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Lucifer remembers all the times he’s fallen.
The first is creation. He’s moving through the cosmos of nothingness as light dances on his fingertips before expanding and shooting outward into the sky where they sparkle endlessly. His precious stars that would become his namesake and the first to earn him the warm praise of Father.
The second is Lilith’s smile. Wide and carefree, she delights in the freedom she has finally gained from Adam and the chains that bound her to a fate she was born to but never asked for.
The third hurts. The third fall is burning and agonizing as his wings wrap around his and Lilith’s bodies in a tattered shield as they go down, down, down. Away from Heaven and its light. Away from Father, his siblings, the garden, and the only life he has ever known — his home — until they slam into the depths of hell and form the crater that will become the beginnings of Pentagram City.
The fourth is slow, but crippling. It digs its claws deep into his psyche and drags him down slowly until he’s too deep to realize he’s in a pit. He kicks and fights and claws against it, desperate to climb his way out, but his hands and feet slip and fumble against the dirt walls of his mind. It’s terrifying, and suddenly the Morningstar once bathed in light knows nothing but darkness.
The fifth is filled with hope, the first he’s felt in millennia. Wrapped in the warmth of a soft, plush blanket that stands out against the darkness of Hell, Lucifer falls a fifth time when a pair of the most perfect eyes he’s ever seen peer up at him from the bundle Lilith eases into his arms. He’s never seen anything so perfect in all his many, many years, but he swears as he presses the pad of his forefinger to a red cheek that matches his own, that he will never love anything more for the rest of his existence.
The sixth time… Lucifer isn’t sure what to make of the sixth time. If nothing else, he supposes, it reaffirms that he very much has a type.
When Lucifer first meets Alastor, he loathes him. Who was a mere sinner — a creepy, manipulative, cannibalistic serial-killer — to claim a spot beside his darling daughter and claim she could call Alastor dad? She had a father! And sure, Lucifer would be the first to admit that maybe he was a bit messy about things. He could have been more communicative, maybe a little less manic, and certainly a little more supportive from the start — but Alastor was a shining example in proving his point about sinners in the first place.
After moving into the hotel, however, his opinion has changed. Just a little. Barely. A Smidge.
Perhaps, maybe, kind-of-sort-of, a lot.
Alastor had absolutely earned his spot in Hell, Lucifer wouldn’t deny it for a moment. He would also admit, if only to himself, the sinner was as delightful as he was infuriating. For all his jagged edges and razor sharp tongue that aims to hit Lucifer where Alastor knows it will hurt most and make him want to scream, he was equally as capable of filling Lucifer with warmth and making him laugh harder than he has in years.
Their daily fights, once filled with venom and vitriol, continue purely out of habit; the finish line has merely changed. What was once a goal to claw and jab at every cut and bruise they could find has now become a game of wits. A race to see who can break the other faster, who can make the other laugh first, and oh how Lucifer delights in every win. When he sees the Radio Demon melt away and only Alastor is left behind as he throws his head back in loud laughter, it fills him with a joy that is only outshone by his genuine smiles.
Each victory emboldens him further, and Lucifer finds himself seeking Alastor out more frequently for reasons beyond a little verbal sparring.
A nightcap before bed.
Quiet afternoons reading in the library.
Meetings to try and make even the most grandiose of Charlie’s ideas come to fruition.
Meals when one of them — usually Lucifer — neglects to eat during the day.
A gentle touch Lucifer seeks out when he just needs to ground himself and the simplicity of quiet conversation when the chaos of Hell has become a little too much.
Whenever the Overlord is near, the crowds don’t seem quite so suffocating and the negative thoughts aren’t as loud.
Alas, old habits die hard, and years of built up pain are hard to let go of, no matter how wonderful the past few months have been.
Even if he takes into account that his relationship with Lilith had been tumultuous at best before she vanished, holidays, especially one based around romance, had become something of a sore subject. Celebrations had only ever reminded him of just how lonely he really was. As much as he adored them, rubber ducks made for poor party guests, and the silence of Morningstar Manor only pressed in closer with each one that passed him by during his self-imposed isolation.
In spite of this, when Charlie knocks on his door that morning and invites him downstairs to join the Valentine's Day brunch, his mouth agrees before his mind can come up with a reason why he can’t. The moment he accepts, she beams, and the excuses that build in the back of his throat for why he can’t actually join them fizzle out in a pathetic, airy wheeze.
