Lucifer hadn't realized how much he'd expected Alastor to be lying on their bed with a magazine until he wasn't there. That was how these arguments were supposed to end, he was supposed to go up to their bedroom and Alastor would be there, hopefully in his pajamas with all his prickly irreverence and cruel arrogance on display, and they'd get everything out between them, manage to make at least some sense in between jibes and by the end of it all, things would be all right. That was the going rate, or had been, and some part of him honestly expected it when he opened the door.
To see his —their— bedroom empty of occupants was disappointing at the very least.
The bed was unremarkable, blankets smooth and tucked in, pillows fluffed. No sign of their three-part nap earlier, Niffty must've come back and tidied up.
It was a discouraging sight and Lucifer was already tired. Life had been much busier for him since he came to the hotel, true, but today was an extreme example. The highest highs and the bottom lows, and tomorrow there would be so much to deal with. His overstuffed brain had had enough. Tonight, all he'd really wanted was to fall asleep with Alastor next to him, to deal with the tangle of all his emotions after a little rest. At this point he felt like there was more he wasn't supposed to talk to Alastor about than he could, and the knowledge was unfamiliar and uneasy. Lucifer liked to think of himself as a straightforward sort of guy, he said what was on his mind and not always intentionally.
Not that he needed to worry about that in an empty room. Everything went out of Lucifer like a deflated balloon, all his worries, hopes, fears for tonight scattered away and he shuffled in, kicking off his boots and toeing off his socks, leaving the rolled-up balls of them lying in front of the door.
Alastor was either off sulking or he'd gone to deal with whatever that possible summons of earlier meant and it didn't matter which, Lucifer couldn't do anything about either. This whole sitting and waiting schtick they'd fallen into was getting old and if Alastor wasn't going to give him the number to his secret cell phone, then Lucifer was going to give him another phone of his own devising. He'd turn off the tracking of course, he had no illusions about his ability to resist the temptation of creepy location apps, but if he could at least text Alastor, make sure he was…well, safe and unhurt was a bit much of an ask, Lucifer would settle for not actively dying if required. But something, anything would be better than this.
Lucifer was in the middle of loosening his tie, letting the limp tongues of it hang down around his neck, when he saw the splash of crimson against the neutral-toned cushions of the loveseat.
He frowned, walking over to investigate. It was Alastor's coat, lying messily across the loveseat arm, carelessly thrown, one sleeve trailing on the floor, and the rest sloughed off like the discarded carapace of some oversized Hell bug and that was a comparison he probably shouldn't share with Niffty.
Lucifer picked it up and held it out. It was long enough that the tails brushed the floor, barely even rumpled from the abuse. There was nothing untoward about it, not a fleck of blood on the lapel or a smudge of dirt at the hem. It was just…here, and that was unusual enough.
He didn't let himself think about it too much as he slipped it on. It was heavier than expected, the inner lining satiny-soft. Much too long for him of course and Alastor would surely have had something to say about that, about how ridiculous he looked with the sleeves hanging over his hands and the shoulders sagging down.
He didn't care; Alastor wasn't here to offer his condescending fashion advice and Lucifer curled up on the loveseat, tucking the coat around him, burying himself in the soft depths. He drew up his knees and rested his head on them, pressing his face into the heavy fabric and breathing in the strange mixture of smells that made up Alastor; the faint hint of detergent, the spice of his cologne, the bitterness of black coffee mixed in with his ever-present swampy greenness, and with it all was something unfamiliar, something sharper, sweeter. Lucifer pressed his face into the lapel and inhaled deeply but couldn't place it.
Where would Alastor have gone without his coat, Lucifer wondered. He didn't generally leave the hotel without it, though that didn't mean he never would. It still didn't feel likely, Alastor was very conscious of his appearance and Lucifer couldn't see him out there in his shirtsleeves and sleeve garters with the masses. But inside the hotel didn't seem very likely either, if he'd simply gone to his own room, he could've taken his coat with him.
