Chapter Text
Alastor takes another look at the gilded invitation in his hands, triple-checking every last detail. Even in the dim writing of the alleyway, the gold ink is luminous, highlighting every word written in a very distinctive hand.
For being the King of Hell, Lucifer’s penmanship is surprisingly delicate.
Alastor tucks the ticket back into his suit pocket, keeping it safe. How it came into his possession in the first place is a feat in itself, albeit an extremely puzzling one. On the other hand, there are not many earth-born sinners who claim the title of overlord. Even fewer can claim to have risen through the ranks as fast as Alastor has.
A summons from the King was inevitable. It’s the meeting at the royal theatre that has Alastor stumped.
He’s no stranger to theatrics. While most of his performances are limited to radio plays, both on earth and in hell, he considers himself a regular patron of the arts. He can’t say he recognises the name of this particular play, but he’s heard good things on the grapevine through his network of shadowy spies. A one-time commissioned performance, but both the King and Queen are renowned for their excellent taste.
It’s another part of the puzzle that Alastor can’t quite put together.
Despite being in Hell for less than a decade, Lucifer has known about him for some time. He’s had interactions with his underlings, received warnings whenever he’s crossed certain boundary lines. Alastor also knows the King’s face well. It’s hard not to with all the paintings and statues, plus the rare glimpses of the royal couple at official events Alastor made sure to attend.
But they’ve never met before. Something about how informal this first meeting is sets his nerves on edge.
Alastor takes out the invitation again, going over the details one final time. The performance is not due to start for another half an hour, but he’s been hiding in the shadows for the best part of the afternoon. If the flurry of noise mere moments ago was anything to go by, his host has already arrived.
Which means he’s currently stalling for no good reason.
Despite his reservations, and the feeling that he’s most certainly walking into a trap, Alastor makes his way over to the ornate entrance without delay. Like he’s making the decision to go, rather than having his hand forced.
Flowery and polite wording or no, Alastor isn’t foolish. Refusing an invitation from Lucifer is akin to painting a moving target on your back.
Still, he does his best to stay on his guard. Alastor makes sure his smile never wavers despite the distaste from the imp at the door who judges his appearance at face value, followed by the outright awe upon seeing his invitation. From there he’s swarmed by a flurry of imps, fussing over him, forcibly removing his coat and offering him every refreshment in the nine circles.
All of which he refuses, politely, as he’s guided up several sets of stairs towards a pair of heavy velvet curtains.
A private box is to be expected, considering Lucifer owned the entire auditorium to think otherwise was remarkably foolish. And yet Alastor still feels a prickle of unfamiliar nerves as the imps leave him one by one until he’s completely alone. Not knowing what eyes and ears were focusing on him right now, he forces a wider smile on his face.
Alastor parts the curtains without hesitation, that same smile twitching when he finds an extremely overdressed Lucifer perfectly posed on the other side.
Waiting for him.
“Ah, Alastor!” He snaps to attention, closing the already small gap between them, “Glad you could make it. In good time, too. I always prefer the chance to catch up before the show.”
He reaches Alastor, extending his hand without a moment’s hesitation, “Or in our case, become acquainted.”
Blindsighted, and knowing just how easily a toe out of line could be deadly, Alastor takes the jewel-covered hand in his own. He bends at the waist, stooping far lower than he expected, to place a chaste kiss next to a ruby-encrusted ring. Lucifer’s outfit is much the same. His robe is dripping in red gemstones, all shining splendidly in the candlelight of the theatre. It must be some kind of regalia, as both his scepter and the strings of jewels around his neck.
Not to mention the decadent crown nestled on top of his sandy-blonde locks.
That, this close-up, Alastor couldn’t help thinking looked impossibly soft. Like one could reach out and tangle their hands, or claws, through and find little to no resistance.
Which was an absolutely ridiculous notion.
“The pleasure is all mine, your Highness,” Alastor replies when he’s ushered towards the plush loveseat at the front of the balcony, “You have my thanks for the invitation. However, I must confess I’m feeling remarkably underdressed for the occasion.”
“Nonsense!”
Lucifer takes his seat, motioning Alastor to do the same. He pauses, looking him up and down.
A little too slowly.