”This is going to be great!” Charlie bounces on the balls of her feet and motions eagerly down the hall. “I know it’s a bigger crowd than you’re used to, but I really think seeing you there will help our new guests feel more at ease. Alastor’s cooking is amazing, don’t get me wrong, but he’s still… well…” Her expression shifts, guilt dancing in her eyes as she wrings her fingers together. “…They’re still a little intimidated by the whole Overlord thing and—“
”Alastor cooked?” Lucifer asks and his attention snaps back into focus as they near the hallway elevator. He knows it’s not the most important part of what Charlie has said, that she likely hopes he will come downstairs and do something kingly or offer royal words of encouragement for the journey ahead, but his mind has dug its claws in. He can already feel his mouth watering in anticipation.
“Um… yes?”
Lucifer’s expression brightens and he opts to forego the elevator completely as he flicks his wrist and a golden portal opens beside Charlie. “We shouldn’t keep everyone waiting,” he encourages Charlie forward with a wide grin. “You know how he gets if people are late to a meal.”
As they step through the portal, the sudden onslaught of voices and sound make Lucifer go rigid as the portal behind him snaps shut. Charlie has already begun making her way to the far side of the table where her girlfriend is waiting dutifully beside a pair of chairs, leaving Lucifer near the doorway. His eyes dart around the dining room, his smile tight as he suddenly regrets rushing downstairs. He hadn’t realized just how many new sinners had joined the ranks of their guests, and he curses his tunnel vision for once again guiding him forward on impulse. Coming downstairs was a terrible, horrible, reckless decision. He should have just waited a few hours and scrounged up what he could from the leftovers.
”Oooooh boy. This is…”
“Come to join us at last, Sire?” A voice cuts through the noise as a hand settles on the small of his back and nudges him toward a pair of empty chairs. “I didn’t think you’d be joining us. Why, I barely saw you over the heads of this ridiculously rambunctious bunch.”
“Yeah, well…” Lucifer hums, silently grateful for the guidance as he’s ushered into his seat. “Charlie said you made breakfast. Can’t miss that, can I?”
To Lucifer’s utter delight, Alastor preens under his words and sits next to him. His ears flick upward at attention and his smile grows into something more prideful, but still somehow genuine as he flicks his wrist toward the table.
“Someone has to make sure an actual meal is served in this hotel at least once a day.” He touches his chest, ever theatrical and dramatic, and sighs. “It might as well be the best chef we’ve got.”
“And so humble, too,” Lucifer snorts, but he can’t deny it. He’s no slouch in the kitchen himself; it would be impossible to live as long as he has and not learn anything, but Alastor’s cooking — all the sinner’s cooking, really, but especially Alastor’s — has a certain something his always lacked. Maybe it was just something inherent in their nature as humans, but Lucifer could never quite replicate it himself.
A plate of wonderfully fluffy waffles, generously piled with sliced strawberries and whip cream is set in front of him and Lucifer feels his mouth begin to water for the second time that day. He was back to the mindset that rushing downstairs was the right choice. Waffles were always better fresh.
”Your diabetic downfall, your majesty.” Alastor clicks his tongue, eyeing the plate with a clear expression of distaste, his nose wrinkling further as Lucifer reaches for a bottle of syrup. “At least try it before you drown it in further abomination!”
Rolling his eyes, Lucifer briefly considers dumping the entire bottle over his waffles out of spite. It’s always fun to see the different ways he can scandalize Alastor with his palate, but the last time he’d done so Alastor had refused to allow Lucifer near his cooking for a week as punishment for his ‘desecration.’ “Yeah, yeah. Don’t blow your speaker, Bambi.”
With slow, pointed movements, Lucifer fills his fork with as much sugary fluff as he can and chomps down on it. The noise that escapes his throat is sinful and much louder than he realizes, and the entire table goes silent as they turn to stare at his oblivious, blissful expression. “Oooh, Father,” Lucifer moans again and licks his lips. The whip cream is cold and fresh, the strawberries are juicy, and the waffles have cinnamon and tiny bits of shredded apple mixed in. It’s an explosion of warm flavors that dance on his tongue and warms him all the way down when he swallows. “I love you,” he quickly jabs his fork back at the plate and takes a second bite. “Marry me.”
