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A lot of things about the hotel had changed since Lucifer had first visited.
Well – considering the entire thing had been a knock-down rebuild, that probably went without saying. Gone were the tattered curtains and mismatched furniture, the bar that had been yanked right out of reality and plopped down in the middle of the lobby. And those railings? Reinforced, reinvigorated, rejuvenated – uh, other words to describe the repairs.
Nobody was going over the edge of those balconies, not any longer. Well, not unless they made a concerted effort to do so, and that was an incident they didn't talk about, thank you very much. One very intense therapy course later focused on how screaming 'do a flip!' wasn't particularly helpful, and Charlie was satisfied that everyone knew what to do the next time a sinner was threatening to paint themselves over the pavement.
There was another thing that had changed about the hotel, something a little more personal. Something Lucifer was currently enjoying to the fullest, his forearm propped on one of those aforementioned railings as he watched Alastor finishing his morning cup of coffee. At the table on Lucifer's balcony. The balcony they were sharing, because, yep – the Radio Demon now resided in his rooms.
Don't ask him how it had happened – that was a very long story. Full of anger and hurt and mistaken betrayal, of apologies and aborted love confessions and getting everything wrong. Somehow, they'd still managed to end up here.
It was still early in the morning, but Alastor liked getting up before the non-existent sun most days, and Lucifer – well, look, he was called the Morning Star. He supposed he could give up his habit of sleeping in if it came with this sort of view, Alastor in just his shirtsleeves and his hair still a little bit dishevelled from sleep. There was no real sunrise in Hell, but the lightening of the sky made Alastor's red hair shine with hues of crimsons and pinks, glossy strands catching the light and practically sparkling when his ears twitched.
“What's on your mind, sire?” Alastor murmured – and how did he do that? He hadn't looked away from the skyscrapers and buildings clustered in the middle of Pentagram city, his lids sitting low over eyes still filled with the warm comfort of a morning not yet interrupted by their daily chores.
“Take a guess,” Lucifer shot back, grinning as one crimson eye flicked him a glance, the sassiest little side-eye he'd ever received from a sinner. Most of them wouldn't dare, of course, but Alastor was one of the most daring people he knew.
Damn. He sounded sickeningly besotted, didn't he?
Alastor hummed, sipping from his mug again as though the answer were of no consequence. He did, however, lift his chin slightly when he lowered it back to the table, turning his face so that the light from the pentagram above managed to cast its highlights and shadows in all the right places across his sharp features.
Lucifer watched a shadow cling to the underside of Alastor's jaw, his mouth watering with the urge to trace that same path with his tongue.
“I'd imagine you're thinking up all manner of filthy things you'd like to do to me, wondering if you've got enough time before we're called down to the morning meeting.” Alastor's grin widened, smug satisfaction ringing so loud in the air that Alastor's ego was practically another presence at their table. Lucifer tried to push down the flush creeping into his cheeks, ignoring the heat prickling at the back of his neck, because no – he hadn't been thinking about that.
Well, wondering about how much time they had certainly hadn't entered his mind at least.
“Actually,” Lucifer said casually, curling his claws around the railing and giving it a quick shake. His own grin sharpened; he knew the quickest way to get under Alastor's skin was to refuse to acknowledge his attention seeking. “I was thinking it's a damn good thing I rebuilt this hotel. Seriously, did you never think the railings on the old one needed attention? They were the shakiest things I'd ever seen.”
His tone was dismissive, his gaze averted – but he still felt the moment Alastor's attention snapped to him, the piercing weight of the other man's gaze impossible to ignore. Lucifer's heart thumped against his ribs as a shiver ran down his spine, because a riled up Alastor was a fun Alastor, and yeah – they did have some time before everyone else started waking up.
“Were they, now? And are you so certain that yours could hold up to somebody yanking on them, sire? Would you care to put your assertions to the test?”
The question coaxed images to life in Lucifer's mind, of Alastor bent double over the edge of the railing, his wrists bound to it and his shoulders straining as he tugged in vain, trying to get himself free. Of that pert little tail waving merrily back and forth above what sparse curves Alastor had to his name, his cheeks burning crimson as he muttered out a protest that they were outside, that somebody might see.
“I feel like it's a pretty safe bet.” Lucifer dragged his mind back to the present, slotting his filthy fantasies away for the time being. He looked up, locking eyes with the other man – and swallowing back a flood of saliva at the sudden heat he caught simmering in Alastor's gaze. Maybe his fantasies didn't need to be packed away so soon. “Why? You want me to bend you over the balcony and let all of Hell hear how you sound when I'm–”
“I have a better idea.” Alastor interrupted him, which was probably just as well. Lucifer had been about to make a terrible pun about railings, and he didn't think it would have heightened the mood.
