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It was the distant, persistent ringing that finally pulled Alastor from his slumber. Letting out a deep sigh while stretching lazily, he reached behind him… only for his hand to catch nothing but a soft pillow at his back. He frowned, blinking a few times to clear his vision.
Alastor lay huddled in the center of the large bed by himself, surrounded by a mountain of cushions and pillows. He pulled the one in his grasp close to bury his face in it, inhaling in expectation of the adored, pleasantly crisp scent, an autumn morning after the rain.
He found clean linen instead, almost scentless, if not for a hint of plastic. He groaned, kicking the covers and pillows aside to slide off the bed and make his way to the window.
Light poured in as he pulled the blackout curtains aside, giving him a perfect view of the entertainment district below just starting to buzz in the morning rush. Across the street Katy Killjoy’s news segment flashed on the screens, while Sinners sped through their commute.
“It’s too much noise already, don’t you think?” Alastor asked out loud, looking down at his shadow, who gave no answer.
With a shrug, he went about his room, the lights suddenly turning on without his prompting, an innovative addition of his dear old pal to his living quarters—nice but unnecessary. It matched the rest of the room, with its blue hues and green undertones. The sleek, black and blue console where his radio sat made the old thing stand out a bit too much, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave it aside in favor of a much more modern and efficient media console.
He had a soft spot for the classics.
The door to the walk-in closet slid open, lights turning on and drawers opening without prompting, the smart system making way for Alastor to pick his outfit for the day. A pristine selection of suits were lined up for him, all in matching shades of blue. Alastor’s eyes landed on a dark navy set, with accents in bright red. Perfect.
He inspected himself in the closet’s mirror, smoothing down his coat and fastening the cuff links, turning to his side to look himself up and down and deciding he should get more things in red next time. The accents were good, and the more he looked, the more his eyes fixated on them, popping out like his radio station did.
He took his agenda on his way out. Apologies to his old pal, but for this he was a paper-only type of guy. With a hum, Alastor turned it to the current page. At the top, marked with bright highlighter was his talk show with Vox, and underneath his radio show. He tapped his fingers over the pages, and squinted his eyes while trying to read the rest of the items in the agenda, the text seeming to blur before his eyes. Alastor took off the blue tinted monocle to clean it up, and put it back again to read, but his attention was directed elsewhere by a knock on the door.
“Al, breakfast is ready!” Vox knocked the door again in a rhythmic manner for good measure, the sound effect of morning traffic vaguely filtering along his voice behind the door. “C’mon, I’m starving!”
Alastor closed the agenda and reached for his cane, tapping the top of the mic a few times when the eye didn’t open.
“Al!”
He looked back to the door. Right. Breakfast.
With a pep in his step and a hum, he made his way towards the balcony, only to jerk to a halt before the floor to ceiling corporate windows.
He tapped the glass with his cane, chuckling to himself. What had he been thinking? His penthouse didn’t have a balcony.
Redirecting his steps towards the kitchen, Alastor went directly to the coffee bar, preparing two mugs just in time for Vox to walk closer and snatch the first one Alastor had ready, immediately taking a large gulp and making a face.
“Ugh, it’s too sweet,” he complained.
Alastor rolled his eyes, walking past Vox to the table. “I made it the same as always.”
Vox looked down at his mug thoughtfully, his mouth scrunched into a small dot, but ultimately shrugged and kept drinking it.
“We got a shooting today,” Vox explained, the note in his agenda coming back to him with those same words. “Next season is gonna be even better than last one. We should make twice as many episodes this time, people love our show.”
Alastor had to bite his tongue, almost letting an automatic refusal escape him. He stared at Vox’s animated face, multiple images and charts quickly flashing on his screen as he kept detailing the plans he had for their show, including a few dedicated episodes and exclusives.
Their show was special, a meticulously crafted endeavor that had been on air for years thanks to their joint commitment. It was, perhaps, the best collaboration Alastor had ever made—even if lately it was mostly Vox’s input making it to the final scripts.
He fidgeted with his hands on his lap, going for his left annulary and feeling oddly bereft at finding nothing but the short velvet and his own bony digit.
“Of course, old pal,” he laughed as he got up, not feeling hungry after all. “I’ll be there!”
He left the kitchen. If they were going to be shooting tonight, then Alastor needed to get some work done for his radio show first. Being on camera always left him exhausted and he was not about to neglect one gig for the other.
The lights of the hallway to his studio turned on as he walked, illuminating the narrow passage. There were new posters on the walls, another fantastic season was bound to come with more of those, and Vox liked to update the advertisements.
He stopped close to the door, where a floor to ceiling poster, showcased Vox with that sharp smile of his, while Alastor was a smaller figure in the forefront, introducing his business partner as the future.
Alastor traced his fingers over his own grinning image, half bowed with his arm extended to present Vox behind, and yet above him.
He turned to look at another display, where he was once again in the front, smiling brightly and talking to his microphone beneath Vox’s larger-than-life image.
A New Era of Entertainment, brought to you by the genius behind VoxTek!
Each picture felt more unfamiliar than the last, when had they even taken so many?
Video is here, and it’s better than ever!
Those were his words, plastered all over the shiny poster for posterity.
Talent and Splendor, Together for Your Delight!
He dropped his hand, sighing. Yes, thanks to Vox they were going to bring the best to everyone around, because they were the future, and without his dear old pal, Alastor would have never been where he was.
Right.
He walked in the empty hallways without checking the lights, knowing the place like the back of his hand, but they activated around him before he even reached the console, washing the place in cool, sterile hues that reminded him more of a hospital than a radio studio.
He set his dormant microphone next to the chair as he sat down, his hands hovering over the console without touching anything. Several lights blinked at him in a blue, white and red in a rhythmic pattern that he couldn’t help but stare into, until he let his hand down over a few buttons, changing the automatic settings.
The console was everything a proper Radio Host should have and more, designed by Vox as a gift to him. Every feature that Alastor could think of was included—and a few more that he hadn’t even thought about requesting. Another step into the future.
He tapped his fingers on it before turning several switches and buttons, willing himself to feel the expected excitement for such a thoughtful and dedicated present, and finding himself a little lost when it didn’t manifest.
Perhaps he was just tired.
There was a sound in the distance, and Alastor shifted his attention to the view out the windows, where the clock marking the time for the exorcist to come and rain permanent death onto them stood. Frowning, he abandoned his chair to move closer, puzzled at what he saw—or didn’t, to be more accurate. Apparently you couldn’t see the clock’s face from this angle at all, he’d have to rely on the digital clock across the console.
