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Alastor despised the lobby of the new hotel. Clearly, Lucifer Morningstar’s involvement in the restoration had seen his personal influence injected into every tacky, apple-themed, gold-embellished, circus-inspired opulent detail. Gone were the classy Art Deco interior lamps, the intricate woven metal on the railings, the delicately assembled stained glass. All sense of character replaced by buzzing, flickering neon and boring, sleek, minimalistic lines.
Yet, Alastor bit his tongue for Charlie’s sake. She was delighted with how ‘modern’ everything looked. She hoped the updated look would attract more sinners to the hotel, especially after their victory against the angels in the latest Extermination. Had Alastor not been indisposed by Adam, he could have been there to guide the hotel’s interior design into something less hideous.
Alas. The snug bandages under his shirt protested as he lifted his drink to his lips. He was not powerless, by any means, but using his magic to conjure such frivolities as wallpaper would be off the cards for a while. At least, for somewhere as worthless as a communal area.
There was one thing Alastor didn’t mind about the new redesign, however. The lobby was far more spacious than before, and now featured a proper wooden dance floor.
It reminded him fondly of the swing dancing venues he used to frequent with Rosie in Cannibal Town, before his seven year absence took him away. Charlie hoped to host lavish parties here in the future, and with a solemn nod he had to agree, the new set-up would do quite nicely for that. But tonight, the doors were closed for a private, staff-only function.
With a clap, Charlie pulled everyone’s attention.
“Okay everybody, thank you sooo much for all coming! The hotel looks A-MAZING, and it’s even better than it was before! So tonight, I thought we should celebrate, since everyone worked so hard on the repairs!”
A low scoff and a quiet murmur came from next to Alastor. “Not everyone.”
Alastor’s gaze snapped to his right, just in time to catch Lucifer’s accusatory red stare slide off of him and back to his own drink. Alastor’s fingers clenched tightly, eliciting a single crack from his glass.
“So let’s all let our hair down and have some fun!” Charlie continued, oblivious to their exchange, “Dad, can you sort the music?”
“Of course sweetie! Anything you need.” Lucifer pushed himself away from the bar. With a casual wave of his hand he dimmed the lights, and in a shimmer of golden smoke, he conjured up a full sized jukebox at the side of the dance floor.
“Fuck yes!” Cherri crowed, punching the air, “Let’s get some fucking tunes on and tear shit up!”
Grabbing one of Angel’s many arms, the two dashed over to the machine, eagerly flipping through the songs. Niffty scuttled after them, crawling up Angel’s leg and across his back to peer over his shoulder at the options. Charlie squeezed in next to them, pulling Vaggie over to join. Even with the five of them crowded together, and Lucifer standing a small distance away, the dance floor still seemed oppressively large. Too empty.
Alastor leaned back against the bar, “Husker, I think you should go join them.”
Husk grumbled from behind the counter, “I’m good back here.”
“Oh, come now,” Alastor turned his head slightly to address him, “You wouldn’t want to disappoint poor Charlie now, would you?”
“She needs someone to serve drinks to these fucks,” Husk argued.
“Everyone is quite capable of helping themselves.” Husk startled as Alastor’s shadow clone drew up next to him, a wide crooked smile on its non-face as it began juggling bottles and glasses.
“Fuck’s sake.” Husk threw his dishrag onto the counter in defeat, and stomped out from behind the bar.
“Good man!” Alastor called after him, just as Cherri’s voice cut through the excited buzz in the room.
“Oooh this track’s from the year I died! Come on, Angie, you gotta dance this one with me!”
A swell of music started, and then a man’s voice began singing.
Now I’ve had the time of my life
No, I never felt like this before
Yes I swear, it’s the truth
And I owe it all to you
Cherri and Angel fell into step quickly, Cherri leading and spinning Angel in circles. Niffty was still attached to his shoulder, and Husk jolted forward to grab her before she could get flung off into the ether. Vaggie and Charlie looped their arms around each other and slow-danced, Vaggie still awkward and stiff and kind of just along for the ride as Charlie threw herself into the music enthusiastically.
Lucifer stood back a bit from the dance floor, hesitant. Alastor studied him from afar. He was focused on watching his daughter dance with her girlfriend, and while his smile seemed proud on the surface, it was tinged with something bittersweet. He was fidgety - too much energy and too many thoughts wound up tight in such a small body - and he kept twisting the gold ring on his left hand, round and round.
Alastor idly wondered why he wasn’t joining the others. He himself had his own reasons for staying perched at the bar, of course. The sharp stinging of unhealed flesh across his chest was masked by his artfully crossed legs and aloof, ‘I’m not dancing to this poor excuse for music’ grimace. But Lucifer, whose name had been used to label entire genres of music and styles of dance as sinful, who had the very idiom ‘to dance with the devil’ coined after himself - somehow, Alastor thought he wouldn’t be the type to shy away from the dance floor.
You're the one thing
I can't get enough of
So I'll tell you something
This could be love, because
A chorus of delighted screams jerked Alastor’s attention away from Lucifer. Cherri was holding Angel up in the air, perpendicular by his waist, his arms spread eagle in front of him. Charlie, Vaggie and Niffty were cheering and clapping, and Husk looked immensely stressed until Cherri lowered Angel to the floor safely. Angel giggled, and pranced out of Cherri’s hold to wrap his arms around Husk’s shoulders with a purr.
“Hey baby, can I have this dance?”
The jukebox clicked over to a new track, a snare drum and high-hat kicking up a base beat before a funky, bassy clavinet riff began to overlay on top. Husk, who initially looked mortified at the thought of dancing to whatever the hell had been playing before, seemed to relax as he recognised the song.
Very superstitious
Writing's on the wall
Very superstitious
Ladders bout' to fall
“You know the Electric Slide?” Husk asked.
