For all that years put distance between Lucifer and many of his memories, turning them to watercolor smudges that were more impressions than singular events, there were still a few that were as crystal clear in his mind as the day they were formed.
His own creation was one: in that infinitesimal moment he possessed pure innocence.
That began fading almost in the same moment it was formed. That was the way of innocence; it always collided with reality, spinning around each other like twin suns, deteriorating as it went.
He remembered Charlie being born. Not the pain of it so much, although he knew that it did hurt, the agonies of childbirth Eve's punishment unleashed on humanity apparently branched off into him as well. But the first time he saw her and the indistinct, unwelcome kicks from inside his belly formed an actual person he'd helped to create, he fell immediately, impossibly in love with that tiny, squashed, red face.
He'd made so many things over the years, but Charlie would always be his most perfect creation. Always.
And Lucifer remembered the first time he saw his own face after the Fall.
When he woke up, he'd been alone, aching and disoriented. He had no idea how long he'd wondered through the desolate landscape before he found Lilith. Days, weeks, possibly even years, the concept of time was still pretty fresh back then and he hadn't quite gotten the hang of it.
He'd come across a stream of fetid water and that's when he'd first seen his demonic face. At the time he hadn't even known it was his and he'd stumbled back in terror. Only for realization to hit and when he'd looked again, seen the blue of his eyes replaced by crimson and the horns sprouting from his head, he'd fallen to his knees and wept. Most beautiful of all the angels was a steep height to fall from and he'd already fallen enough on that day.
He'd quickly figured out that he didn't need to constantly wear that face; his demonic side only came out when he was extremely angry or afraid. A last gift from God, maybe, as he tumbled the long, long way down to Hell, and whether it was meant as a kindness or a mockery, Lucifer couldn't begin to guess.
He didn't know if God actually planned things to end up this way, but They surely knew in their omniscience what would happen and created him, anyway.
But yes, angry or terrified, that was when he truly became the ruler of Hell and right now, he was both.
Lucifer came out of the portal into the lobby in a rush and the very first think he did was step directly into a puddle of something sticky and moist, a distraction most unwelcome.
Ugh, nasty. Lucifer minced his way out of the mess of…were those entrails, ewww. For the first time, he felt a kinship with Alastor over the state of his boots. Alastor had a point, these were good boots, and he'd prefer to keep them viscera-free, thanks. This was why he didn't usually walk around downtown, what kind of monster was making puddles of blood and filth inside the hotel?
Lucifer leapt out of the puddle so quickly his heels skidded on the floor tiles and he almost landed on his ass as he struggled to catch his balance. That was when he remembered there was an urgent reason for him to be here and he whirled around, the taste of hot ash on the back of his tongue as he braced himself to face whatever threat had come to them, be it demonic, angelic, or something in between.
What he got was most of the hotel staff staring at him. All of them had mops in their hands, not as impromptu weapons but as, you know, mops. Big wet ropy-looking things used to scrub viscera-covered floors.
Well, this was awkward; here he was bringing the the full power of his demonic rage to a mop fight. No one told him there were mops involved, his invite should have included BYOM, damn it.
He stood there, flaming crown and all, staring at the mop bringers and lo, the mop bringers stared back.
"Dad? You okay?" Charlie asked tentatively.
"Yeah," Lucifer said automatically, then shook off the malaise of shock over being confronted by cleaning instruments rather than spears, "I mean, yes, of course!" That brought up another, very important question. "Wait, me? What do you mean am I okay, are you okay?".
"Yesss?" Charlie said, drawing out the word doubtfully. "It's a big mess but we'll get it cleaned up. I was hoping you'd be able to help. Um, maybe in a less…murdery form, though?"
It wasn't murdery, thank you, it was demonic, and that had an entire range of violence that didn't seem necessary in the face of mops. Lucifer hastily dismissed the horns and Hellfire and by then, the emotion he was settling on was indignation. "What was with the text, then!"
