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He's pretty, with short blond hair that curls at his cheeks, and rich brown eyes that flash red in the club lighting. He's cute too, clumsy and awkward. He calls himself Lucifer, and Alastor thinks it's funny. He's completely smitten with the man, and he lets him do things he's never let anyone do before. Like place a hand on his hip, thumb just barely sneaking under the hem of his shirt to brush against bare skin, and putting his lips on his neck, teeth scraping at his pulse. Alastor thinks they're sharper than they should be, but knows that's not possible. Still, the thrill is intoxicating as he clings to the stranger.
He lets Lucifer push him up against a wall in a darkened corner of the club, lets pointed nails claw hungrily at any skin they can reach, and he returns the actions in kind. "Let me take you home." He whispers, choking on the words, as Lucifer chooses that moment to shove a hand in his pants, curl his fingers around his achingly hard cock.
The ride there passes in a blur, he doesn't quite remember because Lucifer is nipping at his neck again, shoving his trousers down, hissing at him to tell him where the bedroom is or I'll take you right here on the floor, Alastor, would you like that? Whore.
He's not, by any means, a complete virgin actually, but Lucifer doesn't seem to notice, or mind, pushing Alastor onto the bed and taking him fast and dirty. Its mindblowing, and addictive, and Alastor can't get enough, clinging to Lucifer's shoulders, begging for another round, or just- anything, anything that would feel as good.
Lucifer laughs so sweetly, nothing but praise on his lips and encouragement for Alastor's lewd behaviour. Look at you, my good boy, say that again and I might suck your dick, go on, baby, scream for me.
Its a shame Alastor's going to have to kill him.
It was his plan from the moment he'd entered the club. Pick a victim. Take them home. Restock his freezer. Lucifer had been able to hijack the train, but he hadn't managed to completely derail it, and Alastor had been plagued by thoughts of bathing in his blood since the moment he'd laid eyes on him. He didn't abandon his plans. His freezer was empty. And Lucifer was going to fill it.
Luring him back downstairs, and further down to the basement, is easy. Alastor may have been a virgin, but seduction is a tactic he knows well. Hooded eyes, a sly smirk and a little sway of his hips was all it took. Lucifer's stumbling after him like a lost dog, asking where they're going, what naughty little plans Alastor has for them.
He isn't expecting the blow to his back and it knocks him off of his feet. Though he'd proven that he was decently strong for his size, top of his head only coming up to Alastor's shoulders, overpowering him after the surprise didn't take much effort on Alastor's part. He's naked and in unfamiliar territory, and all he can do is flail at his much larger, more experienced attacker.
It isn't long before Alastor is slitting his throat, gasping as blood pours onto his body. It feels hotter than usual, scorching his own bare skin, and Alastor holds the lifeless body up until his arms start shaking. He lets Lucifer's body fall limply at his side, lays on the floor in the pool of blood until it turns tacky. Then he gets up. He turns the light on and for a split second as his eyes adjust to the blinding light, Lucifer's blood looks gold. Then its red again, slowly browning. He rinses himself off under the showerhead in the corner, then picks up Lucifer's body and carries it to the table where his instruments are waiting.
Portioning out a body is an art, Alastor thinks, as he slices away at Lucifer's flesh. He sets some aside for that night's dinner, the rest goes in the freezer, packaged nice and neatly with the date and exactly what kind of meat it is written on top. He'd briefly checked back upstairs, rifled through Lucifer's clothes for some sort of ID so he could put an accurate name on the meat, but there's nothing, so he reluctantly just writes Lucifer on each one in neat script.
Not one to take trophies, Alastor only gathers what he plans to consume and incinerates the rest, but as he looks at the remains of Lucifer's body, specifically at his head, he thinks he wants to keep it. So he does. He cuts off a lock of blond hair, not matted with blood, and stores it in a spare jar, then carefully peels away flesh to reveal the skull underneath. He gives it a quick rinse, washing away most of the blood and holds it up to the light.
There's two bumps on Lucifer's forehead, a few inches apart, about where his hairline would have been and Alastor wonders what kind of head trauma caused them, if it was even an external injury. Lucifer probably had stories to tell, and Alastor would have been happy to listen to every single one, if his death hadn't been inevitable. He lowers Lucifer's skull, places a kiss on perfect teeth, then sets the skull down.