Before he could ask Alastor to share with the class, the sinner moved. Quick as a whip, he pushed his chair back and waved a hand as he got to his feet, shadows coalescing around his ankles and darting up the legs of Lucifer's chair. Cold darkness brushed against Lucifer's calf – and he yelped as a tendril wrapped around his middle, lifting him bodily from his chair and sending it clattering to the floor as too many coils of darkness to keep track of swept over his body.
The position he found himself in might be mistaken for something religious, his arms outstretched along the top of the railing, tentacles pulsing around his wrists as his shoulders leant back into nothing but open air. The edge of the railing bit into his spine, his heart thumping and his pulse rushing in his ears at the feeling of such emptiness behind him. His heels scrabbled for purchase against the floor, but he'd built these railings to keep sinners safe.
And sinners had the unfortunate habit of being a lot taller than he was.
The sight of Alastor stalking across the space between them might have chilled most people's blood, that knife-sharp grin bared and his head tipped slightly to one side – like a bird of prey examining its next meal. Probably not a good comparison to make of himself when he knew his lover happened to be a cannibal, but Lucifer's brain was protesting as the flow of his blood abandoned it – occupied far further south, heat coiling in his guts as Alastor's tongue swiped over his teeth, his eyes darting down to the unmistakable way Lucifer's cock pressed against his zipper as it started to fill out in anticipation.
Look, you couldn't blame him for it. There was a purr in Alastor's voice that his cock recognised, and like Pavlov's damn dog, it reacted in the only way it knew how.
Lucifer found himself on the opposite end of where he'd been in his fantasies, all too aware of the fact that they were outside. It had been fun in theory – especially when it was Alastor getting all flustered, the Alastor that lived in his mind, at least – but the duck shaped slipper was very much on the other foot now.
“Alastor...” he muttered, tugging at the shadows holding his wrists down. Despite his reservations, he couldn't deny the thrill blossoming in his chest at the feeling of Alastor's power, that evidence of just how strong he was.
No match for Lucifer, of course, and if he'd wanted to he could've torn those shadows to shreds – but that was the point, wasn't it? He didn't really want to.
“Problem, sire? Did you not want all of Hell hearing how you sound when you're out of your mind with lust, fucking my throat like you think I'm starved for it?” Alastor lowered his voice even further, stepping up to Lucifer and running a claw along the line of his jaw, and – oh, fuck. That was a tasty little mental image, nerves along Lucifer's thighs fluttering under his skin and heat trickling down his chest from Alastor's touch.
He whimpered, flexing his forearm against Alastor's tendrils. It was a conscious effort to switch off his innate power, far more difficult than switching off his brain – but those shadows coiled tighter, the metal of the railing nipping at Lucifer's wrists and his pulse beating madly on the back of his tongue when his head tipped back, tipped back into open air.
Lucifer could be forgiven his fear of falling – he thought he had a pretty good 'get out of jail free' card when it came to justifying that terror. But it wasn't really a risk, more of a suggestion. Alastor wouldn't let him fall, and his wings were perfectly functional, so the adrenaline his spike of fear provoked in his bloodstream only raced south as Alastor caught his lips in a coffee-flavoured kiss.
It was bitter, because Alastor took no sugar and just the barest splash of milk in his morning coffee – but the sinner's mouth was hotter than any coffee or tea could ever manage, his tongue demanding where it probed against the seam of Lucifer's lips. He wasn't often so adventurous, and Lucifer shivered as he opened his mouth, letting Alastor taste the sugar lingering on his own tongue, the vanilla syrup he laced his latte with until it would offend even the most basic of coffee connoisseurs. A staticky hum tickled him, vibrating against his lips, and Lucifer's arms twitched as he tried to shove his claws into crimson hair.
The strain against his wrists was like a bolt of lightning to his senses, a moan echoing in his throat as one of Alastor's hands wandered down his chest, pushing him just that little bit further towards the void. The other man could probably feel Lucifer's heart fluttering against his ribs, beating as frantically as a trapped bird in a cage far too small to contain it.