Was this what insanity felt like, because Lucifer was starting to doubt himself a little here. He looked at his phone again and yep, right there, Come Downstairs!!, note the use of an additional exclamation point indicating intensity. That seemed to call more for the horrors of battle than scrub brushes but what did he know, he hadn't been here very long.
"I didn't text you, I asked Angel to use my phone—" Charlie blinked then swung around to look at Angel, along with Vaggie and Husk, the trio of them staring.
Angel, who was leaning against a wall with a popsicle in one hand and scrolling diligently on his phone in the other was technically a guest, not staff, and his general helpfulness did not seem to extend to mops.
He glanced up at the mention of his name, then did a double take when he saw all the local stares transferred to him.
"What?" Angel said defensively. "You asked me to text him to come downstairs, so I did!"
"Seriously?" Vaggie sighed. "You could have said it wasn't an emergency. Or to come down when he had time. Or literally anything that didn't freak him out."
"Meh." Angel went back to scrolling on his phone, "Got him here, didn't I. Need all the help we can get with this mess."
Lucifer took his first real look around at the mess in question and had to agree. The entire lobby was in a state of either blood-spattered or blood-spatter adjacent, drips and drabs running down the large atrium windows. That was a lot of blood, along with a lot of, erm, other items of questionable label but definitely of bodily origin.
"I'm sorry, dad," Charlie said, apologetically. At her feet was a smeary bloodstain obviously in the process of removal by mop. "I didn't mean to freak you out, I was just so upset!"
Okay, upset, upset he could work with. "What happened? Unless this is a new decorating idea and if so, I really feel like it should have been put to a vote first."
"We had to kick someone out of the hotel," Vaggie said. She was attacking her own bloodstained tile with grimly furious mop strokes. "It's the first time we've had to go that far and then Alastor showed up…anyway, I guess we're all a little shaken."
Ah. Well, at least that explained where Alastor went and despite him ditching out before they even got to the afterglow cuddle, it was more than a little bit relieving that was for hotel business and not something else. Also, even more annoying that he'd gone off without Lucifer but that was a meal they could chew later.
Lucifer looked around again at the mess. "Did he take half the other guests with him?"
A chorus of 'no's echoed the room, along with upsettingly moist mopping sounds.
"All this came from one guy?" Lucifer said in disbelief. Okay, he could admit it, he was reluctantly impressed. There was a fair amount of distance on some of that splatter, like in the corner of the ceiling was a huge blotch that sort of looked like the beginnings of a Jackson Pollock mural.
"It was an overreaction," Vaggie said firmly. "We know that everyone is welcome at the hotel, and we also know not everyone is ready to be here yet, but we can't turn them into mulch before we ask them to leave."
Yeah. This might be a regular sight in most of Pentagram City, but the hotel was supposed to be better than that. Their guests were supposed to feel safe here and that was definitely not in line with being turned into dubious wall art. Plus, the cleanup was obviously a bitch. "I'll talk to him."
To his surprise, that got him another round of stares from the mop crew.
"Talk to him who? Alastor?" Charlie said, confused. "But he didn't do this."
Oh.
Oh, well, he'd just assumed. Alastor disappeared at the same time a troublesome guest was, ah, evicted, seemed logical that as hotelier he was the one who handled it. Besides, he'd seen Alastor's version of dealing with other demons a couple of times now and this certainly looked like his style, although to be fair there was usually less evidence as most of it was…erm…consumed.
He nudged distastefully at a bit of leftover entrails with the toe of his boot. Yeah, that checked out, Alastor wouldn't have left behind as many, um, leftovers. That's what Lucifer got for trying to apply logic.
But if the immediate suspect was (semi) innocent, then who…"Who did?"
"Niffty," Vaggie said grimly, dunking her mop into the bucket and wringing it out before attacking another puddle.
"Niffty?" Lucifer said, disbelieving. He looked around the room again, at the blood on the windows and ceiling far above their heads.
"What, you don't think she could tear someone up like this?" Husk snorted.