Unless this was a message of sorts, ugh, Lucifer hoped not, he wasn't very good at nonverbal communication signals. To be fair, he also wasn't that great at the verbal communication thing so hey, at least he was consistent.
Maybe Alastor left his coat here as a reassurance, a placeholder, that he didn't want to be here now, but he would be back for it. Or maybe more like a threat or a warning, marking his territory, this was also his bedroom now and he wouldn't be abandoning it so easily.
There weren't enough clues for Lucifer to sus out the correct answer. He didn't much care which it was, at the end of the day it was all the same, Alastor would be back to reclaim his coat and Lucifer would be waiting, and if Alastor wanted it, he could pry it off him because the sneaking around while Lucifer was asleep was not on, not this time. He could save it for the talk shows if he didn't want to chat, Lucifer only wanted to see him, confirm he was all right with his own two+ eyes and don't think he wouldn't whip out the angelic ones existing on other planes if it seemed necessary.
He was debating whether to catch a nap on the loveseat or if it would be better to drag Alastor's coat into bed with him when something gleaming on the nightstand caught his eye.
Curiosity got the best of him and Lucifer scrambled to his feet. He kept the coat wrapped around him like a shield as he shuffled over, the dragging hem making a decent attempt at tripping him up as if it possessed some kind of sentient coat thief deterrent and knowing Alastor, Lucifer wouldn't be at all surprised.
On the nightstand was a lamp, a toy skeleton duck, an 'At Home With the Devil' magazine, an empty glass, and the monocle case, all lined up haphazardly. The gleam was coming from the latter, a short chain trailing out from the flap holding the case closed. Lucifer opened it and there was Alastor's monocle, fingerprints visible on the lens, and the chain hanging messily out as if it'd been clumsily put away.
Okay this…this was getting worrisome. He'd seen Alastor out and about without his coat once or twice but never without his monocle. He rarely took it off outside of the bed or the shower, probably because he actually needed it to see; if a demon possessed the ability of sight, using it was a pretty good plan, seeing did tend to be useful in Hell. So why was Alastor out there with his sight compromised?
What the hell was going on?
Lucifer gave the room another once over for clues and there was nothing obvious or even discreet. The bathroom was empty, the shower dry and unused, the bed hadn't morphed at all since his arrival, was he somehow invisible? Okay, that sounded pretty ridiculous, but Alastor's powers were a little unique for Hell, who knew, maybe he was doing a Claude Raines out here, that movie came out in the thirties, right?
"Alastor?" Lucifer called, warily. He felt silly but fuck it, he'd feel worse if Alastor was here and he hadn't tried.
Nothing.
"Alastor?" Lucifer tried again, louder. "Are you here? Give me a sign, knock three times, use my body, something!"
Again, nothing. Lucifer was about to write the whole thing off as a wash and plead exhausted dumbassery when he heard it.
A knock. He waited, again, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, and again, there was a knock.
Then…nothing.
Okay, but two out of three was nothing to sneeze at, somebody or something was knocking and Lucifer was pondering the merits of a Ouija board when another sound came. Not a knock but the loud thunk of something toppling over, coming from inside the closet.
Oh.
Okay, not as spooky as invisibility but still ranking high on the weird meter. What the hell was Alastor doing in the closet, was he hurt or maybe he'd been drugged again? That his coat was spotless was encouraging but not outright indisputable and where was his shadow, why hadn't it come to find him? Surely it couldn't be angry enough at him to let Alastor suffer rather than seeking him out…but then what did Lucifer know, maybe shadows held bitter grudges deep down in their sooty depths.
Lucifer shuffled over to the closet and cautiously opened the door, braced for what he might find.
The first thing that happened was a roar of sound loud enough to ruffle his hair, a near ear-splitting shriek of static feedback. It wasn't enough to knock Lucifer back, but he did clap both hands over his ears, cringing, until it faded.