He'll work on it more tomorrow, for now he has to clean the basement and then get started on dinner. Even though its late, he always has his first meal of a new victim on the same day he slaughters them, or given the time in this case, before he goes to sleep. Luckily, he always takes the first meal plain, with no spices or sauces or side dishes. He likes to taste the flavour on its own, no distractions, and then he'll decide what dishes he can use Lucifer for.
And when he gets his first taste of Lucifer, he feels ravenous, seriously considers dropping his knife and fork to eat it directly off the plate, tearing chunks with his teeth alone. Its delicious, its ambrosia, Lucifer's flesh so sweet and tender, honey glazed, with an applejuice marinade.
He knows then that he has to savour to rest of Lucifer, there wasn't much of him after all, and he thinks that every meal will be like this, because other ingredients just can't compare to the raw flavour of Lucifer. No real apple would taste as sweet, no spice could hope to enhance it.
Alastor licks the plate when all the meat is gone, he isn't ashamed to admit it, licks the cutlery until he can only taste his own saliva on it.
He glances towards the basement. It can't hurt to take another ration out, can it?
No, save it.
He can have another tomorrow. For breakfast maybe. The small portion he'd taken from Lucifer's arm, slice it thin, like bacon.
His mouth waters at the thought.
He's so hungry.
Feels like he hasn't eaten in days, weeks.
He forces himself to put the plate in the sink but can't bring himself to wash it, even rinse it. He leaves it, gets ready for bed instead. The sheets are still damp from his earlier escapades and he mourns the loss of sex he'll never have again.
Oh well.
It was great, truly, but Lucifer tasted better than he fucked.
Alastor drifts off into peaceful slumber, tongue idly licking at his lips as he thinks about breakfast.
He wakes up to his cheek laying on something hot, soft, but with a certain firmness to it. He shifts, huffs a small breath out of his nose.
"Mm, good morning."
Alastor throws himself backwards, falling out of bed.
No.
There's no way.
He recognized the voice, but it couldn't be.
"Oops, didn't mean to scare ya." Lucifer peeks over the bed, dopey grin on his face. He offers a hand to Alastor, but Alastor only backs up, feeling incredibly exposed with his lack of clothes.
Lucifer is just as exposed, but he's shameless about it.
He should be. He has a nice body, sim and toned, and-
Alastor had sliced it up last night.
That body should be in his freezer.
He eyes the spot on Lucifer's thigh that he'd taken for his dinner. The slab of meat that had tasted so heavenly.
There's nothing there, Lucifer's skin pale and unmarked, aside from the damage Alastor's teeth and nails had done during their copulating.
Lucifer gives him a look of concern at his prolonged silence, swings his legs over the side of the bed, "Are you okay, Alastor? I'm sorry for scaring you. Should have given you a few more moments to really wake up, huh?"
"I killed you." Alastor chokes out before he can stop himself. It's a stupid slip, one that can get him caught, but Lucifer's dead. He has to be, and Alastor's hallucinating, or- or something. Going crazy. Going fucking insane, because the person he'd killed and eaten last night is sitting in his bed and looking at him with his head tilted to the side like a damned golden retreiver.
"You're silly." Lucifer says with a chuckle, "Here, let me help you up." He wiggles the fingers of his out stretched hand, then his eyebrows, "Or did I fuck you so good your legs don't work anymore?" He leans in, brown eyes filled with unspoken promises, "I have work soon, but I think I can squeeze a repeat performance in if we hurry."
He must see something in Alastor's expression then, because his face changes, from seductive to so, so concerned. Like he isn't a dead man.
"Oh, you poor thing, you had a nightmare, didn't you?"
Pale hands pull him from the floor and Alastor tries to fight back, protest, but he feels weak.
"Shhh, hey, hey- look at me."
Arms wrap around him, firm, grounding.
"Al, look, I'm sure it felt real, but it wasn't, I'm right here, see?"
He takes Alastor's hand, places it on his chest so he can feel the strong, healthy heart beat through layers of flesh and bone.
Alastor had pulled that same heart from his chest cavity and held it in his bare hands just hours prior.
"You're dead." He whispers helplessy.