"No, no, I believe." He wasn't going to soon forget her opening up Adam like an angelic piñata, "I'm just surprised she made such a mess doing it."
"Yeah, well," Vaggie wrinkled her nose and applied her mop to the new puddle. "She was still screaming and stabbing when Alastor snatched her up so let's hope he got her calmed down. Preferably after she got in a good stab at him."
Something must have shown on his face because Vaggie's irritated expression shifted to reluctant guilt. "Sorry, sir. But what I was saying is, this is a little of an overreaction, don't we think?"
Husk only shrugged. "For Nifft, this is more of an underreaction. He'd been harassing her for a while now. Smearing her freshly washed windows is one thing, but deliberately leaving cigarette burns in the rug? Guy is lucky you took away that angelic steel dagger."
"Yeah, fuck him," Angel said in between slurping up popsicle juice running down his hand, "we haven't even stained up the rugs proper ourselves and that asshole was ruining 'em."
"Speaking of the asshole," Lucifer said, "where is he? I mean, whatever's left of him?" Messy as the lobby was, there wasn't enough leftover parts to make even half a demon, unless it was even smaller than Niffty.
Angel hooked a thumb towards the main doors. "Husk hauled his body outside, he can pull himself together out there."
That seemed fair. "Do we have any idea where Alastor took Niffty? Husk?"
"Beats me." Husk picked up what looked like a big toe with distaste, tossing it into a bucket half-filled with other bits. "She was screaming her lungs out and then some, guess he took her someplace to calm her down, who knows."
"So long as he didn't strap a muzzle on her and leave her someplace," Vaggie said darkly.
Which was a little unfair in Lucifer's opinion; if Alastor didn't care about Niffty, he could have strapped a muzzle on her right here.
Before he could offer any protests in Alastor's defense, Husk snorted out, "Nah, the boss has a real soft spot for the ladies, he ain't gonna do anything 'uncouth', not to her."
Only Charlie still seemed concerned about their missing staff and whether that was because everyone else believed Husk's confidence that Alastor wouldn't hurt Niffty or they were more focused on cleaning up the mess left behind, Lucifer wasn't sure. He was on the side of believing Husk; he'd seen Alastor with Niffty, he wasn't about to hurt her, certainly not for attempted murder, fuck, he was more likely to make her Employee of the Month.
"Maybe they went to Alastor's room," Charlie said. She bit her lip, turning to Lucifer. "Dad, could you check on them? Make sure Niffty is okay?"
"Of course." His, uh, relationship with Alastor aside, he was probably the best choice, invulnerability-wise, to check in with Little Miss Stabby and the Radio Wonder. "Which room is his?"
Four pairs of eyes swung over to him, ah, must be his turn in the firing line of judgement.
And judge they did, fuck, it was no angelic tribunal, but they sure packed a lot of accusation in for demons/half-demons/fallen angels. Lucifer resisted the urge to squirm. "What?"
Vaggie spoke first, slowly. "I thought you two were…?" She grimaced, mop handle leaning against her shoulder as she raised her hands in a vague helpless gesture.
"Yeah, aren't ya, you know." Unfortunately, Angel's gesture game was much stronger. He vigorously poked an index finger in and out of the loosely curled fist of one of his other hands, geez, could've at least made it two fingers and give Lucifer a little credit.
"We are!" Lucifer said defensively. Then he realized what he'd admitted to in front of Charlie, who was focused on her mop with fierce, single-minded concentration and hopefully not being forced into thinking of Lucifer vigorously poking anyone. Look, it was one thing to know, it was entirely something else to involve obscene hand gestures in that knowledge.
"So how come you don't know which room is his?" Husk said, blandly curious.
Lucifer could only look at him in wounded betrayal; et tu, traitor, if there was only one person who wasn't a blood relation he could count on to not be interested in Alastor's bedroom activities, it was Husk, or so he'd thought.
Three pairs of eyes were focused on him, waiting. This was a trap and there was no good reply that would let him navigate around it. Lucifer finally said, weakly, "We always go to mine, it's…nicer."