Reaching for his microphone, he leaned in, grinning.
“Good Morning Pentagram City! I'm your host, Alastor, here to bring you the best to start your day!”
Alastor took pride over his work, and perhaps the most important part, he enjoyed it. He loved the feel of radio waves emerging from his core, uniting with the equipment around him and seeping into the air, traveling so far and wide even time wouldn’t stop them. It was a delight every single time, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to stay animated today.
“What about some music?”
Alastor set a playlist before reaching for something over the edge of the console, catching nothing. He could’ve sworn there had been something there, in the corner of his eye. He dropped his hands on his lap, his right hand going for his left again, feeling his own claws scratching lightly at the skin and fur.
The music break was almost done.
Alastor bit the inside of his cheek and closed his eyes, opting to ride the signal going out of the tower, just to take his mind off the unpleasant feeling that he was forgetting something important, but he couldn’t feel anything.
Puzzled, his eyes trailed to the console. There was something off about the equipment, he couldn’t seem to be able to make his own signal match it. He went around it, looking for anything out of place and finding nothing out of the ordinary.
“Maybe the receptor?” He muttered, looking towards the far side of the room, where the rest of the equipment and communication system sat. Ah, there was the issue. The On Air indicator was off, the signal wasn’t going out of the tower.
He tapped his cane on the ground to wake his shadow—or at least that was his intention.
The pain that rammed between his eyes like a railroad spike was so intense he could hear himself screaming. He lost his footing, falling next to the console while his head seemed to be splitting open even when there was no wound to be felt. It grew, threatening to swallow him whole.
“Al!”
The pain faded, and he found himself looking up at Vox’s worried expression. He was cradled in the other overlord’s arms, which prompted him to try to get up, tripping. If not for Vox, he would’ve ended face first on the floor.
“Did it happen again?” Vox asked, one hand combing through Alastor’s hair despite his flinching. “Those migraines are getting worse.”
“Migraines,” he repeated, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Yes, I… I think so.”
“Did you overdo it again?”
“No, I was just—the transistor, there’s something wrong with it, I was going to fix—”
“I’ll do it!” Vox said immediately, helping Alastor up again. “You go lay down, I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m in the middle of a broadcast,” Alastor argued.
Vox shook his head. “It's almost done, the last song is playing already. Don't worry, I’ll take care of the console.”
“No, that was the first—” Alastor looked up at the digital clock, blinking at the numbers displayed. An hour had passed, somehow, and now the perfect voice of Ella Fitzgerald floated around them.
…Though I know that we meet ev'ry night
And we couldn't have changed since the last time…
Alastor pulled away from Vox, opting to fold his arms behind his back. “Yes, of course… Thanks.”
…To my joy and delight
It's a new kind of love at first sight…
***
He’d never been this comfortable in someone’s arms. Truth to be told, this might as well be the first time it mattered.
Relationships from his mortal life were simply not comparable, and those outside of the familial kind were rarely worth remembering.
It was absurd to think he’d ever willingly consider being caught like this, cradled in someone else’s lap. The height difference was prominent and while the love seat was supposed to accommodate them both, they’d somehow ended up curled around each other, with Alastor’s legs propped over the arm rest while ███████ pressed his face against the side of his neck. Not a position he had ever been before, and the fact that he enjoyed it was something he was yet to accept fully.
“We look ridiculous,” he grumbled.
“Oh yeah, totally,” ███████ agreed, completely dispelling the comfortable silence they had created for themselves after days of chaotic back and forth.
Seriously? Alastor groaned loudly, pushing him away and swinging one leg off the couch to stand up, only for ███████ to dig his claws in, clinging to him. He huffed, lightly kicking the other man but putting no actual effort to leave his hold.
“You’re not supposed to concur,” he groused. Just because he’d said it out loud didn’t mean he wanted to be agreed with.
███████ laughed, as if knowing what Alastor was thinking. He most likely did, which made the whole thing even more annoying.
“I thought you liked it when I conceded?” he chuckled, not bothering to mask the smirk. Alastor pushed his face again and renewed his effort to get up, making him whine. “Nooo, no, don’t leave.”
“This is stupid,” he complained, yet let himself fall back onto ███████’s lap, folding his arms across his chest and giving the other man an annoyed look that—contrary to what the little voice in the back of his head said—made him look very dignified, and not at all like a pouting child.
███████ poked his cheek, and Alastor made a motion to bite him in turn, making the other man laugh again.
It was a pleasant sound.
“Nah,” ███████ said, combing his fingers through Alastor’s hair. “We’re fine.”
Alastor rolled his eyes, relaxing his arms to let them rest over his chest instead of the tight fold. He allowed his lids to close, and pushed the annoyance aside in favor of enjoying the way ███████ scratched his scalp so pointedly yet carefully, at least until he reached the crown of his head.
He opened one eye, a silent question in the air. ███████ lightly tapped the side of one of his antlers, asking wordlessly. Alastor chuckled and pushed his head against his palm in answer, demanding for him to continue.
Alastor closed his eyes again, fully relaxed. He was right to think they looked ridiculous, but he was so comfortable it was easy to excuse the silliness, despite his initial token of protest. He sighed under ███████ touch, pressing his face against the side of the other man’s neck, enjoying the soft, careful scratch of those fingers over his scalp and antlers.
It was the first time he wanted this. The first time he truly wanted this to work.
***
“Al? Hey, Alastor. Alastor! Are you listening?”
With some effort, he willed himself to turn and look at Vox sitting across the table, glaring. Alastor resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“What were you saying?” Alastor prompted, despite not actually caring for whatever Vox had been talking about. Not that it mattered, because he continued his monologue before Alastor’s mind wandered into more… peculiar… territory.
“—you know how much they love it! It's just logical.”
Alastor blinked a few times, tilting his head. Even without listening to everything, Alastor had an idea where Vox was going. “And what does this logic encompass?”
“More shows!” Vox answered, confirming Alastor’s suspicions.
His right eye twitched. “That sounds lovely, but like I already said before, I’m afraid our schedules are already packed, there’s only so much we can do. I have a show of my own to keep up with, as you know.”
“Moving things around is not that hard,” Vox said, rolling his eyes and waving his hand like it was no big deal. “I’m rescheduling ‘Vox Tonight’ to five episodes a week instead of seven so we can do our other show. ‘On Air with Vox and Al’ is our number one rating program, pulls way more numbers so we’re prioritizing it. I’m setting the recording schedule to fit the new slots, and you shift your radio show to twice a week—”
“Ha!” Alastor’s sharp laugh stopped Vox from steamrolling over his interests. His dear old friend looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, as if he had no idea how preposterous his proposal was. It was particularly insulting when he tried that trick on Alastor, who he’d learned it from. “Hilarious!”
