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"This isn't fuckin' fair," Angel seethed, staring at the ceiling with a deep frown curling his lips. "How can demons even get sick!? We're dead."
"My dear, you did insult a plague demon to his face. I should think retaliation wouldn't be a surprise," Alastor chided, expression warm as he placed a cool cloth on the arachnid's sweat-slicked forehead.
"Yeah, well, he was insultin' ya. No one insults my husband," the taller sinner groused from his place in the bed, his lower pairs of arms crossed as his upper pair fought off a shiver. He rubbed his forearms, tugging the blankets to his chin, before a shadowy tendril yanked them back to his chest.
It was worth a shot.
The deer demon shook his head, crossing the room to his favourite radio–the one nestled neatly upon the nightstand. He switched it on with the flick of a claw, setting the volume to low. To Angel's astonishment, the room filled with the gentle croon of Christmas songs from his day, not Alastor's.
He guessed it shouldn't have been that surprising–Alastor had become fond of Frank Sinatra during one of their many late nights spent dancing by the fire. But 'White Christmas' still caught him off guard. It was no secret that the radio host usually loathed holiday tunes.
"It wasn't the first time someone has spoken ill of me and it certainly won't be the last. It's nothing worth getting yourself cursed over," Alastor said, glancing around their bedroom with a raised brow.
He tapped his fingers idly against the bed post. "We're fortunate that my abilities possess enough healing properties for this to be the extent of your illness. Things could have gone terribly wrong." Despite his split attention, it was hard to miss the momentary waver of his smile. Concern.
"I know, babe," Angel's eyes softened. "Thank ya for healin' and takin' care of me." He reached out a hand, silently demanding the contact he knew Alastor wouldn't hesitate to give. As expected, crimson fingers tangled with his own.
"Speak nothing of it, cher," Alastor soothed, raising his hand to his smiling lips for a gentle kiss. "Now, then. I know you were rather excited for Christmas Eve at the hotel, but I don't think it's wise for you to venture out of the Radio Tower in this state." Angel's shoulders noticeably drooped, and his husband quickly squeezed his hand.
"Course this had to happen right after Cha-Cha got the tree put up. I was lookin' forward to seein' it," the spider sighed, appearing just a touch more miserable as he sank deeper into his pillow. Alastor sat on the side of the bed, resisting the urge to join his beloved. There was still work to be done.
"It is unfortunate timing, yes. But I see no reason we cannot celebrate the holiday here. What say you?"
With a wave of his hand, the hearth flickered to life upon its own accord, and with its sudden blaze, it lit both the large stag head mounted on the wall, as well the small trinkets adorning the mantle. A photo from their wedding remained front and center, but now, it was surrounded by heavy garland and an array of twinkling lights and burning candles. On the left end sat a nutcracker, simple yet elegant in design. On the right end, a wooden reindeer stood, its neck wreathed in holly and red, silky ribbons. And on either side of their wedding picture hung velvet stockings, one pink and one red, with their names embroidered in gold. Angel and Alastor LeBeau.
"I thought ya didn't like Christmas, though?" Angel asked, warm with more than just fever as he watched Alastor snap decorations into existence. Mistletoe hung proudly above the bedroom door, green tinsel lined the window frame, and everything was bathed in a golden light. Dim enough to not agitate the pulsing pain behind his eyes, but bright enough to illuminate his lover in an almost heavenly glow. The irony behind the thought wasn't lost on him. "I mean, I get the religious part. I never cared 'bout that part myself. But I liked the snacks and the general feel."
"I don't have strong opinions about it," Alastor shrugged, carefully considering his work. He tapped at his bottom lip as he thought. Something was missing. Something that should have been obvious. "Mama wasn't Christian, but like you, she appreciated the warmth of the season. We could never afford to truly celebrate, however. So I'm mostly unaccustomed to celebrating it."
Ah! That was it!
