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Alastor wasn't sure how long he stayed that way, allowing himself to feel... how to describe it.
Sheltered? Safe?
Lucifer's arms still wrapped around him, their slim grace holding him with a strength that didn't seem possible.
However long it was, reality eventually crept back in, as it has such a nasty habit of doing, and he set about painstakingly reestablishing his sense of self.
He should probably feel some sense of shame, over what had just occurred. Over how panicked he'd been, how he'd let the king see him that way.
Alastor almost marvelled at the lack of it.
Lucifer obviously felt him wake, felt him stir, and Alastor suspected that while he had been sleeping, the king had been doing no such thing. Taking his request extremely seriously, even though, looking back at it, even Alastor could see that it was an illogical thing to have asked.
“Can we get you cleaned up?” Lucifer whispered, speaking gently into his hair.
For a moment, Alastor wasn't sure what he was talking about – and then his nose wrinkled as he felt the dried semen on his stomach and against his thighs, his body sending out aches from the scratches and bite marks, and from between his legs. The sharp iron tang of blood was in the air, too – lines of it dried over his skin.
Looking up, he saw that Lucifer had not fared much better. Red stained his face, was stuck to the pale skin of his chest where Alastor rested against it.
He peeled himself off the shorter man, various dried fluids pinching and pulling at his skin, but he still couldn't bring himself to let go. Not entirely.
Alastor had recovered his faculties, somewhat – the logical voice that ran the show taking over once again, however now the small voice at the back of his head was the one insisting that without contact, he'd be lost again.
Small – but insistent.
And – he didn't want the king to clean and heal him using his angelic abilities.
Something about that felt like it might erase the proof he'd sought, and send him right back to where he'd been.
“Don't use your power,” he said firmly, radio filters once again coating his voice as he pushed himself up on his elbows, meeting the concerned gaze of the other man. Lucifer blinked, then lowered his head in silent agreement.
“Okay. Shower, then,” Lucifer agreed, and, seeing Alastor's slight furrow of his brows at that – the king usually favoured baths – went on. “If I put you in the bath, you're only going to end up soaking in your own blood. Not ideal.”
“Very well. Shower,” Alastor mumbled, unsticking the rest of his body and allowing the other man to sit up.
A brief spike of panic went through him, no more than an echo of what he had felt earlier, but enough to have him darting a hand out, catching the king before he could get too far away.
He wrapped his fingers around one of Lucifer's wrists, his ears lowering in embarrassment at the fact he still needed that, a record scratch rending the air when the shorter man gently peeled his claws off.
“It's okay. You're not going anywhere,” Lucifer said softly, tangling their hands together instead. Alastor tightened his grip, accepting the lifeline the king offered, even as his cheeks heated.
Ah – there was the shame that had been so conspicuously absent.
“Let's go,” the king added, sliding to the edge of the bed, tugging Alastor's hand so he'd follow.
His body aching, Alastor slid across the bed, his eyes fixed on the fallen angel.
How could this be the same man who'd retreated into a miasma of depression, unable to lift a finger to help himself, now calmly leading Alastor into the bathroom and setting the shower running, not releasing his hand for a moment?
Then again – how could Alastor be this - this docile, needy thing, and simultaneously a feared Overlord, owner of multitudes?
People were... complicated.
He'd never quite appreciated that until now - always found it simpler to reduce people to their worst qualities.
It wasn't until he'd began staying at the hotel that he'd started to think differently – there had been a few exceptions, of course, over his time in life and death, but for the most part he'd been content to put a simple label on people based on first impressions, never considering whether there might be more to them.
And there was so much more to Lucifer than he'd ever possibly guessed – he suspected he hadn't even scratched the surface, yet.
He thought he might like to.
Might quite enjoy learning more about the man he'd originally categorised as a pompous, arrogant, overcompensating showboat – discover more of what lay inside that small package. He'd already had his perceptions challenged time and time again – and he wasn't quite sure how to navigate this - still unsure what this was.
But if anyone seemed capable of showing him how, it was the fallen angel.
That was – if Lucifer was also willing.
Still – that was a conversation to be had at another time. Once he'd had a chance to think about it in a bit more depth. He shouldn't go making any rash decisions, considering his mental state but a few hours ago.
Lucifer waited until the temperature was warm, but not scalding, before stepping under the large shower head – a shower head that took up almost the entire roof of the shower.
Rainfall shower heads were one thing - this looked like the king had taken that idea and not only run with it, but taken it to its absolute limits. His blonde hair immediately plastered down over his face, and he gave Alastor a gentle smile, the demon stepping under the water and joining him.