Only then was he able to get a good look and what he saw made him gasp. Alastor was curled up on the floor, surrounded by a mix of shoes and a couple hats fallen from the box that had toppled from its shelf, literally knock-knocked loose.
"Alastor?" Lucifer gasped. He forgot everything about deals and tapes, everything about the day, fuck knew what else, and fell to his knees, shoving the coat-sleeves out of his way to reach for him. Only for Alastor to flinch, curling into himself, both arms dragging up to wrap around his head, and Lucifer didn't understand, there was no visible injury so what— "Alastor? Baby? What's wrong?"
"Too bright," Alastor groaned out, slinging an arm over his eyes.
The overhead lights from the bedroom were pouring into the closet and Lucifer put them all out with a hasty finger snap. The lights winked out immediately and left the room in pitch blackness, and that was fine, not like he couldn't see in the dark.
"Is that better?" Lucifer asked anxiously.
"Hnnn." A groan presumably to the affirmative was the only response.
Again, Lucifer reached out to him. Not touching, only very carefully hovering his hands over him at strategic locations, checking him over for injury with his powers.
Alastor freed one arm and tried feebly to bat his hands away, mumbling out, "Tickles."
Tickles was better than hurts at least. "Alastor," Lucifer said, then louder, "Alastor, stay with me, here. What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
A slice of crimson made itself known in the darkness, a single baleful eye glaring up at him. "'m not hurt," Alastor snapped, "cease with your mawkish wibbling!"
Okay, a little rude, but Lucifer would let it slide due to bizarre closet shenanigans. "I'll try to keep the mawk and the wibble to a minimum."
He wasn't hurt, nothing that Lucifer could find, so if there were no solid reasons for being in the closet past 'dark, good!' Lucifer was going to get both of them out. He leaned in closer to Alastor, affording him a good, strong, close-up whiff of him and suddenly everything came clear.
Ah.
Well. That explained at least a couple things.
It'd been decades since bathtub gin was all the rage, but it had a distinct aroma, and the only reason Lucifer remembered it at all because the one time he'd smelled it was at one of Beez's grand balls. He'd attended briefly, giving everyone a glimpse of him per request before heading right back home to his workshop but before he'd left, someone spilled their drink down the front of his suit. The smell lingered even after he'd snapped himself clean and he hadn't bothered to change when he got back home, spent hours in that suit working surrounded by the evergreen stench of juniper.
Relieved amusement rushed to the fore despite his concern; why in the hell Alastor was drunk in the closet was still a question but he wasn't hurt, so that was a start, explanations and questions could wait.
Lucifer scooted a little closer, intending to pick Alastor up, and his knee came down on something uncomfortable. He shifted to pull whatever it was free. By touch it was a pad of paper. By sight it was a familiar pad of paper, more specifically his, his sketchbook, the top pages wrinkled from his knee.
His first instinct was humiliated anger that Alastor would blatantly invade his privacy, but Lucifer was starting to get the idea that his first instincts were often wrong where Alastor was concerned. It wasn't as if they were at the level of a diary and if Alastor really wanted to look at it, then Lucifer really wanted to know why.
He held the sketchpad out and asked, carefully and without accusation, "What are you doing with this?"
"Hm?" Alastor mumbled, all cranky tones and static.
"My sketchpad," Lucifer clarified. "What are you doing with my sketchpad? Thinking of taking up drawing?"
He wasn't sure he'd be getting an answer tonight, but after a long moment, Alastor's head turned, lolled in his direction in neck-cracklingly cringy ways. His pupils were wide, swallowing up the scarlet of his eyes. "You draw me terribly often."
"I do," Lucifer admitted. "You're good to look at." He did, most of the sketchbook went from dwindling amounts of ducks to sketches of Alastor, caricatures and silhouettes and doodles.
The book was flipped to the drawing he'd done of Alastor in his pajamas. A careful application of angelic power smoothed the wrinkles from the page and Lucifer studied it here in the darkness.