"No." Lucifer disagrees, "No I'm not, baby, I'm right here." He rocks Alastor back and forth, and Alastor clings to him, stares at the wall as he searches his memory.
He knows he killed Lucifer. He knows it wasn't a dream, or a fantasy, it was far too realistic, he could recall every detail. There was no fuzziness, no dream haze, no lost time. And even though Lucifer felt so warm and so very real around him, he just couldn't be.
There was a surefire way to figure it out. If he could get to his basement, check his freezer, see Lucifer's skull sitting on the counter, he would know.
He could bring the hallunication with him.
He stands up, Lucifer's hand in his own, "I want to show you something." He says, and Lucifer doesn't question it. He follows easily.
A lamb that had known no cruelty in its short life following the farmer to slaughter.
The basement looks untouched when Alastor flicks the light on, his instruments laid out and waiting for use.
There's no skull.
The hand in his tries to pull away and he tightens his hold.
"Alastor... what is this...?"
He tightens his hand again, until he feels Lucifer crumbling from the pressure, hissing at the pain.
If he didn't kill him last night, he has to kill him now.
He pulls, and just as Lucifer is about to stumble into him, he steps aside pushes at Lucifer's back, sends him crashing the floor.
His forehead bounces off the concrete and he cries out. When he rolls onto his back, red blood is trickling from split flesh.
The artificial light makes it gleam gold.
"Al." He slurs, head injury disorienting him, "Was the sex really that bad?" He tries, a joker even when at the mercy of a killer, "Can I request a do over? A second chance? ...No answer? C'mon, baby, you couldn't say enough last night, would have gagged you if I didn't love it so fucking much-"
A swift kick to the side knocks the air from his lungs and he stares up at Alastor with wide, fearful eyes.
Alastor never talked to his victims once he'd gotten them to the basement, didn't care to coddle them, taunt them about their fate. And Lucifer was just another body, another item on the menu, and Alastor wasn't going to treat him any differently.
Lucifer tries to fight, but he's at a disadvantage, he doesn't know the layout. He manages to get on top of Alastor, but he doesn't notice that in their struggle, Alastor had snatched a knife from the table.
He only notices when its embedded in his throat.
Alastor works quickly, the blood still flowing from Lucifer's throat as he stands, he doesn't have the the luxury of letting it wash over him. He needs to make sure Lucifer is dead. Dead dead. For real, actually, stone cold dead.
His hands shake as he fillets the flesh, packages it, writes down name, date, thigh, back, chest, heart, liver, kidney.
And when Lucifer is nothing but bones and scraps on the table, he lets himself rest.
His gaze flickers to Lucifer's head, wonders if he should try to keep it. Again.
One of Lucifer's eyes is open, even though he could have sworn they were both closed as he worked.
It's a morbid facsimile of a wink.
Alastor chucks it into the incinerator. Cleans up the rest of the mess in record time.
He stands in the doorway of the basement, taking in the state he'd left it in, thinks hard about the events that had just occurred.
They were real, they'd happened.
He'd killed and butchered Lucifer.
He turns off the light and heads back upstairs with a small package in hand, cooks up the small chunk of Lucifer, eats it straight from the pan. It tastes exactly how he remembered. Apples and honey. The best meat he's ever had the pleasure of devouring, so good it tempts him to lick the still burning hot pan, lap up every drop of grease. He's still in his right mind enough to mop it up with a slice of bread instead, ignoring the spark of anger at how it taints the flavour of Lucifer.
The thought crosses his mind to look up if Lucifer has any siblings, curious if they'd taste just as divine, but he squashes the thought. Stupid. Don't get caught.
There's a knock at the door, loud and frantic and Alastor jumps about a foot into the air.
He dumps the pan in the sink, sprays air freshener to try and mask the smell of cooked human flesh and rushes to the door.
He opens it and the hello dies on his lips. He immediately slams it closed again.
What the fuck.
What the fuck.
"Al?" Lucifer's voice is muffled through the heavy front door, "I'm really sorry, I usually wouldn't do this, but can you open the door, please?"
Reluctantly, Alastor obeys.
Lucifer is giving him an apologetic look, "I'm sorry, I know it was just a one night stand and I'm not here for you-" He winces, "That sounded harsh, I'm sorry, I-" He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. It looks like he's been doing that a lot. "Did I leave my belt here? It- it has sentimental value, and I can't find it anywhere and I- can I have a look? Please...?"