He had no idea if that were true, and no one looked impressed at that answer. Hell, he wasn't impressed by it, he'd never even asked once if they could go to Alastor's room. His room just became the default destination and from there it somehow morphed into their room and—and—
He didn't want Alastor to need a bedroom that wasn't also his. It was stupid and childish and fucking selfish, and it was still true. As much as Alastor wanted to sleep with him —sleep-sleep, playing little spoon sleep, lying on top of Lucifer suffocating him sleep— Lucifer also wanted him to be there, wanted him to want that. He wanted it and yet, the thought of actually asking him to move entirely into his (their) room filled him with a silent sort of terror. The thought of waking up to see Alastor's spare shoes in his (their) closet, of his black undershorts folded neatly in the drawer next to the alien pickles pair made uncomfortable prickles run up his spine. It was all so terribly domestic, wasn't it, cozy, even, and stupidly, he was caught in a mental tug of war over it: he wanted that, he didn't want it, he craved it, he was afraid of it.
(afraid of finding those shoes gone, that side of the drawer emptied, along with that side of the bed, oh, he was afraid)
That was—that was probably rushing things, that was all, and Alastor was perfectly welcome to keep his own room. Everyone should have a separate place to keep their stuff.
For the time being, no one seemed like they were going to be forthcoming with the room number, not even Charlie, Lucifer was getting betrayed at every level, here, and all he'd wanted to do was save them all.
"Never mind," Lucifer sighed, "I'll find it." He started to head out to do just that when a disgruntled sound came from his newest betrayer. Husk, who was adding another unrecognizable body part to his bucket.
"I thought the point of you comin' down here was to help with clean up," Husk grumbled.
"Oh, right." Tempting as it was to leave the mess in the face of their unhelpfulness, it was a big mess. Probably better to clean it up before too many guests got an eyeful of, well, someone else's eye lying on the lobby floor. Lucifer snapped his fingers and the blood vanished, the remaining viscera piling neatly in the bucket, leaving the lobby as sparkling clean as when it was first made.
Another round of staring seemed to be in order, mostly in varying states of disbelief. Yeesh, he doesn't help, he gets gripes, he helps, he gets stares, where was the middle ground, people. "What?"
"Nothing!" Charlie said brightly. She hefted up her newly-cleaned mop. "We're all just really happy you were able to help. Right?"
A few grumbling agreements floated over, from Husk who was hauling the bucket out to the Sinner's body to speed up his reforming and eviction, and Vaggie who gathered up all the mops.
"At least we don't have to cancel afternoon group," Vaggie said, and hey, that was as bright of a bright side as she ever got, Lucifer was calling it a win. "Sir, if you wouldn't mind making sure no other messes crop up today?"
She still didn't offer a room number and Lucifer stubbornly refused to ask, not even when guilt flittered over Charlie's face and she started to open her mouth, only for Vaggie to elbow her.
Fine, if they all thought he was an asshole who didn't even know his—
(Boyfriend? Partner?)
—Alastor's room number, he could figure it out himself.
Lucifer stuck his non-nose in the air and headed off to the best location to start a room search: the kitchen.
If no one else was going to help him find Alastor's room, then Lucifer had a secret weapon.
The first thing he did in the kitchen was check the coffee pot. It was half-full and Lucifer soon figured out why; it wasn't Alastor's special blend. He still reluctantly poured a cup, sometimes caffeinating outweighed taste and there was a fair chance that when he found Alastor and Niffty, he'd want all the bonuses he could get.
Coffee achieved, next Lucifer went to the pantry. He selected a single small can from a shelf and got out the can opener. Sure, there were alternate methods for this, summonings and whatnot, but nothing else worked faster. He'd only turned the handle twice when a small, soft body wound around his ankles. Keekee was looking up at him hopefully with her single eye, or, well, not him, but the can of 'tender salmon and anchovies feast in a decadent, silky broth', ugh, he almost preferred the lobby entrails.