When Alastor abandoned his mouth in favour of licking a long stripe over the bottom of his cheek, down past his jaw, Lucifer only tipped his head to the side to give Alastor access to his throat. Saliva clung to his skin, but he'd long since stopped caring about that sort of thing. Hey, when you were sleeping with a sinner, you learned to put up with a few less-than-savoury habits. Heat pulsed demandingly at the base of his spine, his stomach swimming with it as his cock started to ache where it stained against the front of his pants. He should have left his pyjamas on – at least then his body wouldn't be in a war against his own zipper.
“We – the others...” Lucifer muttered, threads of half-formed thoughts darting away from him before he could grasp them. Alastor's teeth scraped against his neck as he answered, pressing up against Lucifer, pushing at him until the railing at his back dug in almost painfully hard against his spine.
“Are asleep. Unless you think you'll be loud enough to wake them?” Alastor mused, tongue flicking over the delicate pulse of Lucifer's jugular. “If they do decide to take a morning stroll... I suppose you'd better hope they don't look up. Tell me, sire – can you keep quiet? Can you behave yourself to such an extent?”
Lucifer didn't know what had gotten into Alastor today, but he couldn't say it wasn't welcome. Double negatives? Ugh – his mind wasn't working well enough to think about that. He liked it when Alastor decided to take charge, when the power and status he wielded manifested itself in such a way that dominance was his flavour of the day. Alastor could dominate him as much as he wanted, Lucifer wasn't too proud to admit the effect it had on him.
Sin of pride, sure – but sometimes pride got in the way of enjoyment, of pleasure. And he was very focused on pleasure right now. Goodbye, ego, I'll see you later.
“I don't know. Are you gonna tell me I'm doing a good job if I do?” Lucifer murmured, his blood singing as he felt Alastor's smile widen against his neck. The sinner straightened up, focusing his bright-eyed gaze on Lucifer's flushed face, his eyes tracing the faint movements of Lucifer's lashes as they quivered over his undoubtedly clouded eyes.
“I suppose that depends on if you do a good enough job to warrant such praise. Shall we put your self-control to the test?” Alastor suggested – and before Lucifer could offer his enthusiastic agreement, red-tipped claws were plucking at his fly, tugging down his zipper even as Alastor smoothly dropped to his knees.
Lucifer dared a glance down, his mind spinning at the sight of Alastor's crimson head poised just above his middle – and then he was groaning, Alastor swirling in his vision, splitting into several copies of himself as Lucifer's eyes watered and blurred, because Alastor had just pushed down the front of his underwear and wrapped long fingers around his cock, dragging it out of the stuffy confines of his pants and into the relief of marginally cooler air.
A considerate little noise echoed in Alastor's throat, and Lucifer barely stifled a yelp when the other man's tongue darted out to lap over the beads of pre-come already leaking from his tip. Lucifer's teeth clamped into his own lip, his breathing ragged where it rustled between his teeth. His face burned gold, the sinews along his forearms pressing into the shadows holding his arms spread wide.
This really was dangerous. Sure, those assholes over at Vee Tower didn't have any interest in stalking Alastor any longer, but that didn't mean their drones weren't still flying all over the city. The wards around the hotel stopped them getting too close, but they wouldn't need to get close – not to see this. What kind of headline would this make, huh? King of Hell Caught with his Pants Down! Cannibal Overlord Tries a Different Sort of Meat!
Dangerous or not, Lucifer didn't want to tell Alastor to stop. If he wasn't worried about making the news, then why should Lucifer be? If anyone saw it – then they should, quite frankly, be jealous enough to cry.
“Quiet, sire. I think I heard a car door slam at the end of the driveway,” Alastor murmured.
Wait – what was he–?
The crunch of gravel drifted to Lucifer's ears moments before warm lips parted around the head of his cock, Alastor's dexterous tongue slipping out to cushion the underside of his shaft. Lucifer clenched his teeth and swallowed a whimper, trying to hear anything over the sound of his own blood thumping in his skull, trying to kick his brain into motion even as the hot, wet heat of Alastor's mouth enveloped him.
There was a laugh from somewhere in the distance, and Lucifer knew those voices – Cherri and Angel, their two night-owls. Of course they were only just getting home. Terror swirled with arousal, hot and cold mingling in the pit of his guts as the head of his cock bumped up against the roof of Alastor's mouth. Fuck – Alastor was doing this on purpose.
He didn't know how, but he had a sudden suspicion Alastor had known those two were about to get back to the hotel. Their chattering cut through the still morning air, peals and shrieks of probably still-drunken laughter disturbing a flock of carrion birds nesting in one of the thorn bushes. The flutter of their wings sounded impossibly loud, impossibly close – and Lucifer tugged against the shadows once more, wanting to bite into his own hand to stifle the whine trying to escape him, the faintest brush of Alastor's sharp teeth along the top of his dick sending pins and needles cascading through his nervous system.