A shrill shriek of static jerks Lucifer from his reverie and he glances around the table. The wide-eyed expressions of slack-jawed shock that stare back at him catch him off guard and he lowers his fork slowly. “Um… hi?”
”I fuckin’ knew it!” Angel shouts and slaps an open palm down on the table. “I knew it!” He turns in his chair and points an accusatory finger at Husk’s chest. “You doubted me!”
Beside Angel, Charlie stares at her father with a bug-eyed expression, almost vibrating in her seat as she tugs on Vaggi’s sleeve in short, rapid bursts. He can’t quite tell who is panicking more, but the rising volume of the static to his left tells him he really needs to say something.
”O-oops…” He laughs, the sound high-pitched and nervous. “Did… did I say that out loud?”
“Huskie, you owe me fifty bucks!”
”I didn’t ever agree to that!”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lucifer is sure he should be annoyed — or at least a little concerned — that the hotel residents are placing bets on anyone’s love life without their consent, let alone his. Not that he’s had much of a love life to bet on; he likes to think he’s been somewhat subtle in his efforts regarding Alastor. It’s not as if the sinner himself has made it obvious one way or the other if he was even receptive to his efforts, but that was part of the mystery that was Alastor. He had yet to be shoved away or ignored entirely, and Lucifer liked to think that was a good sign overall. Alastor never hesitated to cut down Angel’s flirty remarks or ignore them entirely, and whatever he had going on with that one short sinner that brought loan sharks to the hotel seems far from romantic. Probably, anyway. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. He can’t embarrass himself in front of leftovers.
He really should talk to Charlie about making a lesson out of the betting thing later today, but the static hiss steadily rising in volume to his left really needs to be addressed before anything else.
Especially if Alastor is close to disappearing from the situation entirely.
”Sooo… Haha, that… that slipped out.” Lucifer laughs, even more high-pitched than before, and tries to keep his thoughts from spiraling completely out of control. “A little sooner than I wanted. And in front of a crowd. Which is. Not ideal. Haha. At all.” He coughs and tries to keep his hands still, but he can only watch in horror as his fingers twitch entirely on their own and shoot Alastor finger guns of all things. “…Guess the goat’s out of the bag?” Oh mercy, he sounded ridiculous. “Uh, I mean—“
Lucifer doesn’t get to elaborate on what he means, as his mouth is suddenly very occupied with a dry, chapped warmth and the lingering taste of something bitter and faintly metallic.
“Lucifer.” Alastor hisses, and it takes everything the little devil has to not immediately chase after the faint breath on his lips. “Shut. Up.”
Just as his already waning self-control threatens to crumble because Holy Hell, Alastor just kissed him and oh he really wants to do that again, a shriek jerks him violently from his daze.
”Yeees!” This time, Charlie is slapping the table with her hand and pointing to the room at large. “I won the pot! I won the pot! You all saw it; Alastor kissed him first!”
”Charlie!”
Charlie jumps, and at least she has the decency to look at least a little ashamed as her gaze darts between Alastor and her father. “O-oh, I mean… Um… C-Congratulations?”
The static is getting loud again, and Lucifer silently reaches under the table to place a hand on Alastor’s knee as his eyebrow begins twitching at a rapid pace and his smile sharpens dangerously. The noise suddenly stops and Alastor’s head snaps to the side with a loud crack to stare at Lucifer.
At least the twitching has stopped.
”So!” Lucifer claps his hands together and tries to look as calm as possible to hide the absolute manic storm of emotions shooting through him. “Who wants to pass over that plate of bacon?”
There’s a brief scramble as several different bodies shift to their feet to try and meet the request, and Lucifer relaxes into his chair as he feels a clawed handle settle on his own knee, mimicking his gesture from before.
Coming downstairs was definitely the right choice today.
Charlie, as Lucifer soon discovers, had a great deal planned for Valentine's Day. A little too much in his own, admittedly anxious, opinion. The elaborate breakfast bled into arts and crafts, which became games for couples and friends, then came trust exercises, something akin to speed dating, and many more activities Lucifer had tactfully avoided. As much as he’d enjoyed breakfast and everything that came with it, he wasn’t ready to immediately dive into bringing his new… whatever it was with Alastor into the spotlight. Not yet at least, and he had a sneaking suspicion Alastor was equally unwilling if his disappearance was anything to go by; he’d vanished even quicker than Lucifer had.