Alastor was lovely, captured with surprising accuracy in only a few simple lines. Lying on his belly reading a magazine, hoofy feet kicked up like a teenager and his tail perky with the loops of the bow wound around it. Lucifer though it might soon be joined by a cartoonish sketch of him sprawled out on the closet floor. He was still wearing one shoe while the other foot was completely bare, left shoe and sock listed amongst the missing. His suspenders were drawn down in a wild tangle, half his shirttail sticking out like he started undressing and gotten sidetracked. Despite the chaos, he was still desperately appealing and Lucifer's hands itched madly at the thought of reaching out to touch.
"Of course I am," Alastor said, belatedly and so arrogant Lucifer couldn't help smiling a little, such a narcissist. Those bleary eyes suddenly narrowed, sliding over Lucifer. "You're wearing my coat."
Oh, right. Looked like they were both stealing from each other and how a sketchbook and a coat were somehow more intimate than borrowing underwear, Lucifer couldn't say.
He held out his hands with their sagging sleeves in silent offering, inviting critique and was not disappointed.
"You look ridiculous," Alastor told him and it was so predictable Lucifer couldn't help a snort of laughter, shaking his head.
"I'm sure I do. I didn't put it on so I could join the fashion circuit."
"A good thing, security would escort you out before you even caught sight of the catwalk." The little frown line appeared between Alastor's eyebrows, as kissable now as when Lucifer first noticed it. "Then why?"
"It smells like you," Lucifer admitted.
Alastor hummed agreement. "So will you if you keep wearing it."
That sounded…well. It sounded lovely, actually.
Lucifer settled in to sit amongst the scattered shoes and the clothes hanging batlike overhead from their hangers. "Want to explain why you're drunk in the closet looking at my sketchbook?"
Alastor only laughed, brightly amused, "Not drunk," he protested. He rolled closer to Lucifer, trailing a hand down the front of his stolen coat and his entire tone changed, his accent going from easy, crisp radio speech to a laconic roll of words. "Not me, not drunk at all, cher, only had a lil', dontcha know."
"I've heard that story before, from worse people than you," Lucifer said, amused in spite of himself. As suspected, answers were not forthcoming and that was fine, they could wait. He set his sketchbook aside, tucking it into a corner away from shoes. "I couldn't help but notice your presence in the closet is still up for a response. Is the answer connected to the reason we are day drinking?"
He really, really hoped it wasn't to cope with sort of getting kicked out of the kitchen, that seemed a little too 'woe is me' for Alastor.
As if he'd voiced the thoughts, Alastor rolled his eyes. That easy speech faded back to crisp radio formality. "If you must know, Rosie implored me to stop by. I originally begged off as I had other plans, until it became clear that I didn't. "
That sobered Lucifer's amusement if not Alastor himself. "You did have other plans. I didn't want you to leave. Neither did Charlie."
"No? You'll pardon my doubts." Alastor raised a hand to his own face, a tremor going through his fingers as he laid his fingertips against his cheek. "Take this off of me."
At first Lucifer didn't know what he meant. Until he scrubbed roughly at his cheek, the heel of his hand pressing into the hollow of his eye socket as he shuddered, "Take it off, you said you would, I don't want it on me anymore. Get it off." His fingers curled into claws and Lucifer caught his hand before he could tear into the skin hidden beneath the glamour, reminded of the day Alastor couldn't stand to be touched, when he said that he felt like clawing off his own skin.
"Hey, don't, easy," Lucifer soothed. "I can take it off, I said I would, let me."
He didn't let go of Alastor's hand, held their joined fingers over his face and pulled, not from his hand but from the mind. The glamour unraveled, exposing a considerably less swollen eye than this morning as the thread of its power unwove itself and returned to him.
Alastor sagged in relief, his hand limp in Lucifer's grip. His breathing, too fast and laced with the sweetness of gin, eased.
"Do you want me to not touch you?" Lucifer asked carefully, already moving to settle Alastor's hand on his chest.