“Someone of your position could use a little more grandeur, perhaps. Something intimidating” He reaches out, the tips of his gloved fingers skimming Alastor’s bright red hair, “You should fashion something in this shade. It suits you, and, well, I don’t need to tell you it’s also my favourite colour.”
Alastor is again, taken aback. He’s still wearing the same suit he manifested in Hell with; a modified version of the outfit he perished in on that fateful night. The deep browns have dulled over time, and the coat he’d arrived in was ragged. To put it politely. He’d just never seen the point or had the funds to do anything about it. Not until recently.
Maybe Lucifer was right. A new look to strike fear in the hearts of his enemies wouldn’t go amiss. And if he had the King’s blessing to wear his signature colour, that could only bode well.
“Thank you, Sire.” Alastor widens as he tries to hide the genuine flicker of excitement, “It’s certainly something to consider.”
“Splendid. Though, between you and me, I much prefer your outfit to mine-” Lucifer adds, lingering on Alastor for a moment longer before gesturing to himself, “This is all for show, a formality for the masses that I can do away with now we’re behind closed doors.”
With that he removes the clasp on his robes, sighing heavily as the literal weight lifts off his shoulders. Underneath all those layers of fur and jewels, he’s wearing a much plainer white ruffled shirt coupled with high-waisted black pants.
As Lucifer moves to drape the robes over a stand that seems to be for this reason alone, Alastor can’t help notice how tight the pants are. He immediately averts his eyes when a particular bend highlights far too much of the King’s lower half. His shapley lower half. Alastor puts the subtle heating of his cheeks down to nerves and not the unwanted thoughts that flooded his mind.
No matter if their treasonous nature was appealing to every wicked bone in his body.
Thankfully, Looking out over the balcony is enough of a distraction to derail that train of thought. The building is a great hulk of a thing from the outside, but internally its decor is incredibly intricate. It reminds Alastor of the theatres he visited during his brief stint in Europe. A misguided and remarkably dangerous dalliance of his youth, but one he couldn’t resist the call to attempt once he found a ship to stow away on.
It’s buildings like this, with their gilded columns and hand-painted ceilings that had stuck with him all those years later. Even if the paintings here depicted more bloodbaths and sacrilegious scenes than those on earth, they are no less awe-inspiring.
And, if Alastor is recalling his earthly memories correctly, Hell has far more intriguing ways of depicting the sins of the flesh. He recognises the face of his companion in a particular salacious scene and averts his eyes again, cursing himself for being so easily distracted.
Alastor turns his attention back to King at the perfect moment, though it does little to help his predicament.
Lucifer moves back towards him after his robe and various jewels have been removed, dusting off his stripped-back outfit before taking his seat. He moves his gloved hands to his head, fingertips touching his crown before he catches Alastor staring.
“Quite impressive, isn’t it?”
Realising he’s dodged a bullet by the skin of his teeth, Alastor fawns, “Most impressive, your Highness. It catches the light brilliantly, but I apologise for staring.”
“Ah, no need to stand on ceremony here, Alastor. I know it’s quite the sight,” Lucifer turns it in his hands, dazzling them both with the reflection of the candlelight on its shining surfaces, “I had it forged shortly after the fall. A perfect way of mocking the ‘Kingdom’ upstairs, don’t you think?”
A bead of sweat drips down the back of Alastor’s neck as he struggles to come up with a reply that will regain him some much-needed ground.
Lucifer beats him to the punch.
“Would you care to hold it?”
He can’t help it. A short, but terribly loud, surge of static sounds from his slack-jawed expression. A bulb on their side of the stage flares brightly before shattering into a million pieces while a few of the patrons in the stalls cover their ears, searching around for the source of the deafening noise.
All while Lucifer watches him with widening eyes.
“I-” Alastor starts, hardly able to hear himself think over the chorus of ’Yes! Yes! Yes!’ screaming inside his head, “I’m unsure if that would be appropriate at this time. We could be seen.”
Lucifer leans in, bringing his crown within grabbing distance as his thigh brushes against Alastor’s, “Pity. It would suit you, you know.”
“...Sire?” Alastor grits out through clenched teeth.