"Hey, Keekee, widdle snooker-wooker," Lucifer cooed. He picked up the cat-cum-key and set her on the countertop where she could attack the opened can with gusto. "Such a smart kitty kitty, you can help me find Alastor's room, yes, you can!"
He let her finish the can before scooping her up again, mentally nudging her to hotel key form. He held the key like a dowsing rod and headed upstairs, letting her guide the way.
Right to the second floor where all the staff was housed, no surprise there, but much further down the hallway than expected, far from the other occupied rooms, including theirs. He was almost to the end of the hallway when the key in his hand jerked to the left. Lucifer set a hand on the door and closed his eyes. There was power on the other side of the door, power and greenness and unless one of the others started drinking a mega protein green goddess smoothie for breakfast, Lucifer was betting this was his goal.
The key in his hand politely shrank to door-sized and he used it to open the door.
It was not, to put it mildly, exactly what he'd expected.
Predictably, the layout of the room in general was exactly like every other one in the hotel. Antlers in all of his decorating, check, an unnecessary number of radios, double check. Oh, and also, the entire ecosystem tearing through reality to stretch out across the back of the room.
Yeah, that was of note, now wasn't it.
Lucifer hadn't been to the living world in a long, long time. He wasn't simply banished from Heaven, Hell was something of a prison for him as much as it was for him to rule, a punishment for his hubris. He wasn't completely banned from the Living World but getting there took time and effort that usually wasn't worth putting out. Even so, despite his lack of day trips to check out the fresh crop of sinners soon to be headed this way, he knew a bayou when he saw one.
Or at least the memory of one, as seen through a sinner's eyes.
The entirety of it was cast in twilight, a direct contrast to the afternoon light of Hell coming in through the window. Clusters of cattails rose up through the murky water, scattered throughout the duckweed and crabgrasses lining the muddy shoals. The shoreline was dominated by large trees, their branches laden with Spanish moss sagging towards the waterline, the spindly fingers of branches reaching, seeking. Fireflies danced overhead and their light reflecting in the still water danced back at them, a blurry mirror of an endless waltz set to the infinite call of ghostly crickets.
It was eerily beautiful, rather like the person who created it.
Was this a specific place Alastor remembered or several stitched together, a patchwork quilt of memory brought to life in the smallest corner of Hell? There was no way to know without directly asking, and asking would mean telling Alastor he'd invaded the privacy of his room. Even with good intentions, it was difficult to know whether Alastor would be upset with him or not, see, this was why he hadn't known Alastor's room number, he should've guessed it would get him into trouble.
Now that he could see Alastor and Niffty weren't here, he should go, and yet, Lucifer couldn't help lingering a moment longer. It wasn't only a little patch of swamp, it was a tiny peephole into Alastor himself, so tempting to look through it, and Lucifer was never good at resisting temptations. Even past admiring the beauty of it, Lucifer couldn't help simply being impressed. Something like this took an enormous amount of power even for a strong sinner. Why the hell did Alastor prefer to sleep in his room instead of with this? The only thing his room had over this one was…well.
Him.
That little kernel of warmth that nestled deep inside his chest when he thought of Alastor kindled hotter, almost uncomfortably warm inside him. Lucifer set a hand over his sternum, fingers pressed to the smooth, narrow space as if he could reach in and cup that flicking warmth in his hand, hold it up and examine it, admire it, before putting it back in its rightful place to keep it safe inside him.
It wasn't possible, not even for him, but it wasn't the first time Lucifer yearned for something he could never have.
None of that changed that he'd gone from searching for Alastor to prying. Alastor never chose to show any of this to him and guilt was settling on his shoulders for seeing it without permission.
Maybe Alastor was waiting to show him, maybe he preferred his privacy, maybe it hadn't even occurred to him yet. Maybe this was intimate in a way his radio tower simply wasn't. It didn't matter the reason and Lucifer firmly told himself to stop overthinking it. Just because he seemed determined to speedrun his way through various emotions didn't mean Alastor needed to and it also didn't mean Alastor didn't care, and Lucifer was going to stop panicking about it any time now.