Vox blinked with such a constructed expression of confusion, it made him look ridiculous. “What do you mean? It’s a solid plan.”
“Oh no, no, it’s not the quality I find amusing,” Alastor said, his claws gouging at the table. “But the idea that you of all people could even suggest I put aside my Radio Show, what a funny joke. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to make me drop it.”
“Of course not!” Vox said, his voice raising so suddenly it almost made Alastor flinch. “Of course not! No, noooo. I’d never ask you something like that!”
“You just did,” Alastor pointed out.
“No, I didn’t. I never said that,” Vox shouted back, like an infant without an argument.
“And what do you think ‘shifting’ my radio broadcast to twice a week in favor of your video podcast entails?”
“No, n-no, I m-m-meant, uhm, n-n-ot tha-a-at! Justtttt—” Vox’s screen jumped a few times.
Alastor scoffed, and pushed his chair to stand up. The angelic clock tower chimed loudly, the sound echoing across the city, signaling the start of an impending purge that couldn’t be happening.
He looked out the window, but once again the face of the clock seemed to be facing the wrong angle, and yet that made the sound no less clear. It quickly got so loud, Alastor had to physically cover his ears to dim the noise that was drilling into his senses like a sledgehammer, disorienting him to the point he felt himself fall.
Then nothing.
What had he been doing?
The pain cut short abruptly, while the noise left a ringing in his ears that didn’t immediately go away. It took him a moment to realize where he was, the ambient noise mixed with the clicks of cutlery and people chatting around them in the restaurant.
Right. Dinner.
Vox snapped his fingers in front of his face.
“Al? Hey, Alastor. Alastor! Are you listening?”
“Don’t do that,” Alastor scoffed, betting Vox’s hand away from his face.
Vox rolled his eyes. “As I was saying, ‘On Air with Vox and Al’ is our number one rating program—”
“I’m not dropping my radio show,” Alastor said immediately, though he was not entirely sure why. Vox’s theatrical gasp didn’t help.
“Obviously! I’d never suggest something like that. Please Al, who do you take me for?” Not a second later he dropped the exaggeration for something far more real, hurt displayed across his face so openly it made Alastor uncomfortable. “I was gonna say: we can pre-record several shows, and that way our schedules won't be so packed, you can even have more time for your show, yeah?”
Alastor couldn’t explain the strange agitation filling him. It was very reminiscent of when people riled him up, but Vox had not done anything to earn that kind of vitriol, yet Alastor couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a reason he’d spoken before thinking. But he couldn’t prove it.
“I’m—” it felt wrong, the turmoil still present while he forced the words out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, I… yes, of course, you’d never… do that…”
Wouldn’t he? There was something still bothering him, besides the bitter taste the apology left in his mouth. Alastor didn’t feel like he was in the wrong, yet he couldn’t explain his reasoning, it made him feel inadequate.
Was he forgetting something? It certainly felt like it. He looked at the window where the clock stood, its face hidden from view. Not being able to recall it was putting him into an even fouler mood.
He tapped his fingers against the table, trying to get his thoughts in order, his free hand pressing against his temple, claws going over a spot where it felt something prickling at his skin— yet his fingers grabbed at nothing. It was vexing.
He was about to dig his claws into the table—and probably his own skin as well—when Vox’s cool palm laid over it, his fingers closing around Alastor’s hand before he could pull back. The bold act startled him, and he gave Vox a puzzling look.
“Apology accepted,” Vox said softly, his thumb moving over the back of his hand in something that felt too close to a caress for his comfort. “No harm done.”
Alastor kept his smile, nodding. He then tried to get his hand off Vox’s grip, but he didn’t release him, he actually tightened his grip.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve been thinking about… you know, us. Giving it a chance.”
“We talked about this,” Alastor said, trying to pull back again. “Vox.”
“Al, please,” Vox said, his tone wheedling. “Are you gonna make me beg?”
“I'm not making you do anything,” Alastor said behind clenched teeth. “You’re not listening. Again.”
Vox scooted closer and took Alastor’s hand on both of his own, his hold firm. Trapping.
The restaurant’s attention shifted out of nowhere, all their eyes on them. Cooing noises, and whispers carrying notes of approval filled the air, despite Alastor’s visible discomfort.
He redirected his anger towards the crowd, but empty faces stared back at him, no discernible eyes or mouths, or just a smudge where those features should be.
Alastor reeled back at the disturbing sight, half turning while Vox seized the chance to cage him in his arms. Blue tinted claws sized his chin up, the flat display was almost on his face when Alastor reacted, his claws slashing the screen. With a yelp, Vox let him go and Alastor was on his feet and moving backwards.
The commotion didn’t weigh in his favor. The very same people who were whispering their approval now loudly stated the opposite but Alastor didn’t care. How dare Vox try something like that? Alastor had always been clear where they stood and he didn’t want that damn blue tongue anywhere near him.
Alastor turned to leave when another wave of pain struck him, like his brain was being cleaved in half. He doubled over and lost his footing, crashing to the ground as the clock’s bells tolled—
“Apology accepted!” Vox said happily. “What’s wrong?”
He pulled his hand off the table, dropping both on his lap under the tablecloth, his vision still blurry.
“Nothing,” Alastor answered, the lie bitter in his mouth.
***
“This is fine.”
The robe resting over his shoulders felt almost weightless, partially open for him to appraise his selection. Alastor ran the tips of his claws over the delicate lace of the garment, looking at his reflection in the mirror while shifting in place. Pulling the robe aside, his eyes caught on the intricate details of the garter belt.
He hadn't expected the material to be this comfortable against his skin, or the way it would make him look.
Nearby, his shadow looked far too amused for his liking, the nosy thing was smirking at him where not a minute ago had been pushing to get him into those clothes. Alastor rolled his eyes, turning again… and again… and if he did so a third time, well, that was for him to know and his shadow to stop snickering about.
“These are perfectly fine,” Alastor insisted. “And I'm not nervous at all.”
His shadow made a cooing noise, and this time Alastor grabbed the closest thing available to toss in its direction. It dodged the comb with no problem, manifesting right in front of him to tug teasingly on the sheer robe.
“Stop that,” Alastor said, pushing it away and leaving the robe completely open, halfway down one shoulder. His eyes straying again to the mirror, their silly fight immediately forgotten. He couldn’t help it, he had never imagined himself looking like this, why would he? It had always been a joke before. He twisted the end of the robe in one hand, nodding to himself a few times as if that would help reassure him.
