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Angel was right. Alastor had it bad.
Everything had been fine. Fine, damn it. The Radio Demon had always been cool, calm, and collected. Poised and elegant. Witty and charming, yet aloof. He’d been in perfect control of his emotions, the very model of a gentleman.
He’d been superficially friendly with most of the Hazbin staff, all the while studying them closely to determine how each one could serve his ulterior motive. He’d had no need or desire for relationships other than his platonic friendship with Rosie. As for engaging in anything more intimate than friendship, perish the thought.
The appeal of such ridiculous and messy matters as love and romance had always eluded him in both life and afterlife, and he had never felt even the slightest stirrings of sexual interest in anyone. Other demons had tried to seduce him, of course, but had been rebuffed, rejected, and, in one memorable case, ripped apart on his 6 PM show to general acclaim. Life had been straightforward and sensible, at least by Hell’s standards.
Then Lucifer barged into his life, a fluffy little five-foot-two ball of sunshine and goodwill who also happened to be the most powerful entity in Hell. He was an eldritch horror wrapped in an adorable package, a terrifying being as capable of casually tearing someone limb from limb with a mere flick of one elegant finger as he was of creating cute little rubber duckies.
Alastor was hopelessly in love.
He’d tried desperately to fight it, of course. After all, the Radio Demon was a ruthless Overlord in the top echelon of the Pride Ring, not some giddy adolescent ruled by raging hormones. To his chagrin, however, he had fallen under Lucifer’s spell, all his efforts to remain hostile, or at least neutral, be damned.
He craved Lucifer’s attention like a drug. He’d find himself following the little angel all over the hotel, just to be near him. If Lucifer wasn’t close by, Alastor felt inexplicably bereft, and would search for him, grateful for once for his enhanced senses. He knew he was acting absurdly, and was convinced that the others were laughing their fool heads off at him behind his back, yet he couldn’t help himself.
I’m not even in rut…
Lucifer certainly wasn’t helping matters, either. If Alastor offhandedly mentioned something he missed that was unavailable in Hell, within a day or two the angel would present him with whatever he’d wanted. His tailor bills were all paid and unlimited lines of credit set up at the most exclusive shops around. He had full use of one of the royal limos, complete with a properly snooty imp chauffeur. He’d even been taken on luxury trips to other rings, a privilege few if any other sinners had ever been granted. Angel had started calling him Sugar Daddy Diablo’s kept man, and he couldn’t be bothered to do more than grumble about it. The bastard is probably right.
The angel had also taken to touching Alastor at every opportunity, brushing against him if they passed one another in a corridor, insisting on sitting close to him on the sofa, or patting his hand or arm while telling him a story. On one particularly embarrassing occasion, when they’d both been drinking after yet another skirmish with goons sent by some third-rate Overlord or other, Lucifer clambered up onto Alastor’s lap, and, drunkenly giggling, slurred, “You’re a pretty deer, and I wanna pet your ears.” In a warm, fuzzy alcoholic haze, Alastor agreed that that was an excellent idea, and obligingly lowered his head. As he gently fondled the demon’s ears, Lucifer leaned in conspiratorially and, in a far-too-loud whisper that everyone at the bar heard clearly, purred, “You’re a deer. Deer like to eat apples, right? I’m an apple. Maybe you could eat me.” On hearing the story from Cherri and Angel the next day, Alastor was overwhelmingly grateful that his ability to distort camera images was unimpaired by inebriation.
Lucifer outdid himself a few weeks later when he proudly gave Alastor nine live alligators for his pocket-dimension miniature bayou in his quarters. It was a bit of a pain to round them up and try to prevent them from biting the guests after Alastor pried open the shipping crate in the main lobby, but the demon was too delighted to care. Lucifer enthusiastically helped him with the gator wrangling, laughing the entire time and suggesting a monthly wild animal roundup as a bonding exercise.
After they’d hauled the gators into the bayou and shoved the last one into the water, they sat down on a log for a rest, Lucifer leaning against Alastor’s shoulder, and watched the new residents explore their surroundings. Alastor thought that he could gladly spend the rest of his afterlife just sitting there with the warm weight of the angel pressed against him. After a few minutes, Lucifer looked up at him, gracing him with a smile as bright as the morning star after which he was called. His hair and wings were disheveled, his face flushed gold from exertion, and he was spattered with mud and swamp water.
Alastor had never seen anything so exquisitely beautiful.
Slipping an arm around Alastor’s waist, Lucifer said, “I take it this is just like where you grew up.” The demon, overwhelmed by the unexpected embrace, could only nod. Lucifer continued, “It’s lovely. Is it always twilight here?”
“Yes,” the demon managed to say. “I like to watch the fireflies and listen to the frogs.”
“It’s romantic. Did you ever bring anyone out there to watch them with you?”
“No… I’ve never been interested in anyone before now…” Alastor stopped short, suddenly, agonizingly aware of what he’d just said. He stammered, “I’m - I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t mean to - what I’m trying to say is - I mean…”
Lucifer reached up and cupped Alastor’s cheek. Gazing intently into the demon’s crimson eyes, he asked, “Are you trying to say that you’re interested in me?”
“No - no - I mean, yes - well, maybe - I don’t know. I’m sorry, my lord. Please forgive my overstepping…”
The angel slid off the log and stood before Alastor. Gently, he placed one hand under the demon’s chin and tilted his head up. “Look at me. I won’t forgive you.”
Alastor’s eyes widened in fright. “My - my lord - please…”
“I won’t forgive you, because there’s nothing to forgive.” Lucifer leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Alastor’s lips. As the demon stared at him, stunned, the angel teased, “You look like a deer in headlights. That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty…”
“Here - let me give you a better one.” Lucifer sat on Alastor’s lap and kissed him softly again.
The fireflies in the bayou really are romantic.