“Is that some sorta new sex toy?” Angel grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows.
“No!” Husk protested, fur puffing up like an agitated cat, “Just… follow after me.”
Husk took four steps to the right, building up a rhythm, before taking four steps left. Angel and the others quickly caught the hang of it, copying his moves as he took four steps backwards and then did a step-kick forward. They fell into a line-dance together, adding in a clap every so often or a slap to the ground to mix things up.
Alastor smiled to himself. His pet was providing an adequate distraction for Charlie, as planned. A few more banal songs, and he could most likely slip away without notice.
Very superstitious
The devil's on his way
Thirteen month old baby
Broke the lookin' glass
Seven years of bad luck
Good things in your past
“Are they?”
Alastor would never admit to being startled, but the way his neck cracked as he whipped to face the voice next to him was a dead giveaway. He narrowed his eyes at Lucifer, who was leaning with his forearms on the bar’s countertop, spine obscenely arched and narrow hips jutting out behind him. He wasn’t even looking at Alastor, instead gesturing with one clawed black hand to his shadow clone to request a drink from behind the bar.
“Are they what?” Alastor said curtly.
“The good things. Are they in your past?” Lucifer clarified.
Ah. The lyrics. Lucifer swirled his drink and glanced over his shoulder at Alastor, waiting for a reply. Alastor forced his gaze away from the small of his back, where it had been inexplicably fixated on the gold buckle of Lucifer’s waistcoat cinch.
“Ten thousand years and you’re still feeling regret for bestowing free will upon humankind and dooming those who dare use it to an eternity of suffering?”
Lucifer flinched. Alastor smiled.
“No.” Alastor continued, curling his hand as tendrils of eldritch energy snaked around his wrist and danced up his fingertips, “No, I quite like it down here. My mortal body had its limits. My soul may still be mortal, but the possibilities are endless.” He clenched his fist around a wisp of energy, snuffing it out as he looked back to Lucifer. “Especially when one takes charge of their own fate.”
Lucifer held his stare, considering his response. His expression didn’t betray his thoughts, but after a moment, his eyes dropped to Alastor’s chest.
“Your body here has limits, too.”
The remaining energy around Alastor’s fist crackled with a shriek of static before fizzling out. His rictus grin flickered for a second, but it didn’t falter, because Lucifer didn’t know he was injured, and that glance had nothing to do with the burning feeling crawling across his skin and under his ribcage.
But he didn’t care to examine what Lucifer could be referring to, if not his wound.
“And you? Are the good things in your past?” Alastor asked, deflecting his own thoughts before they could spiral.
Lucifer hummed aloud, turning his body around to finally sit at the bar properly. A soft smile played at his lips, and Alastor followed his gaze across the dance floor to land on Charlie, who was holding Niffty’s hands as they hopped around and rocked out to a new lively song bouncing out of the jukebox, Niffty singing loudly and off key to every other word. Vaggie and Cherri were playing air guitar, while Husk and Angel were trying to impress each other with some fancy footwork.
Well, you can knock me down, step in my face
Slander my name all over the place
Do anything that you want to do
But uh-uh honey, lay off of my shoes
“I thought so, for a long time,” Lucifer admitted quietly, “But she changed my mind. I think there could be some good in my future, too.”
“She is extraordinary.” Alastor found himself agreeing, his usual patina of condescension oddly absent.
“She is.” Lucifer said.
Their eyes met once more. Lucifer seemed to be searching him for some sort of falsehood, for some unspoken threat. Protective, to a fault.
Alastor couldn’t resist.
“Such a shame you missed so many of her formative years!”
“Oh, fuck you–”
“Dad! Alastor!” Speak of the devil’s daughter, and she shall appear. Charlie bounded over to the bar, beaming brightly and slightly sweaty, a sparkle in her eyes as she reached for each of their hands. “Come on, you have to come dance!”
“Char, I don’t know-” Lucifer began to protest - and, while dancing was the last thing Alastor wanted to do right now, he couldn’t miss this opportunity to remind her of her father’s failings.
“Of course my dear, I’d be delighted to!” Alastor said, tossing a smarmy smile to Lucifer.
Lucifer scowled at him.
“Dad, please! For me?” Charlie begged.
Expression immediately softening, Lucifer acquiesced. “Okay, okay.”
As Charlie dragged them both towards the dance floor, an up-beat trumpet from the jukebox heralded the beginning of a woman singing with a transatlantic accent. While Alastor didn’t recognise the specific song, he knew swing when he heard it, and immediately started to feel more in his element after being tortured by an evening of atrocious modern music.
Undecided, undecided
That is a story of one girl and two boys
One girl and two boys
She thought both were awfully cute
the boy in the tux and the boy in the khaki suit
Once they stepped onto the dance floor, Alastor immediately used Lucifer’s hesitance to his advantage to shoulder him out of the way, wrapping an arm around Charlie’s back to lead her into a fast-tempoed walk before shifting into a touch-step. She let out a joyful giggle as he spun her out to a twirl, and he smirked over her shoulder to Lucifer, who had ended up roped into some complicated choreography with Angel.
To Lucifer’s credit, he seemed to be keeping pace with the dancer effortlessly, each move flawless as he caught Angel’s hands and moved with him like they’d done this hundreds of times before. He was a surprisingly proficient dancer, although he didn’t really expect anything less from the devil himself. It made his competitive blood boil, his grin turning ferocious. Lucifer barely needed to pay attention to what Angel was doing to keep up, and instead he was focusing on Alastor dancing with his daughter. Lucifer’s narrow glare at him sent a thrill trembling up his spine for having drawn his ire.