“I look great!”
“I agree!”
Alastor turned around, a treacherous bleat escaping him. When had lยςเŦєг arrived? He hadn’t even made a sound, how inconsiderate!
He pulled the sheer robe to cover himself, half turning his body. “You were not supposed to be here yet!”
LЧҁїfЭГ raised an eyebrow. “Uhm, one: this is my room. two: I was enjoying the view.”
“Oh, is your room now?” Alastor hissed, his face hot. “Funny, I could have sworn there had been changes to the sleeping arrangements, seems I misunderstood.”
It was hard to keep the offended stance when Гцcїfё’s presence made his heart beat unevenly, not to mention the weird way his stomach turned, like he was on a free fall.
“Wait, wait, no,” Гцcїfё winced. “That came out weird.”
Alastor tried to huff but it came out more like a laugh. “No, no, by all means, do continue making me feel welcome.”
Гцcїfё walked over, a smile on his face. “C’mon Al, you know what I meant!”
“Do I?” Alastor said with a smirk of his own.
LЧҁїfЭГ dropped his coat on the nearest chair, and made his way to Alastor. He couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering, and if Alastor enjoyed the attention, he kept that to himself.
“Sooo….” lยςเŦєг began, trying for casualness and not getting anywhere close with the way his eyes kept going from his Alastor's face, to his shoulders and down his chest, then quickly repeating the cycle all over again. “What’s the occasion?”
“Why, our bet of course!” The smooth fabric slid down his shoulder again when he made a motion to bow in place, ever the performer. “I’m so very graciously conceding.”
“What? Oh? The one I won?”
“I conceded!”
“Uh-huh, so gracious of you,” LЧҁїfЭГ grinned, one finger hooked over the loose knot of the robe. “What a sweet victory, then… You look beautiful.”
“Just beautiful?” he teased, pulling Гцcїfёr closer as they walked backwards, knowing they had reached the bed when the back of his knees hit the edge. He tucked a finger under lยςเŦєг’s chin to guide him to look up, their gaze locked while Alastor purposely let the robe fall down.
“Positively sinful, then. All this red…”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, fondly rolling his eyes. “Wonderfully eloquent, Sire. Maybe you’d have preferred me decked in white?”
Гucifёr stood between his legs, one finger hooked over the lace of the garter belt, gently snapping it. “You look great in anything, gorgeous. But you look the best in your own colors.”
He wanted to come up with a clever come back, but the way LuҁїfєГ racked his claws over the fur of his chest was incredibly distracting. Alastor leaned back on his elbows, following lยςเŦєг’s hands as he explored his body gently, not like something that might break, but something to be treasured.
It felt so good.
Slowly, Гucїfer dropped to his knees while Alastor followed him with his gaze, drinking the moment. He feasted on every detail, but what he liked the most was the look of adoration in those red eyes. Alastor reached for that beautiful blonde hair, and smiled at the sight—he had put that look in there, there was nothing like knowing this, and he intended to enjoy it.
The King of Hell, on his knees before him—
***
“What the fuck.”
Alastor felt like he had been repeating those words an awful lot since waking up. He hissed them under his breath again as he looked for something to wear, his fingers tracing rows of pristine shirts and jackets, finding all of them lacking.
He couldn’t stop thinking about his dream, the image of Lucifer’s adoring face was incredibly distracting.
“Ha!” Alastor laughed out loud, tearing the shirt in his hands. “This is normal, completely normal.”
Right?
Who didn’t have the occasional erotic dream about the elusive King of Hell?
He let the ripped fabric fall to the floor, joining a growing pile at his feet, before going through the rack to pull a new shirt, grimacing at yet another fistful of cobalt .
In the end he all but tore through his closet for the least blue outfit he could find, a darker shade that could pass for black. He stared at himself in the mirror while cleaning his monocle, the blue glint of the glass standing out in the light, leaving him feeling strangely upset and irritated.
He didn’t even like blue.
Tapping the monocle with his thumb, Alastor tried to recall when he’d bought the thing, and came out blank. Perhaps because his mind was still too busy dissecting every minute detail he could recall about his dream. He really should push that aside, it was incredibly distracting.
He ignored the agenda on his desk as he finally left his room. He was in no mood to see anyone, and the mere thought of facing Vox this early made him feel vaguely nauseous. No, he was escaping the tower for the day, and he had no intention of explaining himself to anyone.
He needed a new monocle, one that wasn’t fucking blue.
The streets were eerily calm, and while Alastor appreciated some tranquility, the media district and its surrounding were not meant to be peaceful by any means. He could’ve let that slide if not for the same stillness following him to the shopping district.
Not even midmorning and already most storefronts were closed, some of them looking to have been abandoned for a long time with their dusty, unusually barren interiors. His favorite tailor was not only closed, but the apparel window and entrance door had been boarded up.
On the other side of the street, the many televisions in display synchronized to show a commercial announcing new episodes for ‘On Air with Vox and Al’.
He disliked seeing himself in those screens, his smile was all wrong. What kind of mood had he been in when they recorded those segments? He could hardly recall what they were about.
Alastor turned his back to them, walking away before the images looped, feeling a headache bloom. He nursed the petty frustration of not being able to do something as simple as buying a new accessory when he wanted.
Perhaps another store would do, or at least that was what Alastor planned as he kept walking down the street. His headache, however, just seemed to get worse the further he went, and he closed his eyes, his fingers pressing against his temples. When the wave of pain settled, he was standing under the V Tower’s shadow.
But… he just walked down a single block… How did he get back here?
Alastor looked back, the distance made no sense, it should have taken him longer to get back, and he was not even going in that direction. How was he back?
The screens across the street came to life with the same commercial segment as before. Alastor didn’t even look at them, hurrying away. He needed to clear his head, talk with someone.
Someone who wasn’t Vox.
That’s how he ended up in Cannibal Town.
“I heard things are going well!” Rosie’s voice cut through the noise. Alastor turned the cup in his hand—what was he drinking?— almost doing a double take when his vision went blurry.
“What?” he asked, squinting his eyes at her. She looked… odd, but he couldn’t quite place what was different.
“With your darling partner!”
Alastor frowned at her, shaking his head. “He’s acting strangely. I think he’s going to try something again…”
“Whatever do you mean, darling? He’s been nothing but a gentleman!”
Alastor grimaced. “No, he tried… he tried to…”
What had Vox done? It was hard to remember.
There had been that odd moment in the restaurant that left him vexed and confused… but what had actually happened?