“Aesthetically. But let's not run before we can walk, hmm?” He places the crown down on a cushioned side table, “Can I offer you a refreshment, a bite to eat?” He tilts his head, smile growing even wider, “Someone to take a bite out of?”
All the blood in Alastor’s body runs ice-cold, “Pardon?”
“I’m well aware of your preferred diet, Alastor,” Lucifer says, the utterance of Alastor’s name close to a purr with the way it rolls off his tongue, “And your punishment.”
Ah.
It’s not surprising the King of Hell would know these things. Alastor was a fool to even entertain the notion that he wouldn’t, actually. But since he’s so used to demons running in fear when they find out what he is, and what he has to do to maintain his power, having someone know off the bat is refreshing.
Especially when they’re doing the opposite of running. If Alastor isn’t mistaken, the King has inched even closer. To the point where he can feel his breath tickling at his neck.
“You’re remarkably private despite those broadcasts, aren’t you?” Lucifer hums, his words reverberating in the minute space between them,” I wasn’t able to glean how fresh you enjoy your victims, so I didn’t want to prepare anything in advance.” He adds, leaning up to whisper in Alastor’s ear, “Whatever your heart desires… can easily be arranged.”
The suggestion, and how it’s delivered, has Alastor shivering in his seat. His bloodlust immediately awakened at the mere mention of indulging in his vices, making his shrivelled heart audibly pound in his chest. He knows how sweet a meal it would be, especially with the King making it clear he’s sparing no expense. Alastor instinctively places a hand over his mouth, catching the trickle of black blood forming at his rapidly sharpening teeth.
In a moment of clarity, he reigns himself in. He may be a dealmaker by trade, but he has nothing on the prince of darkness. He can’t lay his cards on the table this early, not when he’s unsure of Lucifer's motives. Or what the King will ask from him in return.
But he can't refuse, either. Not if he wants to keep in the King’s good graces. Nor does he want to, not when he can practically feel himself tearing into soft flesh as he attempts to satisfy his never-ending hunger. In fact, even if he’d put himself in Lucifer’s debt, it wouldn’t be without its merits.
Letting the King see a glimpse of the power he’d acclimated was one of the reasons he’d agreed to come tonight.
Alastor decides stalling is the best course of action.
“A most generous and appreciated offer, Sire,” he starts, laying his natural charm on thick, “I did eat prior to our engagement, However. But I wouldn’t be opposed to a late supper after the performance, if that’s not too much trouble.”
“None at all,” Lucifer laughs, grabbing a handful of grapes from the small tray he already has set out, “As long as you don’t mind the company.”
Feeling far too confident, Alastor replies without thinking, “When it’s as charming as this, how can I object.”
He even dares to look in Lucifer’s direction.
Which is a mistake.
The King’s expression is unreliable, making him panic when Lucifer’s eyes meet his. It’s then he notices the faint blush peppering his cheeks under the permanent red circles. He worries he’s caused offence, an apology on the tip of his tongue when Lucifer’s spare hand comes to rest on his thigh.
“I knew I’d like you.”
While not the screech of feedback from before, there’s no hiding the low buzz filling the already tense air around them. Alastor stiffens as his damned ears flick erratically, his mind unable to process the distinctive shift in atmosphere. If he didn’t know better, he’d say there was far more than just a battle of wills going on between them. He takes stock of their position with widening eyes.
Their touching limbs, the hand far too high on his thigh, and the warm breath far too close to his neck. If anyone was to glance upon them, it wouldn’t be hard to mistake this for a lover’s embrace.
Which is ridiculous on several levels. Lucifer has been with his Queen for centuries, their love for each renowned throughout the nine circles. Not to mention Alastor’s disinterest in anything sexual. On earth he’d forced himself through the motions, using his natural charm and ability to at least act like he enjoyed the mundane fumblings as a means to an end.
Hell allowed him the freedom to cast off any expectations and live his afterlife the way he chose. Which meant alone, without any animalistic relations holding him back. He should have no problem doing the same here. It’s likely a misunderstanding, or if it isn’t, then he’s just as experienced in politely letting people down.
...But he can’t.
No matter how much he thinks he should, Alastor can’t seem to will himself to move away.
His silence is taken as an invitation for that hand to move a little higher, the featherlight touch surprisingly pleasant. It’s all background noise to the feeling of those sharp yellow eyes searching his face as if trying to fit together a puzzle.