Fuck it, bizarre as it was to say, Alastor was probably the normal one here, there was one Lucifer didn't expect on today's bingo card.
Not that he had a huge basis of comparison, but falling fast was starting to become a trend of his, if twice in ten thousand years could be called that. That was just how Lucifer rolled, he saw what he wanted and went for it. And now it was time to get going.
Lucifer left the room and its revelations, and shut the door behind him.
So. They weren't in Alastor's room, what about Niffty's. He had less of a reason to know where her bedroom was and he was about to pull a repeat of the key trick when the obvious occurred to him. Stupid of him, he was overthinking this, letting Charlie's assumption Alastor would go to his room overshadow common sense.
He already knew where Alastor went in times of stress or panic.
Lucifer walked down the hallway, counting each door silently as he went past. Seven doors away and he didn't need a special key for their bedroom door.
He could hear soft music the moment he opened the door, soothingly familiar.
The bed was always foremost in the room, an enormous king-sized affair that was more than spacious enough for Lucifer and Alastor to stretch out with probably enough room left over for the brass band Alastor always carried through the air waves.
Alastor and Niffty took up even less room, dwarfed in the wide mattress. They were curled up together on top of the blankets, both of them in blood-spattered clothes, their faces and hands filthy with it.
Lucifer stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him as he took in the sight before him. Niffty was pressed up against Alastor's chest, her knees drawn up and her arms around them. A little shudder went through her here and there, a random almost sob, and her single eye was closed, lashes trembling. Next to her, Alastor lay with his eyes open, unblinking as they flicked over to stare at Lucifer where he stood.
Alastor didn't move, not in any visible, meaningful way but Lucifer could practically feel the shields going up. As if Lucifer was going to go into some kind of raging jealous fit or start fussing about the mess on the sheets.
There was no pretending he didn't have a possessive streak; he'd lost the high ground there back when Rosie stopped in for her visit. This was hardly the same situation as Rosie, was it, and the blood stains weren't important, like they didn't regularly get bodily fluids on the sheets? Sure, it was their own, not leftovers from a rude guest, but it all cleaned up the same.
Alastor's wary crimson eyes followed him as Lucifer walked over silently. Waiting for a judgement but Lucifer had none.
He sat on the narrow strip of mattress at Alastor's back, pushed aside his coat to set a hand on the slim, slight curve of his hip, lightly pressing the bony ridge of it through the fine material of his trousers. The only part of Alastor that moved was his head, turning on his neck in that uncomfortable way he had as if all his joints had been replaced with ball bearings. Turning to look cautiously at Lucifer and Lucifer only looked back.
"Is she all right?" Lucifer mouthed silently. "Do you need me to leave?"
Because he would if that's what they needed, without a question. As frustrating as it could be, he was starting to figure out that sometimes the best way of helping was doing nothing at all.
The lines of Alastor's face relaxed, a little. "You can talk, she won't wake. I gave her a little push to help her go under and she always sleeps like the dead after she has one of these outbursts." He turned back to Niffty, smoothing a hand down the softness of her bright hair and Niffty did not stir. Her forehead leaned against the front of Alastor's coat, the edge of a button pressing a mark into the smooth skin there like a brand. "She'll sleep a while and feel better when she wakes up, she always does."
"What happened?" Lucifer kept his voice pitched low despite Alastor's reassurance. The quiet of the room, the softness of the music, seemed to call for gentle restraint. "I mean, I know what happened to the guy, but what about her?"
"She has a breaking point, as do we all." Alastor tugged the corner of her skirt down primly, better covering her legs. "Some days she simply gets overstimulated, I think. The cleaning generally helps but even that can be a source of pain for her if it becomes too much."
Yeah, Lucifer understood that, a little too well. A mountain of ducks hidden away back at the palace was proof of his understanding, revealing far more than a small toy ever should. "It's good that she has you to look out for her."