Alastor triple-stepped back close to Charlie, so they could spin in circles to the music. He guided her easily on the dance floor, and what she lacked in technique she made up in enthusiasm. The unfulfilled deal he had struck with her thrummed in his mind as he considered her potential. Stopping the Extermination was only the beginning, and he was itching to see how else she would upend the status quo of Heaven and Hell. He hadn’t lied when he commented to Lucifer about how extraordinary she was.
Then, in one dizzying twist amongst the chaos of the dance floor, Charlie’s hand in his was replaced by another’s. Alastor towered over his new dance partner, and grinned down at Husk’s horrified expression. He didn’t falter for a second, flinging Husk around like a ragdoll in time to the music, delighting in the waves of mortification rolling off of his pet. Husk tried to tug free, and Alastor merely tossed his head back to cackle.
But, tormenting Husk was only mildly entertaining, and Alastor’s attention was abruptly drawn by a flash of blonde hair as Lucifer whirled past, Charlie back in his arms as his dance partner. Lucifer smirked at him, eyelids lowered in a smug look as his forked tongue poked past his lips in a victorious taunt.
In a distracted beat, Husk’s hands slipped out of his own, but were immediately replaced by another’s. Alastor looked down and his grin stiffened when he saw who it was.
“Heya, Smiles,” Angel crooned, “Ya know Swing Fever? Didn’t think ya liked movies! Let’s do that one move!”
“I don’t, it’s just basic swing-” Alastor began to say, when -
Without warning, Angel looped his arms around Alastor’s neck and jumped him, legs straddling his waist and propelling Alastor forwards to dip him. It was a standard move, one Alastor had done with dance partners countless times before, but —
A searing blaze ripped across his chest. Static ruptured in the air around his head. Alastor’s eyes strained as they spasmed to radio dials.
His wound had reopened.
Alastor could only just focus on forcing his shaking smile in place as he completed the dip, Angel’s triumphant cheer echoing dimly in his ears as he twirled away back into the crowd.
Alastor had to leave. He needed to find a moment to slip away, time it perfectly so no one would notice, to not make it obvious he was injured, to not make it look like he was running away from Angel Dust of all fucking people—
A hand grabbed for Alastor’s through the chaos, and as he turned around he found himself holding hands with Charlie again, Lucifer on her other side. Alastor bit down on the pain, refusing to show any weakness as she danced and pulled the three of them to spin in a centrifugal circle to the music. Whirling around, the momentum was threatening to throw Alastor out of step, but another hand slipped into his own to keep the three of them connected. One final crescendo of trumpets spelled the end of the song, and Charlie broke free, cutting between them to return to Vaggie.
There was still a hand in his.
Small, yet teeming with untold strength.
Everything and yet nothing like the potential Charlie possessed.
Intoxicating, oppressive, inscrutable, divine power.
From a single touch - Alastor was ravenous.
“Can you polka?” Lucifer asked.
An abrupt trill of violins resounded from the jukebox. From the opening notes alone, Alastor’s encyclopaedic radio host ear immediately identified it as Tritsch-Tratsch-Polka, an orchestral piece from the mid 1800s by Johann Strauss II. Not his usual taste, as he vastly preferred jazz, but it was a huge improvement after all of the contemporary trite he’d been subjected to all evening. Its familiarity did wonders for soothing the bizarre situation he found himself in, being asked to dance by the King of Hell.
“Oh, I can.” Warm blood prickled at his bandages, damp with warning. “But whether I want to, with you, stands to question.”
The words felt bitter in his mouth, a lie to himself gone acrid on his tongue. Alastor’s preferred method of deception was through omitting facts and dodging the truth. The magnetising draw from that single touch - that hand he’d yet to pull free from - exposing him.
Lucifer could see right through him. He leaned closer, looking up at him through lowered lashes. Goading him.
“Why? Scared you can’t keep up?”
Alastor bristled. “Nonsense.”
So Lucifer tugged him forward, lifting their hands to the side and placing his other on the small of Alastor’s back. Alastor’s skin set alight under his touch, synapses cutting off any lingering pain from his chest. Instinctively, his free hand went to Lucifer’s shoulder, completing their circuit.
“Good, because I fucking love polka.”
Lucifer advanced towards him with the next music bar, and Alastor fell into a back step. He felt off balance, more accustomed to leading, but Lucifer’s magnetic pull kept him in orbit as they began a quick series of right turning basics. The room behind them whirled into a blur, zeroing Alastor’s focus down to the man in front of him.
Lucifer’s red irises had small flecks of gold in them. The wide-brimmed top hat he typically wore, conspicuously absent tonight, would usually stop him from getting this close and noticing that. An amber flush dusted across his nose and cheeks, although seemingly not from the exertion of throwing himself around the dance floor, as Alastor’s eyes dragged down his pale neck and found his skin to be remarkably absent of perspiration.
Alastor wondered what would make the devil sweat.
If he could be the one to make him squirm.
To control him.
Alastor jerked backwards suddenly, pulling at their joined hands to guide Lucifer into a spin. When he completed his turn, Alastor crowded in on his space, reversing their form by taking in the small of Lucifer’s back, bringing their chests close as he forcibly took the lead in their dance.
Impressively, Lucifer didn’t stumble as they switched roles. The ease at which he slipped his hand up to Alastor’s shoulder and began following his lead was simultaneously satisfying yet frustrating. Alastor loved winning, but it felt hollow without the fight. The struggle. There was no thrill if his prey cared so little about his domination.
Lucifer was disorienting, and Alastor needed to solve him.
The final bars escalated, violins ascending to their apex. Alastor lifted his arm, drawing Lucifer out into another spin - and when he returned to his arms, Alastor dipped him.
This dip was planned - he was in control this time - and while his wound didn’t ache, his chest heaved with a laboured breath as he stared down at the fallen angel suspended below him. Chin tilted back, throat exposed, Lucifer’s cocky grin had some unspoken secret laced into it.