"Hm? No," Alastor sighed out, of course he did because did that mean 'yes, don't touch' or 'no, do touch'? Yes/no and no/yes, contrary even now. Except he somehow managed to be more contrary by actually clarifying for once. "C'n touch me if you wanna." Then softer, slyly coaxing, "Touch me."
Um. Okay. That accent was creeping out again. He knew Alastor was definitely from bayou country, what with jambalaya and étouffée and oh, yeah, the bayou sprawling through reality back in his room, but he'd never heard him sound like this. His normal accent muted, curling and twisting around the vowels and syllables of another.
Alastor always had a gorgeous voice; now the words fairly dripped lazily from his lips as he rolled onto his back, one hand sliding down the rumpled shirt over his belly to one slim thigh, the fabric of his trousers denting beneath the press of his fingers, eyes fiendishly amused, bright and inviting. "Touch me, hmm? Touch me all over, yeah? You like that?"
"Of course you'd be a tease," Lucifer told him with a sigh. He was reminded strongly of his own drunken evening only days before and he wasn't about to take advantage of a consent-compromised Alastor any more than Alastor had done to him. "Take a rain check for when you haven't had 'a lil'. Come on." Lucifer slid his hands beneath him and tried to lift him up, only for Alastor to sag in his arms, a cat refusing to be picked up, like he'd increased the field of his own gravity, oh, this fucking guy. "C'mon, sweetheart, you don't want to sleep on the closet floor."
"M'ybe I do," Alastor said defiantly. The slurry of his words couldn't seem to decide on an accent, wobbling between both. His eyebrows suddenly drew down and Alastor leaned back to give Lucifer a look of wobbly suspicion. "You don't call me sweetheart," he accused.
"I just did," Lucifer told him, pointedly.
"Nuh uh," Alastor sat up, jabbing an accusing finger at Lucifer that wavered as if unable to decide exactly where he was. "You call me wretched nicknames. Coffee bean and Al and babe."
"If you hate it that much, I'll stop," Lucifer offered softly. But it would hurt, a little, a tiny bruise on his heart.
Alastor made a dissatisfied sound. "Don' like being called Al. Mama called me that."
Oh. Lucifer closed his eyes briefly. So, he'd been stepping on toes much the same way Charlie had with the étouffée, good to know. "I'll stick with bean, then."
"If you must." Which was absolutely not a no.
Alastor leaned in closer, his eyes crossing, and Lucifer caught him as he sagged forward, nearly face planting into the front of his own coat. He set a hand in Alastor's hair, combing gently through the tangles. The strands clung to his fingertips, nearly greasy to the touch. He needed to wash it and Lucifer didn't care, finger combing through it. He wasn't about to risk dragging a wobbly, drunken Alastor to the shower and Alastor wasn't likely to react well to another use of angelic powers directly on him today so it would have to wait until morning.
Lucifer leaned down, cautious of the points of his antlers, and kissed the top of his head, and because he couldn't not say it, he murmured into Alastor's unwashed hair, "I'm sorry."
"Hmm?" It was more of a startled snort, like Alastor was more asleep than not. "Sorry for what?"
Lucifer sighed inwardly. This was a coward's apology, and he knew it, but it had to be said. "Sorry that I didn't defend you better from Vaggie. Sorry that I didn't ask you to stay from the beginning. I froze up. I know how to defend you from someone like—" Box, he didn't say, "—someone else. I didn't know how to protect you from my daughter's girlfriend."
The too-loud, dismissive blat of horns made Lucifer wince even as Alastor twisted in his lap, looking up at him balefully. "Don't need you to defend me, cher."
"I know," Lucifer said. He leaned in and brushed a kiss against his mouth, narrowly avoiding the irritated snap of his teeth. "I'm still sorry. Lately I've found that cooking is better when you're there. You were missed."
"I've no need for your apologies," Alastor sniffed. "I wasn't upset."