He didn't resist when Lucifer sat, pulling the sinner with him, long legs crooking over the other man's hips.
Alastor watched as the water turned red, his skin stinging where it washed out the various lacerations on his body, the water gradually fading to pink, then clearing entirely.
His ears were quickly waterlogged, drooping low over his head, and Lucifer reached out to push wet red hair out of his eyes, smoothing it back. He still had hold of Alastor's hand with his other, the demon realised.
“You can let go,” Alastor sighed, untangling their fingers, his own hands coming to rest on the king's legs at his side, bent under his own, caging him in. It was a comforting feeling.
He let his head fall back against the shower wall, eyes closing against the onslaught of water as Lucifer delicately took a cloth to the marks on his skin, cleaning the bite marks and scratches to let them heal naturally, if that's what Alastor wanted. He could feel some of them already starting to do so, the familiar itch of healing wounds coming from a few of the shallower ones.
“What happened?” Lucifer asked quietly, his voice interrupting the background noise of running water. The demon repressed an urge to sigh.
Of course he'd ask.
Of course he would.
Alastor should never have expected him to do anything else.
“Something decidedly unpleasant,” he answered, still somewhat exhausted despite the fractured sleep he'd just had. He slitted his eyes open against the water, watching as Lucifer continued dabbing at the bite marks on his shoulders, the deepest injuries of the lot.
“That doesn't really tell me much. Did somebody... hurt you?” the king asked, frowning, as though the thought was something that personally offended him.
“We're in Hell, sire. Many people have hurt me, over the decades. Most of them are no longer around,” Alastor said drily, static coating his words.
There was only so much he could tell the shorter man, and he really hoped he'd stop pressing for details once he realised Alastor wasn't interested in the conversation.
As always, his hopes were misguided – Lucifer was nothing if not persistent.
“But what happened? Today? Husk said you went to see Rosie, and then you just... disappeared. I've never... I've never seen you like that,” he muttered, apparently finally satisfied with the state of Alastor's marks, the now red cloth vanishing with a wave of his hand.
“Yes, I made quite the fool of myself, I'm sure,” Alastor muttered, avoiding the piercing look of the man in front of him. He didn't want to risk seeing any hint of disdain, there.
“You didn't. We've been over this. I'll never think that, think any less of you – whatever you need, let me give it to you,” Lucifer pleaded, his voice quiet.
Never was quite a strong word.
If the king only knew exactly what kind of mess Alastor had gotten himself into – well.
They'd see how long never really lasted.
“Please,” Lucifer added, reaching up to cup Alastor's face in his hands, inches from the teeth that anybody else would worry about biting their fingers off. Not him.
“Talk to me.”
Alastor lowered his gaze, focusing on the patterns that broke up the black skin of the king's arms from the white skin of his torso, his static buzzing around him, mostly drowned out by the sound of the water falling against the tiles.
“I can't,” he admitted, and watched as Lucifer's shoulders slumped, the hands on his face falling away.
“You're upset. I've upset you. Why?” Alastor queried, a brief pang of alarm going through him as Lucifer's expression closed off. He hadn't – hadn't meant to offend him. Not now, not after that, not after everything.
He still wasn't particularly good at this.
“I just... I thought you trusted me. That this... it's more than... guess I was wrong,” Lucifer muttered, and Alastor was so bewildered that he spoke up without thinking.
“Of course I trust you.”
Lucifer started, blinking in surprise, the water running over his face.
“You do?”
Well – Alastor hadn't planned to admit to that.
Telling somebody you trusted them was dangerous, and not just in Hell – but...
Lucifer had trusted him, had even said it out loud, and Alastor was a far less reputable person than the fallen angel. If Lucifer thought the demon worthy of his trust, was it really fair to admit to anything less?
“What else would you call all of... this?” Alastor asked, a brief wave of his hand encompassing the two of them before he wrapped it once again around Lucifer's leg.
“The people who've seen me injured or... less than composed,” Alastor elaborated, understating the previous situation by a rather significant amount. “Can be counted on one hand. And I do not believe it would even take all four digits to do so,” he added wryly.
Lucifer looked a little lost, at that.
“Then why won't you tell me what happened?” he asked, his expression one of utter misery. Alastor struggled with what to say for a moment, reaching out and curling a lock of wet hair behind one of Lucifer's slightly pointed ears, the long strands hanging in his face.
“I can't,” he repeated again, his static buzzing irritably as Lucifer's face fell once more.
Why couldn't the ruler understand?
Alastor was simply telling him the truth.
“I want to help,” Lucifer muttered, purple lids falling low over his eyes. “Whatever happened, whatever freaked you out so much... please, let me help,” he begged, and a part of Alastor wished he could tell him, to no longer have to deal with this on his own.