Fuck, don't look up. Don't look at those fucking birds, please–
They weren't the worst people he could imagine catching a glimpse of this, but he didn't exactly want to spend the next several weeks avoiding Angel Dust's knowing winks. Lucifer's head tipped back as Alastor took him deeper, the muscles of his throat squeezing the head of Lucifer's dick. Fire danced up his spine, his hips trembling with their desperation to jerk forward – but he still couldn't get his footing, and unless he wanted to spoil Alastor's fun entirely, he had no choice but to hang from that magical grip, spread on this blasphemous mockery of an altar.
Spots danced behind his tightly shut lids, and Lucifer forced his eyes open – only to find himself staring straight at the holy light of Heaven hanging so far above the hotel that it would be forever out of reach. A contrarian kind of satisfaction welled in his chest, bitter joy at indulging in something they'd probably shun him for all over again if they knew. His throat tightened as a gasp escaped his control; a staccato, wet little inhalation as Alastor's nose pushed up against soft curls and his throat worked around the blockage of Lucifer's cock lodged halfway down it.
He angled his gaze down again, wondering why Alastor had stopped. Crimson eyes met his, Alastor's grin stretched wide and his lips gone thin around Lucifer's shaft. The red light of the sky glimmered against the tiniest possible tear stains anybody could ever call themselves witness to, the corners of Alastor's eyes watering as he huffed a breath. Even a man without a gag reflex couldn't help it, but there was nothing but feral satisfaction in his eyes at the quiet whine Lucifer let out.
He felt like he was going to melt. Or like he was going to break into a thousand pieces, his cock throbbing in Alastor's mouth and pleasure knotting his guts so tightly it was a wonder they still functioned. Even the void at his back couldn't detract from this, because Alastor was fucking beautiful like this – on his knees, his static buzzing with pure delight and his soft ears sitting low on his head. Claws gripped Lucifer's waist, prickling at his skin through the fabric of his shirt – like Alastor thought he might try to flee if he didn't hold Lucifer still, and he simply couldn't bear the idea. A satisfied hum vibrated in Alastor's throat, a choked moan trying desperately to wind its way from behind Lucifer's teeth – and the worst thing he could possibly imagine happened.
“You hear somethin'?”
Angel Dust's voice, so far below them it should have been impossible – but Lucifer's heart leapt into his throat, his eyes going wide as he desperately shook his head and reconsidered his decision about not ripping Alastor's shadows to shreds.
Alastor's expression took on an unmistakable shade of amusement, and he shifted his head back. The sensation of his cock slipping from Alastor's throat was enough to make Lucifer's own eyes water, every inch that the other man abandoned leaving him bereft. His arms shook against those shadowy bindings, something suspiciously close to a sob ringing low in his throat when Alastor pulled his mouth off Lucifer's cock entirely, leaving it bobbing in the air, coated in spit and throbbing to the beat of his pulse.
“Quiet, sire. You're doing very well so far, though I do believe there's room for improvement. Wouldn't you agree?” Alastor asked, idly running a single claw along the underside of Lucifer's shaft. A casually possessive touch, and the trail his finger marked out burned in its wake, the climax Lucifer desperately wanted crouching at the back of his mind.
“Shh!” Lucifer hushed him, straining to hear whether or not Angel and Cherri had moved on. Alastor's teeth flashed in a grin – and he opened his mouth wide, swallowing Lucifer back down so abruptly he had to bite his own tongue to keep from shouting.
Blood burst in his mouth, apple-sweet and golden, and the slight cough Alastor let out only heightened his arousal. Fuck – how was that for the consequences of your own actions, Alastor? Even you can't slam a cock down your throat that quickly without feeling at least a little tickle.
He didn't let it hold him back for long, though. His tongue lashed at the underside of Lucifer's shaft, one of his hands pushing up under Lucifer's shirt and skimming over his abdomen, teasing muscles that were already bunched and trembling. His fingers plucked over Lucifer's ribs, and he was sure he was going to have the most garish bruise along the small of his back – especially when he arched into Alastor's touch with a gasp, chest sparking as pleasure zipped along his nerves. Those nimble fingers had found his nipple, heat spreading from that peaked, sensitive nub of flesh even as his cock throbbed in Alastor's mouth, and he wasn't sure he could take much more of this, he was so close–
When Alastor pulled back again, Lucifer could have killed him. His chest heaved as he sucked in air, blinking open bleary eyes once more to give him a look of utter incredulity. He yanked at his hand – and the railing rattled where it was fastened to the balcony, bolts protesting this abuse. He was actively choosing not to break through Alastor's power, but it seemed as if he might just tear the hotel to pieces in its stead.