Lucifer wondered which one of them Alastor was lying to. "Then why did you go off and get drunk?" he asked, softly.
"Cause Rosie offered me drinks!" Alastor said triumphantly.
Fair enough.
That smile faded a little, some of the alcoholic haze sharpening in Alastor's eyes. "You don't get to make yourself into a monster and then be offended to be treated like one. I may be a hypocrite, my dear, but not about that."
"I know you better than that." Now it was Lucifer's turn to play liar, or maybe it wasn't a lie, maybe it was only a hope, a wish, one that had the possibility of coming true in Hell. Now was not the time to discuss Alastor's deal with Charlie, if there ever would be a time, but the knowledge of it was still sitting there in the back of Lucifer's overstuffed mind, firmly ignored.
"Do you?" Alastor said, muzzily intrigued. "Then why do you keep apologizing to me?"
Um. Good question and Lucifer did not have a good answer. Alastor had told him several times now of his dislike for apologies and here Lucifer was, packaging up another like an ugly sweater for Alastor to shove into the back of his mental closet.
Lucifer sat there, unable to answer and Alastor's smile widened into something more real, lopsided and oddly fond. "You're a fascinating conundrum, my dear. Never fear, I knew what I was getting into the first time I let you lay your hands on me."
Yeah, okay, they could save any more cryptic observations for when they'd both had some sleep. "Come on, let's get you into bed."
This time Alastor allowed himself to be picked up and carried to bed, without a single peep about how ridiculous they must look. Lucifer sat him on the edge to retrieve his pajamas from atop the dresser. When he turned back around, Alastor was trying to take off his remaining shoe and was in serious danger of leaning too far forward and somersaulting off the bed. Lucifer caught him by the shoulders and pushed him upright, crouching down to remove it himself, setting it carefully aside and tucking the sock within. Not that it mattered, the other shoe was nowhere in sight and despite Alastor's constant worry over the state of his footwear, he might be in the market for a new pair tomorrow.
Meanwhile, Alastor flopped back on the bed, giggling, and Lucifer was fairly sure that no matter what happened in their future, the sight of one of the more terrifying Overlords in Hell giggling on his bed was not one he'd soon forget.
The moment Lucifer let him go, Alastor wormed his way around, sprawling on his back with his head hanging off the edge of the bed, hair falling from around his face as he looked up at Lucifer from upside-down.
Being shorter than most sinner demons was generally little more than an annoyance, but the secondary problem Lucifer had with sinners being freakishly tall was that it also gave them a freakishly long reach, one that was hard to gauge. He yelped as Alastor caught hold of him by the front of his coat, hauling him in close and slipping between the lapels to settle his hands on Lucifer's hips. It put his crotch right at Alastor's face level and there was the lightest nudge of a nose against his cock through the too-thin fabric of his trousers.
"Hnn. You could put your cock in my mouth like this," Alastor said gleefully, his voice muffled from within the coat. "I could just unzip your trousers and have you right here."
"Fuck," Lucifer hissed out, shivering, no, this could not happen, it would not. He stepped backwards through the void, right out of Alastor's coat and his reach, watched as the empty outline fell and covered Alastor's head, leaving him sputtering.
"No," Lucifer said clearly, as soon as Alastor was free of the tangle of cloth.
"No?" Alastor repeated. Too large crimson eyes looked up at Lucifer, something wounded and unexpectedly fearful in their depths. "Of course not, I shouldn't have, I—"
"Don't," Lucifer hushed him, suddenly understanding Alastor's distaste for 'I'm sorry's'. "I don't need apologies, either."
Alastor blinked owlishly up at him a few times, considering that, then he said, "All the blood is going to my head."
Lucifer snorted a laugh. "Come on, smart guy, let's get you tucked in."