But...
“You can't,” he said with a static laden sigh. “I can't tell you. Please – leave it alone.”
He thought the king might argue, might keep pushing until Alastor had no choice but to snap at him, or to swirl into shadows and retreat to his own rooms. He didn't want to do that.
Perhaps Lucifer had the same thought, since he fell silent.
After a moment, he scooted closer, crossing his ankles behind Alastor's back and wrapping his arms around his middle, tucking his head under the demon's chin. Alastor let his face rest on the crown of the other man's head, his own arms coming up around his shoulders as water pooled in the places their bodies joined, little reservoirs of liquid with tiny streams of runoff joining the main flow once more.
Alastor was willing to accept this – this offer from the king, this unspoken comfort, despite his clear distress over the fact that the demon wouldn't – couldn't – elaborate on what had rattled him so.
Perhaps it was selfish of him... but Lucifer was offering it without reservation.
What that meant – the demon couldn't guess. Didn't want to try.
Was content to simply sit under the running water and take what he needed from this, take whatever Lucifer could give.
Let the pieces of himself slot back into place, the shorter man's arms around him making it easier, somehow.
As though he had kept Alastor from falling apart completely. Had kept those pieces safe, until the demon was ready to put them back where they belonged.
* * * * * *
Showers held some kind of magic, all their own. Alastor was convinced of that fact.
How else could one explain the way a person emerged from one, having gone in emotionally ruined, able to once again function as a human – or, in his case, demon?
He rubbed at his ears with one of the plush white towels Lucifer stocked his bathroom with, wincing slightly as he felt it hook on an antler, hearing the faint sounds of threads being pulled from the material. If staying overnight in the king's room had become a habit – if bathing here was to join that experience – he might need to bring a few things over from his own suite.
Namely, a hair dryer.
He wrapped the towel firmly around his waist, catching Lucifer's eyes wandering, and raised a brow.
Lucifer only gave him a tight smile, before wrapping a robe around his own body, letting the material soak up what water remained on his skin. It had a hood attached, which the king pulled up and used to dry his hair, heading back into the main room of his suites.
“Are you hungry?” the king asked, looking over his shoulder as Alastor followed him from the room. The sinner paused, absently reaching up to untangle some of Lucifer's unruly locks, sticking out every which way from his head.
Lucifer smiled softly up at him, catching his hand before he withdrew it and pressing a kiss against his palm. Alastor blinked in surprise, his breath hitching.
The king let him go, heading over to his wardrobe, before stopping in his tracks.
“Oh – this isn't a good look,” he muttered, wincing. Alastor stepped from the bathroom to see what had so caught his attention, and drew in a sharp hiss of air through his teeth at the sight.
“This looks like a crime scene,” Alastor commented, casting his gaze around the room. He added, wry amusement in his voice; “And I should know.”
Indeed – the shredded remains of Lucifer's shirt and waistcoat lay in ribbons at the edge of the large bed, and the bed itself had caught the brunt of the abuse – white sheets stained with patches of blood, messy blossoms of dark red-brown blooming all over.
Alastor looked for his own clothing, his smile curling at the state of it. He couldn't blame anyone but himself for the missing buttons, but it was still irritating.
“I'm surprised I'm still standing – you certainly didn't hold back, did you, sire?” Alastor commented drily, stepping up behind the shorter man and letting his arms drift over Lucifer's shoulders, snaking under the plush fabric of his bathrobe.
His hands splayed against the skin of Lucifer's chest – perhaps he wasn't quite as recovered from his need for physical contact as he'd thought.
“You asked me to!” Lucifer argued, tilting his head back to look up at the demon, his face heavy with guilt. Alastor hummed in agreement, stooping slightly to press his lips against the king's forehead, the hood of Lucifer's robe falling back as Alastor tightened his grip on the man, pulling him roughly against his front.
“I know. Thank you,” he said mildly, squeezing Lucifer once before he loosened his hold, freeing him to get dressed - and to possibly clean the place up.
Lucifer stepped away from him with a brief look over his shoulder, as though making sure it was okay to do so. When Alastor did nothing more than smile and turn away, bending to fish his trousers out of the pile of clothing on the floor, the king snapped his fingers, the stained bedding replaced with fresh sheets.
“I hope Niffty isn't in the habit of asking questions,” Lucifer muttered, striding over and pulling a fresh set of clothes from his wardrobe.
Alastor let his towel fall to the ground, turning away from the other man – they were a little past modesty, at this point, but there was still an old fashioned part of him that felt it improper to parade around nude – and stepped into his own undergarments and trousers, wrinkling his nose as the wet fur of his tail immediately dampened the material.
