explanation for this expanded moment of. . . whatever this is. And Lucifer isn’t pulling away either.
There’s no time for anything to develop – not that Alastor wants a development – because the door slams open to reveal Charlie with another ‘emergency.’
The laundry has been delivered. . . unfolded.
They depart immediately, neither bringing up what had been happening – or about to happen – as they follow little Charlie down to the lobby.
There’s already a small gathering happening as the hotels most notable guests gather to help Charlie with her most recent dilemma.
With only a glance between them Lucifer and Alastor join as well.
It’s all in a days work as the hotel’s host.