It’s unclear what the King finds, but his expression softens as his lids lower.
Alastor feels drawn closer by an intangible force. He’s terrified of giving in to the siren’s call, but he can’t resist. Not when Lucifer’s smile widens just as Alastor feels his breath ghosting against his lips.
Suddenly, all the lights go out, snapping them out of the spell.
“Oh, it’s starting,” Lucifer remarks, picking up another handful of grapes before settling back into his seat.
Alastor can only do the same while metaphorically picking his jaw off the floor.
He fights the urge not to laugh in disbelief, shaking over how close he’d come to doing something insane. Criminally so. It bubbles up further as he imagines him, of all demons, sentenced to further damnation over being unable to control his carnal desires.
That giddy feeling is short-lived, however.
The first player is barely five lines into their opening monologue when the hand returns to his thigh, slowly creeping higher than before.
Lucifer reaches the crux of his pant leg and turns inwards, forcing Alastor to clutch at any straw he can.
“Is the Queen not acc us this evening?” He asks, quietly, ignoring the way his voice cracks.
“She’s in her own box. Right over there.”
Lucifer points and Alastor follows his finger until he sees Lilith’s familiar silhouette.
And she’s not alone.
Accompanying her is what appears to be a hell-borne demon. A succubus, If Alastor isn’t mistaken, though it’s hard to tell with the mass of tumbling black curls obscuring her pink skin. Not to mention the outfit consisting of the latest strange fashion he couldn’t quite get his head around. Alastor felt his brow furrow despite his best efforts to keep a blank expression. Corsets were best suited under clothing in his opinion, but that was beside the point.
What he can’t believe he’s seeing is the sight of her in the Queen’s lap, her face completely obscured by the Liliths as they appear to be engaging in a rather passionate kiss.
“Ah, It seems her guest is capturing her attention already,” Lucifer adds, the hand on Alastor’s thigh tightening slightly, “How marvelous.”
“Yes, they are-” Alastor loses his train of thought as one of the Queen’s hands moves between the succubi’s open legs, “-quite familiar indeed.”
He tries to subtly avert his gaze but finds his eyes drifting back almost immediately. It’s not that he finds the image repulsive, at least, not as much as he usually would. He can’t deny how alluring they look interlocked together. Nor can he ignore how impressed he is over how easily Lilith can control the writhing demon in her lap.
Like this isn’t the first time she’s done this, nor will it be the last.
If Alastor had partaken in any of the refreshments he’d been offered, he’d be blaming the heat he can feel spreading through his body on some kind of drug. As it stands, he has no such excuse. He’s unsure why the King is showing him this, and why he’s been invited here in the first place.
Above all else, Alastor feels strangely reassured. And that knocks him sideways.
Luckily, Lucifer is there to fill in the gaps.
“I’m aware this kind of arrangement is not currently popular on earth, but I assure you she has my blessing,” He states matter of factly before his tone drops dangerously low, “It’s a mutually beneficial part of our relationship, she has her toys and I have-” He pauses, swiping a forked tongue over his teeth, “Similar arrangements.”
Strangely, it’s that implication that finally snaps Alastor out of the unprecedented daze he’s in.
“Is this the reason that you’ve summoned me today, Sire?” He snaps, a little louder than intended.
They draw the attention of the two lead actors, but neither one dares to say a word. It adds to the feeling of the walls closing in around him as he mentally plans all the ways he can escape.
If it’s not already too late.
In those few seconds while the play resumes it builds and builds, dissipating down to nothing when Lucifer lets go of his leg and backs off completely.
“Not at all! Please don’t misunderstand, Lilith has known that demon for quite a while-” He explains, “-Whereas we’ve only just met.”
“I see-” Alastor replies, cautious of the sudden flip, “-But you’re assuming that we might-”
“-I never assume, Alastor,” Lucifer waves his hand to silence him as his expression turns serious, “I extend invitations. I persuade. Contrary to popular opinion I don’t enjoy using my position to control anyone. Or force them into anything they don’t want to do.”
Cards on the table, he moves back towards Alastor, far slower than before.
Despite every fiber in his being telling him to run, Alastor lets him.