Alastor wanted to tear him apart.
And maybe himself too, while he was at it.
They righted themselves, Lucifer’s hand coming to rest on Alastor’s chest for a moment to balance as the jukebox began to switch to another song. The silence between tracks was deafening, and the world around them autofocused into terrifying clarity.
Everyone was watching.
“You owe me fifty bucks.” Angel muttered to Husk.
Charlie was beaming, literally bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly on the verge of an embarrassing emotional outburst. It would, no doubt, be at Alastor’s expense.
He wasn’t going to stick around for that.
Alastor stepped back, and Lucifer’s hand withdrawing from his chest was like ripping off a scab. All the pain flooded back at once, the momentary reprieve making it sting all the more the second time around. He managed to suppress the wince, but not the hissing of static that poured out of him and interfered with the jukebox. It stuttered and tried to find a new song to play, rapidly oscillating between the opening bars of various tracks and pulling the attention of his onlookers.
With a flick of his hand, Alastor summoned his microphone. His shadow clone sunk into the ground behind the bar, sucking back into his form in a blink before crawling up his body, spectral hands grabbing at his arms to begin pulling him into the murky pool of inky blackness at his feet.
Lucifer was the only one who noticed his retreat.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked, seemingly inspecting his nails.
“It’s been a pleasure, sir, but I have more pressing matters to attend to.” Alastor replied.
Lucifer resumed examining his fingertips, rubbing his thumb and index finger together thoughtfully.
“Suit yourself. Coward.”
Lucifer brought his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to lathe the pad of a single digit. His eyes followed Alastor as he sunk into the abyss, and Alastor abruptly realised what he was tasting, his parting retort dying on his lips.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Lucifer knew.
It was Alastor’s blood.
—
Alastor’s room was his one reprieve from the tacky decor of the rest of the hotel.
A few days prior, he’d taken the time to restore his quarters to its former glory. He’d expended every last ounce of his energy to recreate each excruciating detail, down to the vertebrae of the alligator skeleton on his wall, the scratched carvings in his bookcase, and each individual firefly in his bayou.
He’d paid the toll for what others would surely label a frivolous use of his power, and had slept in a collapsed heap atop his covers for twenty hours after - likely stunting the healing process of his injury. But, waking up in some sense of normalcy was a necessity if he was going to survive the bizarre day-to-day of running the hotel with Charlie.
And, even more-so - he needed his own space to ground him if he was going to survive being in constant proximity to Lucifer fucking Morningstar.
Lucifer, who now knew that he was wounded.
Lucifer, whose tongue had languidly licked Alastor’s blood off his own fingertips.
Alastor gritted his teeth, elbows lifted in the air as his shadow finished securing fresh gauze tightly around his bare chest. He batted it away after, perhaps harder than he meant to, and his shadow scowled as it dissipated between his fingers into a wisp of dark smoke. It dripped like black ink to settle at his feet next to the discarded blood-soaked bandages from before.
Alastor had been dealt a bad hand this round, and now, Lucifer had seen his cards. Whether he’d use this information to destroy his reputation at large, or simply patronise him in front of Charlie, he wasn’t sure. Lucifer could call his bluff and force him to fold so easily, and he despised the thought.
And yet - despite how high the stakes were, something still made him want to keep rolling the dice with the devil. If the house always won, then it would feel so much more satisfying to rip it down from within.
He slipped on a fresh shirt, fingers numbly doing up the red buttons to his throat. He simply had to avoid Lucifer until he was healed, and resist getting goaded into any fights or overt displays of power until then. Perhaps he could make himself scarce, and spend some time away in Cannibal Town, although he considered that leaving the hotel in his weakened state perhaps wasn’t the wisest idea with all of the targets on his back, nor would an unexplained absence help him in his endeavour to earn and keep Charlie’s loyalty.
Speaking of. A solid knock from the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
She was likely wondering where he had disappeared off to, her nosiness and inability to avoid meddling knowing no bounds. The fact he had managed to slip away for this long without her chasing after him was an admirable testament to her budding restraint. Perhaps she was actually learning from the boundary setting propaganda she’d been spreading amongst the residents. Alastor waved his hand to disappear the bandages from the floor, and crossed the room in an instant to open the door for her.
“Yes?”
Not Charlie.
It was Lucifer.
Hip cocked to the side, Lucifer leaned against the door frame. A phonograph record was tucked under one arm, and he wiggled a bottle of whiskey with a faded label in greeting.
“Can I come in?”
Alastor narrowed his eyes at him, mind whirring with all of the possibilities of why Lucifer was here. To attack him? Unlikely, Charlie would never forgive him. To mock him for nearly getting obliterated by Adam? That seemed more probable. Or perhaps it was something disgustingly altruistic, a leftover flaw of his angelic nature. Maybe he was here to check on him.
That thought made him laugh in Lucifer’s face.
“And why would you want to do that?”
Lucifer seemed nonplussed by his laughter, merely turning his attention to the bottle in his hand.
“Well, this is about two hundred years old, and I’d hate to drink it by myself. And you’re the only one here that might appreciate it.”
A peace offering? Or a Trojan horse? Alastor’s hand hesitated on the door handle, rapidly assessing the possibilities, but ultimately curiosity won out. He stepped back, gesturing for Lucifer to enter.
“Very well. I suppose I couldn’t let it go to waste.”
So much for avoiding him.
Lucifer brushed past, chin tipping up as he took in the decor of the room. The edges of him almost glowed, his white shirt and rose pink waistcoat in stark contrast to the moody burgundies of his room and ghostly steel blues of the bayou. Something anxious churned and twisted in Alastor at the exposing feeling of his personal sanctuary being invaded by someone who vexed him so deeply.