With a flourish, a sizeable fir appeared in the far corner, a stark contrast against the sanguine wallpaper. "But for you, Angel, I'm happy to indulge."
"Thanks, Al," Angel breathed, coughing into the crook of his arm with a small whine. "I always liked Christmas cause it meant bakin' and sewin' with Ma and Molly. Used to make scarves for gifts and then bake cookies that looked like stars," his mismatched eyes took on a fond, longing gleam. "Guess that was the one good thing about bein' from a mob family–we had sugar to play around with."
The older sinner hummed his understanding. With a spark of green light, incandescent bulbs adorned the tree alongside red, pink, and gold ornaments. Strings of popcorn and cranberries joined the dense branches, leading all the way up to the golden star on top, that looked suspiciously like it was formed in the shape of spiderwebs. "Perhaps when you're well we can bake. I'm not very adept when it comes to desserts, but I'm certain I can learn. We could even have some hot buttered rum with it."
"That sounds nice," Angel said, eyes heavy with exhaustion even as he took in their new tree with love flooding his expression. He bit his lip over his grin. "Everything looks amazing. But ya know what would make it even better?"
Alastor tilted his head, his ears twitching forward in rapt attention. Angel couldn't help but snicker at the cute gesture. "What would that be?"
"If ya came ova' here and kept me warm," Angel said, though to Alastor, it sounded more like a plea. As always, he couldn't deny him anything, much less some needed comfort in his weakened state.
The pitiful, glassy quality of his lover's eyes made him even more determined to have him back on his feet as soon as possible. And as the princess always says, healing starts from within. "Very well, darling."
In two strides, Alastor was back at Angel's side, affectionately stroking a hand through his hair before removing his coat, shoes, and bowtie. He unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt, studying his clothing closely before snapping his fingers. His suit was replaced by a burgundy turtleneck sweater, hewn from fabric softer than any Angel had ever touched before.
Wordlessly, Angel scooted over to give Alastor more room to settle in, but once he did, the arachnid was swiftly pulled flush against Alastor's chest. "It would do you well to sweat out this fever since the cloth doesn't seem to be helping," the stag reasoned, laying a kiss upon Angel's brow when he cast aside the damp fabric meant to bring down his temperature.
"Does that mean I c'n have the blankets back?" Angel murmured, pressed into his husband's neck, still watching the Christmas tree shine from his peripheral vision.
"Oh, I suppose, you needy thing," Alastor sighed without heat, swiftly tugging the fleece back up to his paramour's cheeks. Then, he tucked the man beneath his chin, stroking down his spine with slow, tranquil movements. Angel practically purred, wrapping all six of his arms around Alastor's warm body. He was met with no complaints, only a tightening of the arms coiled around his waist.
"It means a lot that ya did this for me, Al," Angel whispered, wavering between wakefulness and sleep as he blinked up at that smiling face drowsily. Any other sinner would recoil in fear at the thought of being in such close proximity of the notorious Radio Demon, but not Angel.
He knew that as surely as these hands upon his waist could destroy, they could also heal. Regardless of if Alastor knew it or not, Angel could feel the broken pieces of himself from decades under Valentino's thumb beginning to mend everytime Alastor held him this way.
But in his own way, he had done the same for Alastor, building up a soft, unrelenting sort of trust that Alastor hadn't felt since his early years of life. Alone, they were strong. But together? They were unstoppable. Safe.
Loved.
The numerous gifts tucked beneath the tree in the corner, while sweet, could never compare to that. Waking up without a twinge of fear in his heart, filled with only adoration as he gazed upon Alastor's fond expression, was truly the best feeling in the world.
Maybe he would admit that someday, when he wasn't so tired. Until then, two simple words would have to do. "Ti amo."
He lost the fight to stay awake shortly after soft lips pressed to his. "Je t'aime."
And as he drifted off to sleep, he could hear Alastor singing along to the songs filtering through the radio, serenading him even once he was lost to dreams of gentle claws and crimson hair.
"Merry Christmas, mon ange."