“He’s insisting on us trying to be an item, Rosie,” he said, his mind clearing into the picture of those blue-tinted claws holding his hand despite him pulling back. “Again.”
If only he could remember more. He was so sure he’d turned Vox down before, and he would insist again not long after. He vaguely remembered some of those occasions being a simple no, and Vox rolling his eyes, while others were harder to remember, yet the feeling of displeasure and unease lingered.
“I dunno honey, maybe you should just give him a chance.”
The cup in his hand cracked. “What?”
The other Overlord grinned, her sharp teeth on display.
“Well, he’s just so attentive, and you’d make such a great cou—”
“Rosie,” Alastor cut her short, his temper flaring up. Last he remembered, Rosie had threatened to eat not just Vox but also Alastor if he ever dared to so much as consider the other Overlord’s proposal of partnership, but now she suddenly was his number one fan? The headache made a swift comeback, pounding like it had not done before. He had to firmly plant his feet on the ground just to make sure the room wasn’t spinning.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He grabbed it, assuming it was Rosie, only to immediately let go when he opened his eyes and found her still sitting in front of him. Alastor looked up to the familiar figure of Franklin, looking down at him.
What the actual fuck.
Mouth hanging open, Alastor watched Rosie’s deceased husband sit next to her, reaching for her hand.
“You never know when you will find the love of your life!”
She gave Franklin a kiss and turned back to him, like she expected him to just agree.
“Rosie, what the fuck?” He blurted, eyes going from one to the other, and down to their joined hands. Rosie tutted benevolently.
“Honey, if I hadn't given my darling Franklin a chance, it would have been a tragic loss, dontcha think? I’d been missing out on so much,” she sighed, but Alastor didn’t believe her, narrowing his eyes at her.
“Rosie, didn’t you push him out the window on the last extermination?”
She gasped, covering her mouth with a dainty, fine-boned hand. Franklin just smiled.
“What are you even talking about, love? I’d never do something like that to my darling Franklin!”
“He was an asshole.”
“Alastor!”
He drilled the thing that looked like Franklin with a stern look. The last time he’d seen that horrible man, he’d been a splatter on the ground, dismembered and unable to reform while he and Rosie looked down while drinking a glass of her best vintage red.
This thing? He had no idea what he was even looking at.
“He was,” Alastor insisted, slowly standing up. “And you’d had enough—”
The chime of the clock interrupted him, the sound blaring as if next to him. Pain struck him behind his eyes and he doubled over, holding his head in his hand. The loud chime of the angelic clock tower drowned every other noise, and by the time he managed to open his eyes, he was standing outside Rosie’s emporium.
“See you later, dearie!”
The door was slammed shut, leaving Alastor standing on the strangely deserted street with no idea what had even happened. His ears dropped, and looked down at his hands, his thumb and index finger pulling at one on his left hand, twisting despite nothing being there.
Why had he wanted to speak with Rosie? He was forgetting something important. Surely he had a good reason to come all the way here, even if Rosie had all but kicked him out.
Or perhaps not, because his mind drew a blank.
Well, a drink with Mimzy would work just as well. Alastor made up his mind, turning to leave Cannibal Town while adjusting his clothes. He was so tense, his ears dropping so much he must look ridiculous. Why was he even stressing about? He just needed to...
Alastor kept walking.
The Entertainment district was quiet, something unusual for this part of town, and he found himself traversing the sidewalk without destination. It was not like him to just wander around, and yet he just kept going.
He was tired.
Alastor stopped after a while, looking back as the light of the day faded, casting a long shadow at his feet. Frowning, he shook his foot and tapped the ground a few times, but his shadow remained annoyingly unresponsive. He growled and tapped the floor again with his cane this time, but once again nothing happened.
Tired of being ignored, Alastor directly called upon his shadow to summon it to his side.
At least that was his intention, because what he actually got was pain equivalent to someone swinging a sledgehammer directly to the back of his head.
He had no idea fainting could be this painful.
“Al?”
The feeling of claws running through his hair sent a shiver down his spine, and he was pushing himself up to get away from the unwelcome touch despite the pain making him nauseous. He found himself tangled over sheets and nearly falling to get away. Those same claws ended up grabbing his arms, and Alastor hissed his displeasure, his blurred vision taking a moment to focus on Vox.
“W-what happened?” he asked, pushing the other Overlord away. “I was—”
“You tried to summon your shadow again, didn’t you?” Vox asked, his tone was perhaps meant to be soothing, but Alastor could only find it condescending. “That’s only gonna hurt you, Al— You know that...”
“No, what—”
“I know it’s hard, but it’s gone. Such a shame… but you’re still here, with me,” Vox said more sternly, then his shoulders dropped, like he was the one personally affected. “That last attack was brutal, the exorcists just kept pushing… there was only so much you could do.”
“Exorcists,” he repeated, mouth dry. Had something happened to his shadow during the purge? No, that couldn’t be right.
Vox’s hands were on him again, despite Alastor’s protests. He was forced back to lay on the bed, and as his eyes darted around the room, it somehow seemed even bluer than before.
He hated it.
“You will recover,” Vox promised. “Just, don’t push yourself… it’s gone, okay? I know it’s awful, and I don’t expect you to just accept it like that. We both knew that loss was gonna leave its mark on you. But we can work this out, maybe a specialist could help us, you know? Counselling or some shit like that.”
Vox had to be lying, because Alastor could feel his shadow, like he could feel the stupid pain at the back of his head. He growled, his eyes shifting red-on-black, and he pulled it forward despite the agony it caused him, prompting him to close his eyes.
Alastor threw his head back, and screamed.
It was like he was falling, only to stop abruptly. He blinked a few times, trying to move and being utterly unable to do so. He wasn’t on the bed anymore, but in some sort of chair-like contraption, surrounded by screens, cameras and drones. Cables looped around his legs and wires went all over his body and under his skin. He tried to pull on his arms only for the cables to tighten up even more.
“Calm down Al! Just let it go.”
No, no, he didn’t want to be here, he needed to leave—
He was falling again.
Alastor gasped, and it felt like everything was rewinding and overlapping, the sense of déjà vu nauseating. He kicked his hooves violently in an attempt to escape the cables that he could feel but were nowhere to be seen. The feeling of constriction suddenly disappearing made him lose his balance, and if not for Vox catching him around the shoulders he would have fallen off the bed.
He flinched violently, but Vox didn’t even notice, he just kept pulling him back.
“—That’s only gonna hurt you Al! You know that.”
“Vox,” he interrupted, not looking at him. “Leave.”
“Alas—”
“...Please.”