Yet something predatory also awakened in his gut, because there was fresh prey in his den.
Instinctively, Alastor locked the door.
“Your room has a lot of…” Lucifer turned, eyes touching upon Alastor’s fingers on the lock for a moment, but moved back to examining the antlers on the wall above his fireplace without a care, “...uh, personality. Is that a swamp?”
Alastor’s eye twitched. “Surely you’re not just here to drink and debate my tastes in decor.”
“Heh. No.” Lucifer didn’t elaborate.
With a flourish, Lucifer materialised two heavy crystal whiskey glasses. They floated in the air next to him as he flicked the cork off the bottle, letting it skitter and bounce carelessly somewhere across the room. He poured them each a generous serving before passing one to Alastor.
Alastor neared him and took the glass, swirling it in his hand. It was a vibrant, dark amber, almost gold in the dim flickering green firelight from the hearth. He inhaled deeply, catching floral notes, a citrusy zest and even a hint of smoke. Briefly, he wondered if this was an elaborate ploy from Lucifer to poison him, but he decided it was worth the risk as he took a sip of the syrupy liquid.
It was tantalising.
He watched Lucifer’s throat bob as he drank, savouring the cherry, licorice and herbal notes. There was a smokey, spicy aftertaste that seemed to shift on his tongue, yielding hints of baked apple and sweet toffee. He wasn’t usually one for sweets, but he had to admit that the flavour profile was far more complex than he could have ever imagined.
“Good?” Lucifer asked.
Alastor merely hummed in reply, loathe to offer a compliment, but took another sip regardless.
“That’s what I thought.” Lucifer smirked into his glass, and Alastor rolled his eyes.
“Why are you here, Lucifer?”
“Well. You left before we could have another dance,” Lucifer said simply.
“Another?” Alastor snorted, and then began laughing, incredulous, “I think once was more than enough for this afterlife.”
“It’s customary to have two dances in a row, unless you didn’t enjoy it,” Lucifer pressed, “And I don’t think you hated it.”
“Customary where?”
“Oh, you know,” Lucifer waved vaguely upwards, above their heads, “Central Europe.”
“I’m American. We switch partners after every song.”
“Good thing we’re in Hell, then. And you still haven’t said that you hated it,” Lucifer leaned forwards, untucking the record from under his arm and offering it to him, “And I think you’ll like this.”
A frustrated burst of static crackled behind Alastor’s head, and he plucked the flat disc from Lucifer’s hand with his thumb and index finger as if he was picking up a dead rat by its tail. He turned it over, the shellac grooves familiar under his touch as he checked both sides. It was unlabelled.
“What’s this?”
“The music downstairs was from after your time,” Lucifer explained, straightening up, “I thought you might prefer something a little more classic.”
“Hmmm.”
Curiosity got the better of him. He took the record over to his gramophone, lifting the oak lid and gently removing the last record he listened to. He took his sweet time replacing it in its sleeve and finding its place in his alphabetized personal collection. Then, he gingerly turned the crank, placed Lucifer’s record on the turntable and lowered the needle.
He immediately recognised the track, and an involuntary little “Oh.” escaped his lips.
Cab Calloway. A jazz icon, and one of his personal favourite singers. This particular song charted in late 1931. He remembered stopping by the record store to pick it up one muggy October morning, after pulling an all-nighter to bury his latest kill and clean up the evidence. He remembered the lyrics resonating with him as he shotted a double espresso to stay awake during the morning broadcast.
I don’t want you
But I hate to lose you
You’ve got me inbetween
the devil and the deep blue sea
“Why do you want to dance with me so badly?” Alastor snapped his head to the side to look at Lucifer, “There are plenty of willing participants downstairs.”
“I had fun.” Lucifer shrugged.
“Is that it?”
“Does it need to be more complicated than that?” Lucifer moved past him, stopping at the edge of the room and poking at the swamp land with a cautious toe. “You dance like you want to devour me. Not many souls have that kind of audacity. I want to see how far you’ll go when you’re not holding yourself back.”
Oh. Interesting.
Alastor melded into his shadow, and reappeared behind Lucifer, antlers stretching and extending in jagged shapes, razor sharp teeth only a breath away from the golden artery in Lucifer’s neck.
“Who says I’m holding back?”
Lucifer pivoted on his heel to face him. He drained the last of his drink with a bored expression, and said, “This does.”
Then he slammed the hard edge of his glass into Alastor’s sternum.
Alastor’s vision blacked out. A high pitched frequency reverberated in the air around him, sound waves splitting so violently they created physical glitches around him until -
The pain stopped.
Panting, Alastor’s vision refocused on the floor, where he found himself on his hands and knees. A sheen of sweat pricked at his skin, sticking his hair to his forehead. Lucifer crouched in front of him, the still in-tact glass held loosely between his fingertips, a smear of red blood splatter up one side. One long, clawed black finger stroked the underside of Alastor’s chin to tilt his face upwards.
“You see? I commend you for hiding it so well from the others, but how much can you realistically expect to achieve when you have a gaping weak spot like this? What are you going to do if someone attacks the hotel? The only reason you could keep up with me on the dance floor was because I numbed the pain for you.”
Lucifer withdrew his finger, and the pain flooded back in heavy throbs. Alastor snarled, the bones in his hands cracking as his claws gouged into the floor either side of him.
“You know if you don’t close it up soon, it’ll never heal, right?” Lucifer cocked his head to the side, considering him. “It’s honestly impressive that you’ve lasted this long. An injury like that would have an Ars Goetia in hospital for at least a week, and you, well, you’re only an Overlord, Alastor. You might be among the best of them, but you’re not invincible.”
“What…” Alastor heaved a breath, spitting his next words, “do you want.”