He helped Alastor back on the bed, turned the right way around, then into his pajamas with a quick finger snap. Much as the idea of two hands filled with a naked, giggling Alastor appealed, that would have to wait for a more sober moment. In short order, he had Alastor tucked into bed and Lucifer stripped off to follow him. He hesitated at his undershorts and decided to keep them on. He would never take advantage of anyone in their inebriation but maybe better not to give his dick any ideas.
Alastor watched him slide between the sheets, oddly subdued as he asked, "Can I kiss you?"
Lucifer hesitated; this was a terrible idea, but Alastor looked so hopeful…he relented, braced for escape if it became necessary. "I have my doubts but give it a shot."
Immediately Alastor lit up, literally in his case, all bright greens in the darkness, and scrambled upright to topple gracelessly into Lucifer's lap, cupped his face in both hands as he kissed him.
Soft, messy, sweet little kisses fluttered quickly all over his face, down his neck, ticklishly pressed into the join of his neck and shoulder. Kisses were all he was going to get, Lucifer wasn't about to breach Alastor's nascent trust in him with anything more and he was preparing to gently put on the brakes if he got carried away. It didn't turn out to be necessary; almost as quickly as he began, those kisses grew further apart, sloppier, until Alastor was sagging against him, drowsing against his shoulder.
You peculiar, precious, pretty thing, Lucifer thought helplessly. He reached up to gently thread his fingers into Alastor's hair and it roused him enough to push his head into Lucifer's hand imperiously, silently demanding pets that he was more than willing to provide. Rubbing his ears brought forth a heavy chest-deep groan and Lucifer guided him back down, manhandling Alastor into place against his side.
"It's been a long day," Lucifer told him, hushed, "Can I hold you for a while?"
Static-laced laughter greeted that, along with Alastor curling in closer against his side, his head resting on Lucifer's chest, "'m afraid I must insist."
Perfect, an unexpected wish granted, and Lucifer held him close, decadently warm beneath the blankets as Alastor's breathing slowed, going soft and even. He thought Alastor was asleep and was startled when he spoke again, barely audible.
"Safe here," Alastor mumbled, "won't hurt me."
An ache settled in his chest, right beneath Alastor's cheek. Lucifer closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "No. No, I wouldn't. I won't."
(not unless you make me, please don't make me)
Alastor shifted, squirming up until his head was on Lucifer's shoulder, his breath gin-sharp as he whispered, "Don' let me go?"
"Never."
Lucifer meant it as reassuring, but Alastor only made a pained sound, burying his face deeper into Lucifer's neck, all ticklish breath and white noise. "Wish I got to keep this. Keep you."
"You can," Lucifer told him, so softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
"No." So much unhappiness in that single word, like nothing he'd heard from Alastor before. "No, I can't."
It left him cold, confused, why would Alastor think that?
"What do you mean?" Silence and Lucifer sat up a little, twisting towards Alastor and asked again, "Alastor? What do you mean?"
Nothing. He was out cold. Breathing deep and even, already a patch of wetness spreading from under the corner of his mouth. A random blurb of music warbled briefly before fading, then another, before settling on a slow, soft melody that Lucifer didn't recognize. He made a mental note to see if he could find out the song later, he needed all the Scooby clues about Alastor that he could get.
But for now, predictions of doom and gloom could wait. Tonight, he was taking the gift he was given and simply enjoying having Alastor in his arms, lovely and willing and warm. He pressed a soft kiss against the top of Alastor's head and beneath the shield of soft music and darkness, Lucifer whispered helplessly, unheard, into the mess of his hair, "I think I love you."
Nothing happened. The world didn't end, the gate to Heaven didn't fall from the sky. Lucifer let out a breath he barely noticed he'd been holding and closed his eyes, settling in. Hopefully tomorrow Alastor would relent enough about Lucifer using his powers directly on him to heal whatever hangover he might have.
He drifted, listening to the soft music and breathing Alastor in as he slept, and didn't care what Alastor believed. Lucifer was keeping this, as long as he could.
Lucifer wasn't planning on going anywhere. Not this time.
-finis
Notes