Vox mumbled something Alastor didn’t care to interpret, but left the room. Alastor was still in pain, and curling into himself didn’t help much, but it felt right. He extended his hand to the other side of the bed, where the large empty space seemed to taunt him, the bedsheets cold and smelling of nothing.
***
Alastor never had strong feelings towards sex, one way or the other. It was simply not a priority in his life or a factor that affected his decisions, unlike many other people he knew.
That changed with Lucifer.
It was not the act itself, but how Lucifer made him feel during it. The way the King looked at him, and how he would pour himself into their union with such fervor it led Alastor to understand why people might care for such activities beyond the physical release they provided.
Oh, they had done plenty, from the most basic acts to the most risqué, and he had found something to enjoy in all of those occasions.
But this? This was his favorite.
The gentle reassurance of Lucifer’s hands holding him, his slow movements allowing Alastor to feel every touch, every nip and bite.
He couldn’t get enough of those lips mapping his skin and those fingers slowly working him open while whispering honeyed words that never failed to spark something in him—usually the feeling of butterflies accompanied by a blush that could rival the color of his hair.
Alastor stretched lazily, feeling Lucifer’s soft laugh against the delicate skin of his thighs. He had to drag the King back on top of him, had to feel him as close as possible, from head to toe, had to have him inside him.
“Fuck Al, you’re so good for me, so, so good, always so good…” Lucifer moaned against his lips, then placed small, butterfly kisses down his neck. “You’re everything I want.”
Alastor sighed, content. “How lucky for you then, that I’m willing to indulge you.”
The pleasure Lucifer brought him was a delicacy. He always seemed to know how to touch Alastor in all the ways he liked it, always making sure he enjoyed himself—and while the feeling of the King slowly moving inside him never failed to make him moan, it was not the raw physical pleasure what Alastor took from their encounters, it was the intimacy of everything.
Having Lucifer so close, looking at him like there was no one else in the world made his heart soar with emotion. A small part of Alastor—that up till a few years ago he would have sworn didn’t exist—couldn’t help but believe this is what making love must be, even if he didn’t dare to say it out loud.
It was just all well that the way Lucifer looked at him made him feel like he didn’t need to.
***
Alastor stared at the window, his claws picking at his naked ring finger. He ran his hands over his body in a poor attempt to keep the residual sensations the dream had evoked, grasping at the echoes of affection he could keep, not wanting them gone so soon.
Why couldn’t he have stayed asleep a little longer? He wanted it so badly, if only he could be living in that moment, instead of what waited for him behind the closed door of a blue room that didn’t feel like his own. He dreaded being under the studio lights, but above anything else, he had absolutely no desire to see Vox.
Not after that dream.
He needed to go out, as far from the V Tower as possible.
Alastor hated moving like a fugitive, but every time he tried to just sink into the shadows, the headache that had been pestering him for days spiked and got worse. He didn’t want to risk fainting again, so he moved carefully to avoid detection, and made his way to where he could feel the roots his dream had originated from.
Alastor ignored everything around him, the people calling out to him and the things that kept trying to drag his attention away. He crossed all of Pentagram and made his way towards the outskirts of the city, climbing to a hill where a crooked fence hid… nothing behind it.
He stared at the empty lot, a growing sense of apprehension brewing inside him. What had he been trying to do?
W̷—̷k̸e̶ ̶u̸p̸—̵Y̷o̶u̴ ̵h̷—̸v̶e̵ ̷t̷o̴ ̴w̴—̶e̵ ̸u̷p̴!̸
The blare of the mic made him wince, but he stared at the glowing eye of the staff, open and practically screaming at him, before it suddenly switched to some charmingly manic, jarringly familiar jingle, utterly overrun by interference.
You'll be ȼꝋᵯꝑłēⱦē, it'll be so neat
Our service can't ƀē ƀēⱥⱦ
You'll be on ēⱥꞩɏ street, yes!
Łīӻē ⱳīłł be sweet at the 𐋅*Ɀ፪xክ Hotel!
The mic’s eye shut. Alastor looked up, the empty lot behind the fence extending to keep trespassers away.
“I… wanted to go to a hotel?”
He turned around, looking at the city he’d just crossed. Why had he walked all this way, if he was looking for a simple hotel? He was nowhere near one. It almost looked like he’d been trying to get away from Pentagram city … but why? Why had he been looking for a hotel to begin with?
No, he didn’t want a hotel but what it could give him.
He pulled on his hair—it had something to do with the dream he had that morning, but he couldn’t recall what it was about anymore, only how he felt about it. It was terribly contradictory, leaving him feeling both at ease and upset while trying to remember.
“Inside of every demon is a lost cause,” he sang under his breath, the words making him feel like he was walking over his own grave. “...but we'll dress 'em up for now with just a smile—”
The streets of Pentagram felt strangely alien, yet he kept wandering, extending his senses towards the radio waves in the air to find what he was looking for. A song or a clue perhaps, maybe an explanation for this unexplainable longing.
Vox had said his shadow was no more, but that had to be a mistake—a̵̜̕ ̴̢͑l̶̯̈ĩ̵̘e̸̤̾!̸͉̓ ̶̢̾i̶͓͑t̸̥̂ ̶̠̓w̴̨̓a̵͙͝ṡ̸̜ ̶̺̒a̵̧̔ ̸̩͒l̶̘̇i̷͜͠e̷̗͌!̵̍ͅ ̵̤͒ẇ̴͖ā̴̯k̸̻̑ẹ̷̐ ̵̝̋u̷̠͑p̶̡̏!̴̥̈—because he could still feel them.
“Alastor, it’s time for our show!”
Blinding studio lights shone on him and he shook his head, almost tripping to get away, but Vox took him by the arm, pulling him back before the cameras. No, no, how? He had not been anywhere close to the tower, how had he gotten here?
Alastor pulled himself off Vox’s grip. “No.”
“Al, our show—”
“I said no!”
He stormed out of the studio, with Vox calling after him, stopping in front of the large floor to ceiling windows, looking at the fenced hill where he’d been just a moment ago despite the distance. Alastor covered his mouth with one hand, closing his eyes. The headache was spiking again, like a needle digging into the back of his head.
“Al? Hey, if you’re not feeling well you could just say so, No need to be a jerk about it.” Vox complained, crossing his arms over his chest and looking offended.
“I don’t feel well,” Alastor deadpanned, giving Vox the most unimpressed look he could muster.
“Ah, well,” Vox had the decency of looking embarrassed. “Uhm… Oh, here, just sit down, I’ll get you some water.”
Vox practically pushed him into the nearest couch, and showed a full glass into his hands.
“The show…” Alastor began, slowly looking up at Vox.