Lucifer’s hand cupped Alastor’s cheek, and he practically sagged into his touch, the pain ebbing away in an instant.
“Let’s make a deal.” Lucifer murmured.
Alastor’s eyes snapped up to him, heart stopping for a beat. The record crackled from across the room softly, continuing its song.
I ought to cross you off my list
But when you come knocking at my door
Fate seems to give my heart a twist
And I come running back for more
I should hate you
But I guess I love you
You’ve got me inbetween the devil and the deep blue sea
“My soul is not available.” Alastor spat.
“Haha! Your soul?” Lucifer doubled over with a wheeze, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, “Oh, no. No, no, no. What would I do with that? Alastor, I rule the entirety of Hell. You think I need more souls? An Overlord’s soul isn’t worth that much. I wouldn’t even bother with the other Sins. Heh, can you imagine? Now that would be a pain in the ass. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork, by golly.”
Ears pinned back, Alastor could feel a growl scratching up his throat. Not that he could trade his soul even if he wanted to, but for it to be disregarded so easily–
“No, here are my terms.” Lucifer settled into a soft smile, eyes half lidded. “Immediately, upon execution of this contract, I will heal this angelic wound for you. In exchange, you will dance with me, tonight, to one song of your choice.”
Wait. What? That was it? Alastor turned the deal over in his mind, frantically searching for any loopholes that could royally fuck him. The wording was specific. Timeboxed. Finite. As far as he could tell, it wasn’t another noose being added to his neck. It was ridiculous, but he wouldn’t question it, lest the terms change. If Lucifer wanted to make such a poorly weighted trade, so be it.
“Fine.”
But he wasn’t doing this on the floor. Not kneeling so subserviently, King or not.
Alastor turned his cheek away from Lucifer’s hand, grimacing as the pain screamed its way back into his veins. On shaking doe legs, he pushed himself up, blood seeping from his chest and dripping onto the floor between them. He forced himself to his full height, straightening his back proudly and tilting his chin up haughtily to look down his nose at Lucifer.
Lucifer stood with him, a casual air to the way he held his outstretched hand between them as he looked up at him.
“Deal?”
Alastor clasped his hand firmly.
“Deal.”
An explosion of crackling green and gold energy burst forth from their joined hands. A whirlwind of pure power whipped through their hair, scattering paperwork from his desk and bending the reeds and tree branches in the bayou. Glowing eldritch symbols painted themselves across the walls, intertwining with ancient celestial runes.
Lucifer’s irises and pupils disappeared, sclera turning a bright glowing red as horns erupted from his forehead, a crown of writhing snakes circling above like an unholy halo, a mote of hellfire burning between them. Six red and white archangel wings unfolded from his back, unleashing a single mighty flap.
Alastor’s face stung as demonic sutures burst forth from his own skin, his antlers quadrupling in size as they grew and stretched to their full monstrous height, eyes achingly wide as radio dials flickered into place. Ghostly echoes of souls he owned screamed, desperately trying to escape from the deep fissures cracking into the ground below their feet, but were ultimately swallowed up as the deal snapped into place.
And it was done.
So much pomp and ceremony for such a simple deal.
Lucifer blinked once, and his gold irises returned, and then blinked again and the rest of his demonic features receded, returning to his usual body with a genial smile. In return, Alastor could feel himself slip back to his regular, relaxed form.
“Hoo boy, it’s been a while since I’ve struck a deal,” Lucifer did a little stretch, his expression scrunching up as he popped his back. “Alright, so where do you want to do this? It might sting a tad.”
Alastor tucked his hands behind himself primly, and considered the claw marks in the mahogany floors. Perhaps not in his room. He had enough repairs to do already.
“This way,” he said.
He stepped past the barrier where the jagged floorboards of his room ended, and the ghostly blue grass of his marshland began. The air quality changed to something less filtered and controlled, to something muggier, more organic. It offered a comfort from home, and the nostalgic scent of beforetimes. To when he was always predator, and never prey.
With a long stretch of his legs, he crossed the narrow river easily enough. He turned to watch Lucifer, and couldn’t help the amused snort as Lucifer had to take the stream with a run and a jump to cross it. Remarkably, he stuck the landing.
“If you require me to conjure you a bridge next time, you need only ask.” Alastor taunted.
“Oh, shut up.”
Lucifer pushed past him, and approached the cast iron bistro table where Alastor usually ate breakfast. He traced the rim of the table with his fingers thoughtfully. Alastor followed and stopped a pace behind him.
Briefly, he considered shoving Lucifer down into the hard surface and tearing into his angelic flesh with his teeth. The lingering ache in his sternum did wonders for his restraint.
“Here will do.” Alastor said.
“Alright then,” Lucifer turned around, and gestured at the front of Alastor’s shirt. “Show me what we’re working with.”
Ah. This was the part of the contract he hadn’t examined closely enough. The method of healing. Of course, it wouldn’t be as simple as Lucifer waving his hand and his skin miraculously stitching itself back together. If removing his shirt was a necessity, he wasn’t going to let Lucifer get the upper hand by acting demure.
“If I must,” he sighed impassively, and moved his fingers to his collar to carefully slip the first button free. Then he stopped, and set his trap. Waited. Patiently.
Lucifer made the mistake of meeting his eyes with a questioning look. Hook, line, and sinker. Alastor held Lucifer’s stare like a challenge, and methodically continued unbuttoning his shirt. Perhaps it was a brattish of him, to dare the devil to a staring contest, but Alastor needed the sense of control. Needed him to look away first.
But Lucifer merely sat on the edge of the table, and kept his stare. He understood the unspoken rules.
Alastor’s shirt fell open, loose now. Blindly, he found the edge of his bandages, and slowly began unravelling them.
Lucifer conjured the whiskey bottle and refilled his drink. In his periphery, he could see his blood still coated the side of the glass.