However, as the last dregs of light vanished from Hell’s red sky and bled into the late, darkened hours of evening, a text from Charlie pulls him from his thoughts and he peers down at his phone. He’s ready to type out an excuse, to claim he’s exhausted and headed to bed, but her words give him pause.
’Hi dad. The dance is starting! It’s a lot quieter down here now. Maybe this one might not be as stressful?’
’Alastor is here.’
A string of emojis follows her second message and Lucifer feels heat pool in his cheeks. He’s tempted to ask, if only jokingly, if this has anything to do with another betting pool, but it’s not as if she meant any harm. And if she’d bet in their favour, that means she’s not against it. Probably. He hopes. But this must mean something good. She wouldn’t have invited him down or told him about Alastor if she didn’t.
Still, they’d have to talk eventually… but not tonight. Maybe, for tonight at least, he could just… have a little fun. Alastor could be waiting for him — he really hopes Alastor is waiting for him and not just scaring whatever sinners happen to wander a little too close.
Standing up, Lucifer opts for a more casual look and leaves his coat and hat behind, then steps through a portal that deposits him in one of the meeting rooms on the first floor. It’s quiet, but he can hear the faint sound of music and conversation drift down the hall as he pokes his head out the door. He follows the hallway in silence and lingers near the entry of the small ballroom at the opposite end.
Much like Charlie said, the affair is quieter than most of the events from earlier in the day. Guests and staff alike have split off into smaller, more intimate groups around cloth-covered tables or paired off to glide around the dance floor. His eyes scan the room and pause only once he spots the red he’s looking for near the punch-bowl.
Not wanting to miss his chance, Lucifer scoots quickly along the edge of the room and ducks around the snack bar, stopping a few paces away from his target. When Alastor makes no effort to pull away, he takes the chance to move closer, shuffling along until their arms brush together and he tries to think of something clever to say.
“So… come here often?”
Nailed it.
He can almost feel the judgemental look Alastor is surely shooting in his direction, but once again he makes no effort to distance himself, so Lucifer presses onward.
“The music is nice,” he comments and glances around to try and spot whoever Charlie has ushered into the position of DJ. “It’s… much calmer than the stuff, uh, the… the tall one picked at the last party.”
Alastor snorts, and Lucifer relishes in the victory of it. “That would be because I would be in control of our musical entertainment this evening, sire. Unlike the cacophony of noise and lewd lyrical mayhem Angel Dust subjected us to before. This is meant to be a calming close to the evening. Not some night club dance of debauchery.”
“Don’t be too harsh on him,” Lucifer chuckles. The music hadn’t all been bad. Colorful, maybe, but some of them had a decent beat. Even if the music in question had been much less poetic in its expression than he remembers music being. And much more bassy. He had been out of touch with it all for so long.
”Harsh? Haha, not at all, your majesty. I am merely offering the truth of the matter.”
”Lu.”
Alastor blinks, his focus finally snapping downward to look at Lucifer. “…what?”
”Call me Lu. I think we passed titles sometime this morning.”
Silence, then slow and pointed, “Lucifer.”
Well, it was progress, at least.
As the first notes of a new song begin to hum over the speakers, Lucifer spares a glance at the dance floor and weighs his options. They haven’t exactly taken the time to discuss breakfast, but given he’s not getting a tongue lashing and neither of them are bolting from the current conversation, that has to be a good sign. Right? Right.
”Hey… Al?” The nickname is a bit of a risk, but it pays off when he spots the subtle twitch of Alastor’s ears. “Dance with me?” He lifts his hand, offering it to the other with a faint, hopeful smile as he wiggles his fingers. For a moment, he thinks his request might be ignored or pushed aside in favor of a sharp quip. It wouldn’t be the first time Alastor had dodged his more forward attempts, but Lucifer certainly hadn’t been the more bold one this morning.
”…I suppose I could be enticed,” Alastor hums, and his gaze settles on Lucifer, his expression much softer than the other is used to.