Yes – a hairdryer would certainly do well, here.
“So – you do still need to get your items washed? Couldn't you simply... magic away the blood?” Alastor queried, plucking up his shirt and smoothing it on the bed – three out of five buttons were missing, and of those that remained, the button holes were somewhat abused, the fabric torn. With a sigh, he waved his hand, summoning a new shirt directly from his rooms – this one was likely a write off.
The material sat uncomfortably against his healing injuries, but the unpleasant feeling of that was yet another reminder that he was back. Present – here.
“Mmm, I could. But every time I do that, the material always gets thinner and thinner. No idea why. It's easier just to wash it the old fashioned way. I can fix your coat, though?” Lucifer offered, turning around as he finished buttoning his own shirt, catching Alastor casting his gaze over the floor for the missing button.
“If you wouldn't mind,” Alastor agreed after a moment's hesitation, surrendering the favoured item of clothing into the other man's hands.
Lucifer passed his fingers over the front of the material. With a faint golden glow, a new button appeared – Alastor's static buzzed in amusement as he realised that it didn't quite match the colour of the rest of them, the red far closer to that of a ripe apple than the usual dark crimson.
He said nothing about it, though.
“Thank you,” he said again, casting a glance to the rubber duck clock on the wall. Almost dinner time.
When he'd gone to Rosie's it had been just after breakfast. How much time had he lost before he'd shown up in Lucifer's rooms?
“Two 'thank you's' in one day. I'm doing well,” Lucifer quipped, giving Alastor a lop sided grin before heading over to the mirror to do up his bow tie. Alastor wandered over to the sofa, draping his coat across the back of it before sitting down, glancing with some interest at the scattered letters on the coffee table.
“I do believe I've now met my quota for the month. Should you require any more gratitude, I'm afraid you're at your limit,” Alastor responded, his tone airy as he plucked up a letter marked with an incredibly ostentatious seal at the top.
He had just enough time to make out a fancy letter 'E' embedded in the seal, the first line of the letter reading; 'My lord, further to my previous request,' before the papers vanished, and Alastor looked up to find Lucifer leaning with crossed arms against his dressing table, watching him.
“You know, for a guy who's so cagey about anyone finding out anything about you, you're awfully keen to poke your nose into other people's business, huh?” Lucifer queried, one eyebrow raised and a slightly stern expression on his face.
Alastor's ears twisted back at the admonishment, nerves that were already stretched tight fraying a little at the edges. Lucifer's face immediately softened, his eyes going wide as he strode over, already reaching for the sinner.
“Hey, hey. Relax. I'm not mad. Shit – sorry, not the time, huh?” Lucifer said gently, putting his forehead against Alastor's own as he circled his hands behind the demon's head, yellow eyes reflecting renewed concern.
“You needn't coddle me so,” Alastor muttered, his cheeks heating once more. “Though it is somewhat hypocritical of you to fish for information, when there are clearly things you'd rather be kept private, yes?”
It wasn't really fair, to compare his lack of ability to share what was going on with the king, to him reading what was clearly official correspondence, but he couldn't help it – putting the other person on the defensive was the best way he knew of to regain control of a situation.
And this entire event had been severely lacking any control, on his part.
“That's not the same thing, and you know it,” Lucifer answered, letting go of his head, only to bring his hand up and start stroking along one of Alastor's ears, gently encouraging the appendage to relax.
Alastor sighed, tilting his head into the touch, letting his head rest instead against the king's chest when the man straightened in front of him, his still damp hair spreading water into the material of Lucifer's shirt.
He really was unbelievably patient – perhaps that little jest he'd made about divine patience hadn't been entirely inaccurate.
No wonder it was so difficult to push him away – everything that Alastor had tried to keep him at arms length had failed, the last time he'd truly managed to infuriate him the time he'd brought up the queen. Everything else – trying to close himself off, his sarcastic and biting remarks – none of it seemed to do any good.
“There's a big difference between me needing to keep professional correspondence private – I am still the king of Hell, however much I might dislike the title – and something so awful happening to you that you need – need that,” Lucifer added, gently tapping the bite marks hidden under Alastor's shirt.
He was still dragging a hand over Alastor's ears, the demon's static rising in a contented hum as he allowed himself to enjoy it for just a little longer, before he sat back, Lucifer's hand falling off his head at the unspoken wall once again going up.
“You know, I think I am hungry,” Alastor mused, answering the king's much earlier question.
That was quite enough of that.
He'd had a setback, yes. Had been shown how dangerous it was to try to skirt the rules of his deal in that way – he certainly wouldn't be trying something so obvious again.