The bandages dropped to the floor.
Lucifer didn’t even look at the wound. He still held Alastor’s eyes defiantly, and brought the glass up to his face, next to his cheek. Turned his chin, and cleaned a deliberate line through the bloody crystal with his tongue.
Alastor lunged.
“Woah!”
Lucifer disappeared in a swirl of red smoke. Alastor’s hands slammed onto the table, and he whipped around snarling to find Lucifer behind him.
“If you wanted a drink that badly, you should have just said.” Lucifer tucked the glass into Alastor’s hand. Alastor flung it past Lucifer’s head, and it shattered against a tree.
Lucifer winced. “Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe if you’re lucky. Now hold still.”
Lucifer pressed hard on the edge of the table, and the world tilted out from under Alastor’s feet as the table legs sank into the marshland, leaving it at a 45 degree angle. Alastor’s indignation dropped out with the bottom of his stomach as he frantically grasped for the edges of the table to hold on, feet scrambling for purchase on the ground - and then Lucifer pinned one hand to his shoulder and it was like gravity didn’t exist. He simply stayed in place.
“So, there are two ways I can do this,” Lucifer said, tugging his bowtie loose from his neck, “There’s the boring way, with my hands.” He wiggled his fingers, “And the fun way. Which I just demonstrated for you, before you so rudely destroyed one of my favourite glasses and a pour from a particularly fine cask. From your reactions so far, I think you’re open to the latter. But I’m gonna need you to choose.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Alastor deflected, heart racing a staccato rhythm.
“Fine. Let me spell it out for you. You’re like me. A contradiction.” Lucifer leaned in close, words dropping to just above a whisper, “You want control, but you want to be controlled. You devour others, but want to be devoured. You’re desperate to sink your teeth into my neck, but the sight of me cleaning your blood off my fingers with my tongue has been fucking with your head in the best kind of way for the past hour. Isn’t that right?”
Being seen - so transparently - was terrifying.
But so freeing.
What was the catch?
Was it simply the pain of swallowing his own pride?
Was the risk worth it?
“Yes,” Alastor acquiesced, and looked away - unable to bear whatever cocky expression Lucifer was sure to have. “You’re right.”
Lucifer’s voice was surprisingly neutral, lacking the smugness he’d expected. “Okay. Your choice?”
Alastor swallowed. He took the leap.
“The latter.”
“Good boy.” Lucifer’s hand slipped down from his shoulder, to the side of his hip. “Now, eyes on me.”
Warm breath ghosted against his lower abdomen, but nothing happened until Alastor forced himself to lower his chin and look. Lucifer was crouched in front of him, hands either side of waist, thumbs pressing into the jaunt of his hip bones. Their eyes met. A devil’s smile.
Then, Lucifer licked a long line across the first three inches of his torn skin.
Alastor’s hand shot up to cover his own mouth, feeling his smile fail as his mouth fell open in a soundless gasp. His fingers dug into his cheek, and he couldn’t look away as the layers of flesh knitted themselves back together. There was no pain. Just a burning in his mind that threatened to boil over and sear every part of his wretched soul.
A smirk tugged at the corners of Lucifer’s mouth, and he opened wide to languidly drag his tongue up another stretch.
He couldn’t fathom why Lucifer wanted to do this. To - him. Lucifer, embodiment of temptation, who could have anyone else in Hell. Why would he choose him, when they had been nothing but at each other’s throats since the moment they laid eyes on each other? That was still there, close, under the surface. And yet - right now, he didn’t feel like he was in a losing game. There was something exposing about the way Lucifer touched him. They were both vulnerable. Both quarry and hunter, alike.
Carefully, he withdrew his shaking fingers from his face. Naked expression unguarded. Lowered his hand, and cautiously - like approaching a wild beast - carded his fingers through silk blonde hair.
Lucifer made a soft sound in his throat. His eyes - trained on Alastor until this moment - fluttered shut, and he drew a wet line up to his sternum, leaving clean, unblemished skin in his wake.
Alastor clenched his fist in those golden locks and pulled.
The noise Lucifer made - a cross between a choke and a moan - permanently altered Alastor’s brain chemistry. With a jerk, he dragged him up to his face, pulling him close enough to feel Lucifer’s panted breaths heaving against his mouth.
“Almost done,” Lucifer gasped, worming his fingers between them to clamp over Alastor’s mouth, like a muzzle on a misbehaving dog. “Be patient.”
Lucifer pushed Alastor’s chin away effortlessly. Head dropping back, the familiarity of the bayou did nothing to make anything about what was happening less inconceivable. The flickering of the fireflies seemed to mock him, the gentle swaying of the cypress trees and moss oblivious to the way his entire brain was rewiring itself around this moment. He focused on the feeling of Lucifer’s hair brushing against his neck and chin as his tongue completed its path to the end of his wound.
As the last layers of his skin stitched themselves back together, he felt that absent part of his power - missing since that moment Adam nearly cleaved him in two - slot back into place.
He was complete. Whole. Healed, and unbreakable. Unstoppable.
Lucifer’s tongue carried along his clavicle.
Nowhere near where he’d been hurt.
Up the deep artery of his neck.
His side of the deal was done.
Sharp teeth grazed his skin.
It was Alastor’s turn.
He grabbed Lucifer’s hair once more, tugging him away from his neck harshly and bringing their faces together, barely an inch between their mouths.
“You better cash in the rest of the deal now or you’re going to run out of time.” Alastor warned.
Lucifer blinked, the red haze obscuring his irises and golden sclera receding in an instant. He laughed, abruptly sheepish.