“I can record it, don’t worry about it,” he said with a toothy smile. “The public won’t mind, you know how much they like me.”
“Right…”
“They have such good taste, I totally deserve it.”
“Uh-huh…”
Alastor cringed internally at hearing Vox’s laugh, averting his eyes to look around the room. The posters looked even bigger today, and Alastor was presenting Vox in every single one of them, even bowing in a few. But what he disliked the most were the quotes that made it look like Alastor was singing praises to Vox non-stop.
None of it sounded like him. He couldn’t remember having said a single one of those words.
Alastor looked down at the glass, tapping his fingers against it. It had no ice cubes. Alastor liked to bite into the ice cubes. Vox should know. They’d been friends since forever.
“Tell me, old friend…” Alastor began, his hands curling around the glass. “Do you remember how we first met?”
“Uh?” Vox stopped his rambling. “Why?”
“Indulge me,” he insisted.
“...Oh, you know,” Vox laughed. “It was a great night! We met at this bar where you were playing the piano, and I approached you with some suggestions for your show that you loved—”
His stitches pulled.
“No.”
“Huh?”
Alastor crushed the glass in his hand, slowly getting up while his antlers branched out, his eyes shifting into dials, his form twisting while looking down at Vox.
“I picked you up from the gutter. You pathetic little wretch.”
Somewhere outside the clock’s bells began tolling furiously.
“Al!”
“I did it on a whim,” Alastor continued, tasting blood in his mouth, feeling it run down his chin. “I thought your utter uselessness was hilariously pitiful, entertaining.”
“I wasn’t useless,” Vox hissed.
“You wouldn’t stop glitching, your stupid screen showed static all the time,” Alastor hunched over, growing in size, his antlers nearly scraping the ceiling. “You got stuck in a test pattern screen for three days!”
“I did not—”
“And you b̴͕̆r̶͎̎ö̷ͅķ̵̉ẽ̷̙!”
Alastor howled as pain sized him, from the base of his spine to his temples and concentrated behind his eyes, forcing him to close them. He threw his head back, colliding against a hard surface. The pain only worsened when something sharp caught on his neck and broke, blood running down it.
By the time he managed to open his eyes, the screens, cameras and drones were surrounding him once again. He couldn’t move, and when he looked down cables were not only holding him back but digging into his skin. He could feel them, twisting and pulling flesh and blood.
He wanted them off! He wanted those disgusting things off him!
Alastor shrieked, and felt the well-known pull of his familiar. He looked past the screens and drones, where a small structure was being used as a cage, and trapped inside it was his shadow, as close as he had felt them all this time.
“Shit, shit, shi—fuck, damn it!”
Vox kept on cursing while Alastor pulled on the cables tying him down, unable to free himself, but—his shadow. With an inhuman effort he managed to summon a single tentacle that struck past the screens and into the cage, breaking it.
“Hey!”
He tried to call for another, despite the pain making his vision swim, but the effort was cut short by Vox’s disgusting hands clawing at his face, forcing him to look directly into his eyes, the spiral already in full force; blue, white and red in a rhythmic pattern—
An electric current zapped him with such violence he almost choked on the blood dripping down his mouth. He tried to close his eyes, but Vox wouldn’t let him, the spiral moving faster than ever before and synchronizing with the pain he was already feeling, doubling it.
Sparks exploded around them, and he felt more cables crawl over him and dig into his skin while Vox’s voice penetrated his consciousness like a drill—until he could not fight it anymore.
He let the darkness take him.
***
“...With a song in my heart, I behold your adorable face…”
The melodic voice reached him as he was waking up, pulling him from his slumber into pleasant awareness.
“Just a song at the start, but it soon is a hymn to your grace…”
Alastor reached behind him, his fingers catching on soft fabric while he pulled the person behind him close. Lucifer hummed a little laugh, singing in his ear, gently caressing the outer shell and looping his arms around him from behind.
“When the music swells, I'm touching your hand, It tells that you're standing near, and…”
Lucifer kissed his ear, and pulled back. Alastor chuckled, turning on his back and stretching his arms to touch that lovely angelic face, when the glint of polished metal caught his eye.
He sat up, looking at his hand, where a silver and white gold ring rested perfectly on his finger, tailor made for him. From the size to the gold accent in the shape of antlers framing a beautiful blood red diamond, the intricate cut catching the light.
At his side, Lucifer shifted to his knees, pulling on his clothes and rearranging his hair, chuckling like he did every time he was trying to hide being nervous.
Alastor licked his lips, wiggling his fingers and hoping the loud beating of his heart was not noticeable.
“What’s this?” he asked, trying for casualness, only for his voice to drop into a near-squawk at the end.
Lucifer moved closer, his bare hand reaching for Alastor’s. There was no golden ring on it, nor had there been for a long while.
Lucifer brushed his thumb over his knuckles, the gentle smile on his face making Alastor not only feel safe but treasured, like he had never felt before. His King then rested his forehead against his, both of them looking down at their intertwined hands.
“Whatever you want it to be.”
***
A ringing sound echoed in the distance—a bell?—a persistent noise that pulled Alastor from his slumber. He let out a deep sigh while stretching lazily, and rolled over with the intent to reach behind him, his arm landing on a cool, solid chest.
He immediately jumped off the bed, his eyes landing on a bleary eyed Vox, the sheets sliding down his naked form as he sat up. Alastor looked down at himself, finding himself in a similar state of undress.
What the fuck was happening? Why was he in Vox’s room?
“Al, babe? What’s wrong?”
Alastor snatched the closest bed sheet like it could shield him. “What the fuck—”
“Oh no… I’m so sorry, babe. Are you confused again? And you were doing so well, after our engagement—”
“Engagement!” Alastor shrieked, looking at his left hand where a steel ring with the glowing logo of VoxTek sat on his ring finger. The disgust hit him immediately, and he let go of the sheet, uncaring of being naked, only needing to take off the offending piece of metal of his finger before launching it directly at Vox’s face.
“Ow, son of a—!”
“S̶̼̄̒H̶͕͒̾Ù̶̲T̵͍̞̏ ̶͉͑Ư̴̜̫P̵̨̺̓!”
Out of nowhere the extermination clock started tolling furiously.
A Hellqueake made the entire room tremble, the walls shifting from bare to screens showing static and drones dropping like flies. The sudden pain was enough to make him double over but he resisted while he pushed his body to shift and his antlers to grow into deadly points. He lashed out, his mind focused on the dream that now he knew was reality.
He didn’t belong here!