It’s a faster acceptance than Lucifer ever thought possible, and it takes an embarrassing amount of self-control to keep him from cheering in victory. Drawing attention to it would just risk watching Alastor vanish in a swirl of black — he’s learned that lesson a few times over. Instead, he settles for allowing his smile to widen in delight and curls his fingers around Alastor’s hand as their palms settle together, leading him out onto the dance floor.
As he wraps a tentative arm around Alastor’s waist, Lucifer is pleasantly surprised when he’s met with no protest or even questioned about it. Unlike that morning, their movements are largely ignored, and Lucifer is all the more grateful for it. Much as he enjoys the spotlight — and he certainly knows Alastor does — right now, there’s only one pair of eyes he wants to feel, and they’re currently locked on his own.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows they really should discuss what happened, but it’s not as if throwing a label on whatever has shifted will change where they are now. It’s a discussion best saved for somewhere with much fewer prying ears. For now, he’s perfectly content to wait, and if the hand splayed against the space between his shoulders is anything to go by, so is his partner.
Partner… it has a nice ring to it, and Lucifer makes a mental note to bring it up later.
”I haven’t danced with anyone for almost a century,” Lucifer murmurs and lifts himself up briefly, wings expanded, into the air to lead Alastor around in a twirl. Centuries ago, he and Lilith used to dance all the time. He can still remember the late nights spinning around the palace ballroom to music no one else could hear with only their laughter to accompany them.
When had they stopped? After Charlie was born? Before? Was it—
“My, what an honor it is to have your first foray back to the floor in so long,” Alastor grins, the sharpness of his smile betrayed by the soft, knowing look in his eyes. “And to think, you’ve only stepped on my feet thrice!”
“What?!” Lucifer’s eyes widen as he looks down and immediately regrets it when he hears Alastor snort in amusement.
”The father of lies, so delightfully easy to fool.”
“Shut up.” Lucifer huffs and slides his hand down to the small of Alastor’s back. Their difference in height isn’t nearly as difficult to compensate for as he dips the other backward and squeezes the hand in his. Maybe he isn’t nearly as out of practice as he thought. Between Lilith and Charlie - though the latter was barely a head taller than him the last time they’d danced - Alastor’s gangly form feels natural. “You…”
Something brushes against Lucifer’s wrist and he trails off, eyebrows furrowing. The twin tails of Alastor’s coat split much higher than his usual one, parting close to his waistline, and Lucifer pokes curiously at the opening. This time, his fingers ghost over fluff; warm, soft, perfect fluff.
”Oh, shit…” Lucifer’s eyes widen, sparkling in delight as he looks up at Alastor with a wide smile. “You have a—mmff…?”
For the second time that day, Lucifer’s words are swallowed by a pair of lips against his own. While the kiss that morning had been brief, somewhat clumsy, and almost forceful, this one, with the faint taste of the punch Alastor had been guarding earlier, was warm. It was late nights spent in quiet conversation at the bar and the bitter taste of a cigarette on the hotel’s roof to unwind after a stressful day. It was duets in the music room, grainy radio dramas, sharp words turned soft and affectionate, subtle touches, and so, so much more. It was everything, and suddenly, all the lingering doubts in Lucifer’s mind melt away.
Two fingers press against Lucifer’s mouth as they pull apart, and he blinks, slowly, one eye after the other, and peers up at Alastor in a daze. What had he been about to say…?
“If you hope for this little entanglement of ours to continue,” Alastor narrows his eyes, “Your discovery is best left a secret between the two of us. Or better yet, forgotten.”
Oh, Lucifer wouldn’t be forgetting at all. Especially now that he knew it was there and just how silky and pleasant it was to touch. But secrets? He could handle secrets. He had no desire to share that particular part of Alastor either. Or any part, now that he considers it, but he could unpack that later.
”Keep what a secret?” He asks and straightens them back up, resuming their steps as if they have not just spent nearly five minutes frozen in a dip.
“What indeed, mon ange?” Alastor chuckles, and with a quick spin, he takes the lead in their dance.
The sixth time Lucifer falls, he decides, is messy and nothing short of a disaster. It's less a falling and more a cacophony of chaos as he ricochets down the rickety, uneven staircase that is Alastor. They fling him on a collision course – breaking more than a few steps on the way – and thrust him into falls seven, eight, nine, and so many more.
But, he concedes, as long as Alastor is there to fall right alongside him, he wouldn't change a thing.