“Why–?”
“You look lovely like this, highness. Trying to keep yourself quiet, glowing like the morning star so aptly named for you,” Alastor murmured – and what was he – what was he doing? He rested his face against Lucifer's pelvis, seemingly unbothered by the way Lucifer's cock pressed up against his cheek.
As if to prove just how unbothered he was, he wrapped a hand around it, thumbing idly over sensitive, damp skin, his touch wringing another stifled whimper from Lucifer before he could suppress it.
His words burrowed straight into Lucifer's chest, wrapped in warmth and turning that burning ache within him into a low simmer. His lungs strained to get enough air into them, his breath so short he felt lightheaded – but Alastor was still going, and Lucifer hung on every word, drinking them down as if they were the very nectar of life itself.
“Look at you – how desperately you want to tear your hands from my shadows and grab my skull. But you're being so patient. Oh yes, you're doing a marvellous job, sire. I'm very impressed.” Alastor moved his face, rubbing his cheek against Lucifer's cock like a damned cat marking its territory, and Lucifer panted, held over the precipice of an orgasm that had been denied to him twice, now.
“A-Alastor,” he muttered, his brain seemingly not working quickly enough to give him anything but his tormentor's name. Alastor's eyes flicked up to him, glowing crimson underneath long, dark lashes – and a pearly bead of pre-come smeared onto his high cheekbone, a crackle of amused static rumbling from his throat.
Lucifer liked when he got affectionate, yes – liked it when Alastor said such lovely things – but could he wait, like, thirty more seconds?
His fingers flexed uselessly in the air, and he whimpered as Alastor gave his cock a teasing sort of squeeze, as if he could feel just how hot Lucifer's blood was running. Maybe he could – who knew? Lucifer swallowed, his tongue swiping out over his own lips and smearing blood across them, blood which caught Alastor's eye immediately.
Before Lucifer could offer a protest, Alastor pushed himself up – surged to his feet to seize Lucifer's lips in a kiss hard enough to bruise, rough and demanding and hungry, the sinner treating him more like a buffet than a lover. But Lucifer couldn't complain, wouldn't have complained even if whatever words he might have uttered weren't being swallowed down that greedy maw – because Alastor was still stroking his cock. Long, languid movements of his fist, dragging the circle of his fingers all the way to Lucifer's tip before letting his hand slide back down, and it was too slow, and too loose, and too gentle – and Lucifer was going to lose his mind.
He whimpered into Alastor's mouth, careless of how the sound might drift in the otherwise still morning air. Angel and Cherri could have their phones out and zoomed in on him, for all he cared, because he was past caring. He wanted one thing, and one thing only – and that was for Alastor to finish what he fucking started.
“And you look absolutely gorgeous with my cock in your mouth, Alastor. Please – please let me – ng – see that again?” Lucifer whispered against the corner of Alastor's lips, lips that tasted of apples and salt and his own damn blood, and all of it still not strong enough to wash away that taste of bitter black coffee.
He felt Alastor smirk, feedback crackling in the air at that mixture of praise and plea, but they didn't call Lucifer silver-tongued for nothing – and Alastor liked being called pretty things, no matter how hard he might fight to deny it.
“Please? You're making me lose my mind, you beautiful maniac. You feel so fucking good, I swear. Please, Alastor – let me feel you. Let me feel that gorgeous throat of yours.” Lucifer was panting his requests, his ears ringing as a hot wave of dizziness washed over him – because Alastor pecked one last kiss against his mouth before sliding back down his body, crimson eyes peering up at him through lashes too long and pretty to belong to such a sadistic bastard.
“You beg so nicely, sire. Come – let me hear that lovely voice of yours choking on my name,” Alastor murmured – before plunging his lips down the length of Lucifer's cock once more, throat working in hot ripples as he swallowed around the head. His tongue swept over the sensitive underside of Lucifer's shaft, and he was about to get his wish, the climax that had been waiting in the wings for Alastor to stop messing around straining at the gates – as if panicked that Alastor might once more stop his ministrations.