The room crumbled before his eyes, the world around him glitching and shifting. The illusion was shattering before his eyes, finally letting him think clearly, despite the pain coursing through his body like he was being stabbed everywhere all at once.
He felt cables wrapping around his limbs and tightening around his throat, but he didn’t care. He was not staying in this place any longer. Vox's frantic voice fueled his conviction.
Alastor ignored the sting in his eyes and focused on seeing what was actually going on, where he really was, restraints mapping so much of his body he could feel them under his skin.
He hated it, but what he hated the most was the audacity of this fraud, trying to reshape one of the most treasured moments in his life with a cheap, weak imitation.
With an inhuman screech, he pulled himself away from the contraption holding him down, tearing the wires apart while some of them hung from where they had been forced under his skin, only for more cables to assault him from every angle, trying to hold him still for Vox.
Blue tinted claws held his face, digging into his jaws.
“Stop fighting, you f-fucking—”
With a scream that threatened to shred his throat, Alastor swung his head forward, his antlers doubling in size before Vox could even think of pulling back.
The crash of bone against glass and plastic gave him a sickening satisfaction, his antlers tearing through the stupid flat screen. He charged even further for good measure, shaking his head up with Vox hanging limply from his hold, his body sizing up and the cables ripping and tearing, freeing himself. With another swing of his head he tossed Vox’s twitching body to the ground and stomped on it.
Dust danced around them, and debris cascaded to the ground in a mockery of rain. His body shrunk back slowly to his standard size, his heart pounding in his chest while he tried to control his panting.
The room was a disaster, all the equipment was broken, and part of the roof was now missing. Alastor pulled on the stupid scrubs that barely covered him and grimaced. He was too tired to change, his magic barely holding on to keep him awake.
Everything shook once again, a chunk of ceiling falling right next to him, crushing Vox and hiding him from view.
Alastor watched, unimpressed. He wanted to grind that idiot to dust, but the building was falling apart around him. Strange, he didn’t think his rampage had been that extensive, considering he’d concentrated on Vox.
He just wanted to go home.
There were screams in the distance, and one of the walls that remained standing exploded into tiny pieces. Alastor covered his eyes with his arm, and felt the moment his shadow enveloped him, coming back to him.
They weren’t alone.
When the dust settled, his eyes landed in the most breathtaking view he could’ve gotten after all that bitter experience.
Lucifer, in all his infernal glory.
He sighed, giving his vengeful King a moment before clearing his throat. The crimson filled gaze landed on him, and a couple blinks later, those beautiful eyes were back into view. Lucifer looked at him with a frown, hovering closer, almost shyly.
“Uhm, I'm here to rescue you?”
Alastor threw himself at him, letting himself be picked since they were already doing this.
“My fashionably late hero.”
***
Alastor inhaled deeply, taking on the scents around him, light yet pronounced. A mix that nestled in his mind and could only be found here: early sun bathing fallen leaves while petrichor rose with the lingering mist. A crisp autumn morning after the rain.
Home.
This was their room, and Alastor could see in every detail how the imitation Vox tried to create failed to capture it. From the trinkets on the night table to the books on the shelves and even the eclectic mix of sheets and blankets. It was so obvious now.
He focused on the feeling of his night clothes, his fur still a little damp from their shower. Lucifer kept getting distracted from combing his hair to fuss over the scrapes and bruises that littered Alastor’s body, especially those where he’d had to pull those disgusting wires off from under his skin, but that’s not where he wanted his husband’s attention.
“Leave it,” He said, pulling Lucifer closer. “They’ll heal.”
“Eh, no. If you’ll excuse me, I will fuss as much as I feel like, thank you very much.”
Alastor chuckled, curling into Lucifer and pushing his head against his hand demandingly. Taking the hint, Lucifer went back to brushing his hair with his fingers. “At least that fucker didn’t touch your antlers, I should’ve killed him.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Alastor hissed. “I will return him the favor, tenfold. He will pay.”
Lucifer placed a kiss between his antlers. “Damn right, he is.”
The rhythmic movement of Lucifer’s fingers combing his hair, lightly scratching his scalp was lulling him to sleep, the temptation to just close his eyes and let himself rest was growing by the minute, but he kept pushing it aside.
“Al, go to sleep,” Lucifer said.
“...’m not tired.”
“Yeah, you're not tired, you're exhausted. Go to sleep, my deer.”
He curled into Lucifer, mumbling against the fabric of his nightshirt.
“What was that?” the King asked, pulling back, to Alastor's great displeasure.
“I would rather not,” he grumbled, and tried to get Lucifer back only for him to hold him still, chuckling softly.
“Al, you need to heal—”
“I forgot you.”
The silence that followed was downright painful.
“What?”
“I couldn’t even recall your name,” Alastor admitted, feeling a conflicting stir of anger and a more primal thing he didn’t want to put a name on, something between grief and fear.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Lucifer tried to reason, always so forgiving. “That fucker messed you up, but you got out, it didn’t stick. We’re here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Intellectually, Alastor understood this, but the emotions stabbing his chest didn’t.
“I don't want to wake up, and forget I ever had you,” he mumbled against Lucifer’s skin, clutching him close.
He would never forgive Vox for daring to try take this from him, never.
“You won't,” Lucifer assured him, and Alastor looked up to his bright smile. “Look, I know we were keeping things low-key, but after this? Good luck on keeping me from shouting from the rooftops that we are together! You'll be lucky if anyone in Hell has any doubts left about us being a thing. I’m gonna have to update my titles. I’ll be known as Lucifer Morningstar: King of Hell, The Lightbringer, Prince of Lies, Master of Temptation… Radio Demon’s Trophy Husband.”
Alastor had to bite the inside of his cheek to not give Lucifer the satisfaction of a laugh, but for the smile on his face, his attempts were not very successful.
This idiot. His darling little idiot.
“You can't be sure,” Alastor sighed, his eyes dropping.
“I am sure, I’m sure of this and I’m sure of us.”
And there it was. The piece that had kept pulling Alastor back despite all the attempts to drown him. Even unable to remember, he hadn’t been able to accept the lie fabricated around him, not fully. The echo of himself refused the conformity of that fake world so much, it kept breaking it.
Alastor reached for Lucifer’s hand, lacing their fingers, his eyes fixed on the matching rings, a token of their union.
“Rest, lovely,” Lucifer hummed, his tone soft like a caress. “I'll be here when you wake up.”
Alastor sighed, making himself comfortable in Lucifer’s hold, feeling the warmth that had been lacking next to him. It soothed him as much as the feeling of those blackened fingers combing through his hair.
He closed his eyes, finally letting himself sleep with the certainty that this time, it was real.