“Oh. OH! Yeah! Heh, heh - got a bit carried away there.” Lucifer pulled back, and the cafe table holding Alastor up suddenly remembered that gravity existed. It tumbled out from under him, and it was only thanks to his returned powers that Alastor was able to vanish into his shadow on the floor instead of slamming into the ground in an ungraceful heap.
“Whoops.”
Alastor rematerialised next Lucifer a second later, an unimpressed slant to his eyes and a pissed twitch to his smile. He’d summoned a fresh shirt in the abyss, and finished securing the last button as Lucifer turned to face him.
“So, do you have a song in mind?” Lucifer asked.
“One song of my choice, correct?” Alastor unpicked his cuffs, folding his sleeves up to the elbows. “I’ve heard there is a song on… the internet,” he made a disgusted face, “which has a run length of one second. Could I choose that?”
Lucifer gave him a flat look, “I suppose you could, yes.”
“Or, perhaps I could choose an endless song, and trap the, what was it? Big Boss of Hell Himself? In an infinite dance for the rest of eternity.”
Lucifer licked his teeth, eyes rolling skyward as he thought, “I mean, you could, but technically our contract expires at midnight, by the definition of ‘you will dance with me, tonight”. So at that point it would no longer be legally binding. But I’d be happy to see how long you can last if that’s the way you want to go.” Lucifer bounced his eyebrows suggestively.
Alastor scoffed, pivoting on his heel to think. Across the room, the turntable of his gramophone continued to circle, releasing quiet little hisses and pops, and a new song began on the record Lucifer had gifted him - Night and Day, composed by Cole Porter in 1932 for the musical Gay Divorce. This version, sung by Fred Astaire, released in November of that year, although he recalled by February at least thirty other artists had rerecorded the song.
In the silence of my lonely room
I think of you
Night and day, night and day,
Under the hide of me
There's an oh such a hungry yearning burning inside of me
And this torment won't be through
Until you let me spend my life making love to you
Day and night, night and day
Not one he would dance to, but nostalgic nonetheless, and - he froze. Turned, and looked at Lucifer suspiciously. This song had never been pressed with Cab Calloway before, at least not on any compilations he was aware of.
“Where did you get this? These songs weren’t released on the same album.”
“Oh.” A gold tinge rose to his cheeks, and Lucifer suddenly became very interested in the loose ends of his bowtie, tugging them this-way-and-back. “Erm, I fabricated it. Y’know… like a mixtape. But a record. They’re all songs from uh…” Lucifer ran a hand through his hair and released a little nervous chuckle. “When you were alive.”
This man was unbelievable.
With a wave, Alastor summoned his microphone, and slammed it down into the azure grass at his feet. A ripple of green and black tendrils burst forth from the spot, crashing into the dirt like a tsunami and sweeping away his bistro table and chair like cars in a storm. Lucifer yelped, wings flurrying from his back to propel him a foot into the air. When the magic faded, a hardwood dance floor replaced the ground of the bayou.
Lucifer lowered himself to the ground cautiously, and then dematerialised his wings.
“You could have warned a guy.”
“And waste time? Come now, Lucifer.” Alastor smiled, and held out his hand in offering, “I’ve chosen a song.”
Alastor cut the audio on his gramophone with a thought, and urged a lingering radio wave to begin playing the opening notes of The Carioca, as performed by the RKO Studio Orchestra. Released December 29th, 1933, it was a particularly sentimental tune - as it was the last one he had danced to, before his death.
Lucifer took his hand, and Alastor drew him in close by the small of his waist. He’d only danced this once - in a Jazz bar in New Orleans, on New Years Eve. Flying Down to Rio had just been released, and Fred Astaire and Ginger Roger’s first screen dance together had captured everyone’s hearts. It seemed like the entire room was trying to imitate them that night.
He closed the distance by bringing their foreheads together to touch, recreating the iconic choreography. Lucifer released a soft little laugh, and his fingers tightened on his shoulder as they began to samba.
Perhaps there was something poetic about the distinctive feature of his last dance foreshadowing exactly where he would be shot that night, only an hour later.
Releasing his hold on Lucifer, the only point connecting them were their foreheads as they had a little tap interlude, shoes clacking on the mahogany floor with a satisfying resonance. The dance was ridiculous, and vaguely he wondered how long it had lasted before a new fad came along. Perhaps it had been a flash in the pan. He hadn’t lived long enough to find out.
Without warning, Alastor scooped his arm around Lucifer’s back and swung him around, eliciting a delighted yelp from Lucifer as his feet lifted clean into the air before landing softly on the ground, the speed spinning him out a few steps away. For someone brimming with so much power and responsibility, he was surprisingly light in his arms. Easy to throw around. Alastor caught his hand and pulled him back into his space, moving close and slipping his fingers around the nape of Lucifer’s neck as their foreheads reconnected.
Funny, how that night, that last kill, led to him quite literally dancing with the devil.
Alastor leaned heavily into Lucifer, as if trying to push him over as he advanced, but Lucifer met him with equal force, grabbing onto Alastor’s shoulders to take the lead for a moment to lead them into a foxtrot, which merged into a maxixe, then a rhumba.
One final whirl around the dancefloor, and they stopped dead centre as the song came to a close. Alastor drew their foreheads together one last time as the final piano notes rang out. Lucifer glanced up at him, almost shyly, biting his lip to hold back his full smile as their eyes met.
Alastor could feel the binds of their deal fading from existence, complete.
“Thank you for the dance.” Lucifer breathed.
“It was my pleasure.” Alastor smiled.
“Our deal is complete.”
“I know.” Alastor still didn’t pull back.
“You don’t need to dance with me anymore.”
“Well, it would be rude to not have two dances in a row, wouldn’t it?”
Lucifer chuckled, “That’s true.” He studied Alastor’s face, and gently traced the side of his cheek, “I also think it would be rude if you didn’t kiss me right now.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then, where are my manners?”