If this was a race, then Lucifer was determined to win it, his brows pinching together as that hot glut pooling low in his stomach twisted and pulsed, and Alastor's claws on his hips were digging in harshly enough to draw blood, but it didn't matter – because the slight bob of his head as he pulled back for a breath was enough that panic slapped Lucifer's pleasure into motion, a horse bolting away from a lightning strike and dragging him along with it.
His orgasm ripped through him, stripping him to his bones as he desperately tried to clamp his throat shut against a shout. It was Alastor's name, the smug bastard was right, but it emerged as nothing more than a garbled mess of syllables as Lucifer whimpered and whined. His hips jerked in Alastor's hold, spine protesting at the metal pressing against it, and Alastor swallowed around the hot spill of his come. His static buzzed in a contented drone, his tongue lapping at Lucifer's dick even as it softened, as if trying to make sure he hadn't let even a single drop of Lucifer's spend escape his attentions.
Lucifer sagged against the rail, his head lolling into space as his chest heaved, and he could only let out a high pitched, muffled noise of protest as Alastor licked a long stripe along his spent cock, twanging oversensitive nerves like strings tuned too tightly on a violin. Just like that imaginary instrument, Lucifer was ready to snap – but he collapsed into a boneless mess against Alastor's chest as the other man stood up and tugged him forward, catching him as he stumbled.
The shadows had abandoned his wrists, his lower back stinging where blood rushed in to fill the divot that the railing had been digging into his skin. Claws stroked through his hair, and Lucifer fumbled with his own fly, trying to restore some semblance of dignity to his morning.
“Wonderfully done, sire. Just the thing I needed to chase down my coffee.” Alastor's voice rasped above his head. Lucifer snorted into Alastor's shirt, shaking his head as a stupid grin tugged the corners of his lips up.
“If anyone else heard you say something like that, they'd call you a lech,” Lucifer muttered as he caught his breath. Alastor's chest vibrated with the rumble of his chuckle. Nobody else would ever hear Alastor say something like that – well, not unless he was deliberately trying to cause trouble.
So never say never.
The day hadn't even started, and already Lucifer wanted to crawl back into bed and burrow into Alastor's side. Alastor would never put up with it though – he'd start squirming five minutes in, complaining that he had a morning broadcast to get to, that they were wasting the entire day.
Alastor lowered Lucifer into the chair the sinner had previously occupied, swapping their places so that he could pick up Lucifer's seat from where it had clattered to the floor. Lucifer watched the city skyline for a minute, struck by how peaceful it looked from afar. When one couldn't see what was happening down there, it almost looked halfway normal.
Red light glinted off buildings, creeping over their roofs and shimmering where it hit the glass of their windows. The night shift was retiring, those like Cherri and Angel finally deciding to call it – just as those who actually worked mornings were starting their day. This might be Hell, but there were still bakeries, still convenience stores – and those kinds of places opened at the ass crack of dawn regardless of the realm.
As Alastor's arm reached past Lucifer's head, the other man clearing away their coffee mugs with a self-satisfied hum of static still hanging in the air about him, an aura of smugness clinging to his very being – Lucifer shot out a hand and grabbed his wrist. Alastor paused in his clean up, arching a brow as he aimed a quizzical glance Lucifer's way, and Lucifer's grin turned lopsided as he flashed his sharp teeth.
“I guess that still proves I was right, huh?” He asked – and Alastor tilted his head in that adorable way that he had, that confused puppy look that he probably considered condescending. Lucifer wasn't gonna tell him – and he'd expressly forbidden anyone else from mentioning how damn cute it looked, just in case Alastor got stroppy and stopped doing it.
“I'm hesitant to admit to such a thing, given how infrequently it happens. Right about what?” Alastor asked, an echo of canned laughter ringing in the air. Lucifer nodded his head towards the railings.
“My railings passed the test. Plenty of jerking, and not one of them came loose.”
Alastor's second brow joined his first, disappearing behind his bangs as his tongue flicked out over his lip, wiping away a faint sheen Lucifer hadn't noticed before. His face heated at the evidence of their little foray into becoming property inspectors.
“One successful test does not a successful experiment make, sire,” Alastor drawled – and Lucifer's mouth went dry at the implication. He didn't get a chance to ask Alastor to clarify, however – the sinner sank into the shadows, abandoning their mugs to Lucifer's care as his crackling laughter hovered around the balcony for long moments after he'd disappeared.
Lucifer glanced at the mental image he'd conjured of Alastor folded over the railing, putting a bookmark in it and saving it for later as he finished cleaning up.
He would happily indulge in more such testing, all in the name of building safety and regulations.
Very happily indeed.
~fin~