“Because, well,” Lucifer dances his long fingers up Alastor’s chest, judging his reaction with each heavy exhale of breath, “That would make the chase far too easy, don’t you think?”
Part of Alastor is already willing to give in, and that frightens him. He can try and find every excuse under Hell's unbearable sun for this sudden exception, but he knows the truth. He’s inexplicably attracted to Lucifer, for reasons he can’t quite understand. It’s not just his power, the flicker of the seraphic angel inside of him, or even his position as the King of Hell.
Lucifer is bold, charming, and quite frankly extremely easy on the eyes.
There’s just one problem.
“I’m no man's lapdog, Sire. I do not bend. Not even for royalty.”
Lucifer’s grin widens, “I should hope not.”
Again, Alastor’s shriveled heart starts to thump. The twisted desires he thought he’d long since buried making themselves known in quick flashes through his mind’s eye. As Lucifer’s hand splays on his chest he imagines grabbing his wrist, overpowering him, forcing the King of Hell to his knees.
The fire that has been slowly simmering inside Alastor's body settles in his pelvis, making him uncomfortably aware of the tightness of his own pants.
Either Lucifer notices, or he has a case of impeccable timing.
He starts trailing up his leg, starting at his knee this time.
“I apologise for being so forward, Alastor. I’d heard you were notorious, but I didn’t anticipate someone so imposing.”
Lucifer licks his teeth again, lowering his lashes in the dimmed lighting in a poorly veiled attempt at seduction.
Alastor’s mind is instantly filled with a visceral compulsion to beat both habits out of him.
“You find it so easily able to command a room...and my attention,” He continues, upping the ante on his compliments as his hand moves higher still, “I wouldn’t dream of trying to curb those instincts.”
The hand not on Alastor’s leg moves up his body, trailing up the bare part of his neck until Lucifer’s able to cup his face. The softness of the gesture startles him, making him shiver when he looks up to meet an absolutely crazed expression.
“There's a true darkness in you, isn’t there?”
Alastor’s heart stops.
For the first time since he arrived in Hell, he feels seen as both the man he was and the monster he’s become. It’s also the second his perspective on Lucifer truly shifts. He sees past the crown and the all-powerful being who fought God himself for the position, and sees the flickers of something far more familiar.
Far more human.
In lieu of an answer, he finally moves one of his hands to settle on Lucifer’s just as his own creeps higher.
“I suspect you’re about to keep the worst at bay by indulging in certain vices. But other parts you just can’t quite scratch, correct?” He hums, leaning close enough to practically nuzzle into Alastor’s neck, “-Wouldn’t it be wonderful to explore them with a partner who would enjoy it just as much. Who won’t scream, or try to run. Who can't break-Ah!”
Alastor surprises them both by grabbing the hand on his leg before it reaches his crotch, moving at lightning speed to twist it behind the King’s back.
The new position draws them closer, so much that Alastor can feel something else remarkably similar thumping in Lucifer’s chest.
His grin grows as his confidence, and interest, swells immeasurably.
“Everyone can break, Lucifer,” Alastor hisses, delighting in the shiver it pulls out of the smaller demon, “You may be physically untouchable, but only a fool thinks their body is the only thing holding them together.”
He doesn’t give himself the chance to doubt, or even think anything through, before he’s pulling Lucifer into his lap.
The fact he can feel he’s not the only one affected by their little exchange emboldens him further.
“I’ve also found that everyone screams,” Alastor trusts his instincts, leaning into the side of Lucifer’s flushed face to all but growl into his ear, “If pushed past their limits.”
There’s a beat, one where he’s certain he’s finally gone too far, before something in Lucifer melts. He whimpers in Alastor’s lap, squirming and trembling in his grasp. Alastor holds him tighter, twisting his arm further, before realising that’s exactly what Lucifer was counting on.
If he had any lingering doubts, they’re immediately extinguished by the needy moan when he snaps his teeth.
“That’s quite the promise, Alastor-” Lucifer giggles, rolling his hips, goading him, “-Hopefully one you intend to keep?”
“That depends,” Alastor’s spare hand shoots out, wrapping around that thin neck as the thrill of what he’s doing crashes over him in waves, “On how good you look on your knees, Sire.”