Bright crimson eyes swung back to him, that gaze too sharp by far and filled with contempt, hot as burning magnesium.
"I don't look after her, I own her," Alastor said scornfully, "Niffty does not need looked after, she's a grown adult, a demon decades dead from the Living World, with an adult's issues and foibles. Unfortunately for her, Hell's purpose is to punish us all for both and at times it's too much for her to bear." He turned back to look at Niffty, her eye closed and her bright hair spread across the duvet. "Still, Niffty is a useful asset and I'd be remiss to let her destroy herself. I'm not 'looking after her', I am simply properly attentive to my investments."
The tone was intended to cut, the words to mock, but Lucifer wasn't so easily fooled by that anymore.
Uh huh. Yeah. That was why Alastor brought her to their room, let her sleep on their bed while he watched over her. To protect his investment.
Lucifer sat there, watching Alastor gently stroke Niffty's hair while she slept peacefully, curled up and close, so tiny next to Alastor's sheltering form, and he couldn't help but wonder if Alastor actually believed the lies he told himself.
No reason to jump into that end of the pool today. "You never did tell me how you two met."
"I did not," Alastor agreed, "and I'll repeat what I said before, it's her story to tell."
Lucifer didn't know why he expected anything different, he really didn't.
There was enough space on the bed behind Alastor for Lucifer to lie down next to him. He squirmed high enough to rest his chin on Alastor's shoulder, adding his sheltering to the pair of them. Almost, he was tempted to bring out his wings, another layer over them all in a feathery shield. He settled for an arm, looping it around Alastor's waist so that his knuckles rested against Niffty's side.
"Is this all right?" Lucifer said, low, close enough for his breath to stir the fine wisps of Alastor's hair. There was a warble of static, familiar and soothing.
Alastor tipped his head back, letting it fall next to Lucifer's, their cheeks pressing together and the line of his hair brushing ticklishly. "Yes."
Even through the layers of both of their clothes, he was so warm and Lucifer pressed as close to him as he could, rubbing their cheeks together just a little, no hints of beard stubble between them, only soft skin.
"I went downstairs, you know, after you left me all alone," Lucifer told him, light and teasing, "Charlie and the others were cleaning up the mess."
"Indeed?" Alastor sounded bored, belied by his hand groping downwards to find Lucifer's, gently sliding their fingers together, his long, slender ones against Lucifer's smaller hand.
"I took care of it. You and yours can make a decent-size disaster for any occasion, coffee bean."
He could practically feel Alastor resist the urge to tell him not to call him that. Nope, it was way too late for that, coffee bean it was, with his rich, bitter, dark-roasted soul.
"Are you simply making conversation or trying to bore me to sleep?" Alastor let the question dangle like a noose and Lucifer did not laugh, would not, better not to encourage him.
"I could clean you two up, too."
"Ah, well. I would never decline your skills in cleaning, even Niffty marveled at your ability to remove stains. You'd make someone a good hus—housekeeper," Alastor amended, far too late, Lucifer heard the unsaid word as clearly as if he'd spoken it aloud.
He hadn't. Made someone a good husband, not at all. But he was finding that it bothered him less than it used to. Didn't matter, not anymore. Lucifer had no idea what he and Alastor were doing, and he didn't think emotional intelligence was in Alastor's personal dictionary.
That was all right. They'd figure it out together along the way.
"Maybe I would," Lucifer said lightly, "make a good housekeeper." He buried his face into the warm nape of Alastor's neck where the smell of him gathered, inhaling deeply and pressing a damp kiss to that soft, delicate skin, felt Alastor shiver and a single dissonant note wavering around them. Then Lucifer snapped his fingers, dismissing every bloody stain scattered over the two of them. "Maybe. I'm pretty good at cleaning radio demons and sheets."
He felt Alastor laugh more than he heard it, the gentle shake of it going through him as he lay in the circle of Lucifer's arms while the wordless music played on around them.
-finis-