But it wasn't going to stop him – he just needed to think, to come up with something new.
This wouldn't destroy him.
“Me too,” Lucifer agreed, his stomach growling as though on cue as he quirked his lips to the side. “I was meant to be meeting Bee for lunch today, actually, but I told her I needed to cancel – so, let's hope Charlie hasn't decided to take cooking into her own hands tonight, huh?”
He was grinning wide, but Alastor tilted his head.
“You... cancelled your lunch plans?” he queried, brows furrowing. Lucifer blinked, giving Alastor a look that said the question was not only unexpected, but wholly ridiculous.
“Of course. You needed me here.”
As though anything else was less important than Alastor's humiliating breakdown. As though it was impossible for him to do anything but stay.
How could Alastor respond to that? That the king had said that, so easily – with six words, shattering the ideas she had tried to put in Alastor's head.
Without even knowing he'd done so.
“...Thank you,” he echoed again, the words entirely too small to contain everything racing through him. Lucifer gave him that lopsided smile again, following it up with a wink.
“Hey – pretty sure that exceeds quota. You gonna get in trouble?” Lucifer grinned, flicking his fingers over at Alastor's tie, still lying forgotten on the floor. It floated into his hand, and Alastor took the strip of fabric from him, slipping it under his collar.
“Well. I shan't tell if you don't,” he answered with a faint hint of canned laughter, his smile stretching on his face as he stood, making his way to the mirror to make sure his tie sat straight. He had to bend, slightly, in order to get himself in the frame.
Perhaps that was another thing about the king's suite he could rectify.
A pair of slender arms circled around his middle from behind, and he paused in the act of straightening his bow tie as the warmth of Lucifer pressed against his back. He could feel the shorter man's face turned to the side, leaning against the space between his shoulder blades.
“You're very distracting, you know,” he complained, a warm buzz of static coating his words. He turned in the circle of the king's arms, catching his chin delicately between clawed thumb and finger, tilting his head up to give him a considering look.
The king's hair was still a mess, drying in uneven curls and flopping across his forehead, and the look he returned as Alastor cocked his head at him was a mixture of warm affection and lingering concern, the purple of his lower lids showing ever so slightly as he smiled up at the sinner.
Alastor's heart skipped, and a sense of resignation settled over him at the feeling.
“How have you done this to me, sire?” he muttered, only half aware he was speaking aloud. Lucifer's brows furrowed in confusion at the question, and Alastor hastily released his chin, stepping back and breaking the other man's hold.
He cleared his throat.
“Yes, well. I believe we were going downstairs? I presume you would like one of us to leave first, so as not to arouse suspicion?” Alastor queried, turning away as Lucifer caught his lower lip between his teeth, looking suddenly guilty.
“If... if you don't mind,” Lucifer confirmed, and Alastor repressed a sigh.
It was... fine.
After his little performance today, he could understand why the king might be ashamed of his association with the demon. And perhaps it was for the best – the less people who knew about it, the less chance she had of finding out the finer details, of possibly using it against him – or worse... against Lucifer.
“If your daughter has cooked, I'm ordering pizza,” Alastor warned, sinking into the shadows long enough to swirl across the room and grab his coat, before swirling into the darkness once more, popping up behind the king only long enough to pinch him on the arm, eliciting a yelp of protest, and racing on the shadows down to the small dining room attached to the kitchen.
Just because he was willing to keep Lucifer's secret, didn't mean he couldn't exact his own form of revenge about it, however minor it might be.
In the end, it seemed that Angel had beaten them to the punch – with black smoke billowing from the kitchen, Charlie frantically trying to stifle it, the spider demon merely asked what the two of them wanted – Lucifer arriving shortly after Alastor, scowling and rubbing his arm – and organised for something far more edible to be delivered to the hotel.
“Two hundred years, and you couldn't teach her to cook,” Alastor muttered as the king emerged from the kitchen, having sorted out the emergency – what Charlie had tried to make, Alastor didn't want to hazard a guess.
“Shut up,” Lucifer shot back, patting at a stray ember that had managed to alight on his shirt sleeve.
“Scathing,” Alastor grinned, sinking into one of the dining chairs – and if Lucifer took the one next to him, well, that really wasn't so strange, was it? Not when the only other free space was between Niffty and Cherri, and really, who could blame the king for choosing to sit next to the radio demon, the sinner he clearly hated?
If anyone asked, he could say he was simply keeping an eye on him.
It wasn't as though their knees bumped together occasionally, under the table – wasn't as though the jazz that Alastor chose for the evening was a relaxing, upbeat tune.
No – absolutely nothing unusual going on, here.
~fin~