Even if there had been a belt amongst the clothes Alastor had gathered off of his bedroom floor, they'd all gone in the incinerator.
Along with Lucifer's bones.
Why was there a twice dead man at his front door?
"Please, Al? It was a gift from my wife- ex-wife, it really means a lot to me."
"You didn't leave it here."
"Can I check? Not that I don't trust you, I do trust you, just to ease my mind? Please."
Lucifer looks a mess, on the verge of tears.
Alastor steps aside and Lucifer doesn't wait for him to finish the motion, shoving past and retracing his steps from the previous night. Looking for a belt with sentimental value.
The word ex-wife sticks in Alastor's mind.
They end up in the bedroom. Lucifer throws blankets off the bed, checks underneath, opens Alastor's closet, grabs his hair when the belt doesn't turn up. "I'm sorry." He all but sobs, "Fuck, I've made such a mess. I'm sorry." He whirls on Alastor, grabs him, and Alastor prepares for a fight.
Lips crash against his. A tongue shoves into his mouth, and there's too many teeth involved. He tastes blood, and he's certain its his own because it doesn't drive him crazy the way the taste of Lucifer does and-
He's kissing a dead man.
A dead man has a knee wedged between his legs, right up against his crotch and he's desperately grinding on it, searching for that pleasure he missed.
It hasn't even been twenty four hours.
He's killed Lucifer twice.
And he just won't stay dead.
Alastor wasn't expecting to snap so suddenly, though he knew it was bound to happen at some point, had to already be some amount of crazy to kill and eat people in the first place. But he thought... well, surely there would have been more of a sign, a slow descent into madness, not a switch flip. Out of the twenty odd people he'd killed, why was it the twenty-first that haunted him so?
Lucifer pulls away from him, apologizing profusely. "I should go, that wasn't appropriate. I'll just- thanks for letting me check."
Alastor pushes him down onto the bed wordlessly, gets his trousers off - easy without a belt - and takes Lucifer's cock into his mouth. He doesn't give himself a chance to adjust to the size, of having something so thick invading his throat for the first time ever. He chokes it down, just wants to know what his cum tastes like, if its similar at all to his flesh, before he kills him again, because he knows he can't let Lucifer leave his house alive.
Hands tangle themselves in his curls, hold him down as hips thrust up, curses tumbling from Lucifer's lips.
Alastor likes the treatment more than he thought he would, but its over too quick, Lucifer cumming down his throat.
He licks up every drop.
It tastes like apples.
"Let me return the favour, baby."
Alastor declines the offer, takes the lamp from his bedside table and smashes it over Lucifer's head.
He doesn't like knocking his victims unconscious, wants them aware, wants them to fight, to look him in the eyes as he slits their throats, watching their blood gush over him. But he can't risk Lucifer getting away, he feels too frazzled to put up a good fight for a third time, the second time that morning. He knows the chance of him winning isn't in his favour. So unconscious it is.
Drag him to the basement. Bleed him out. Butcher him. Incinerate the leftovers.
He regrets never buying into the whole smartphone thing, because a picture of his fully stocked freezer would ease his mind. Concrete proof that he'd killed Lucifer, even if taking a picture of his incredibly illegal crimes was an immensely stupid idea.
He doesn't eat any part of Lucifer, packs it all neatly inside of the freezer.
He's useless for the rest of the day, but he has an afternoon shift at the library and he's never called in sick before, refuses to start.
If Rosie notices he's acting any different, she doesn't say anything.
The freezer's still full when he returns home, removes a package, cooks it up. His patience wearing thin as he taps his feet, watches the clock tick, until the meat meets the bare minimum requirement to be considered cooked. He picks it out of the pan with his fingers, ignores the burn, takes a bite out of it, and another before he's finished chewing. Almost chokes on it but he doesn't care. His mouth burns. Lucifer tastes so fucking good.
He checks the freezer again before he goes to bed.
Its still full.
Lucifer, thankfully, isn't alive and well and greeting him cheerily in his bed when he wakes again.
Alastor makes himself a regular breakfast, real bacon and eggs, and gets ready to go to work at the library. The freezer's still full when he leaves.
He breathes a sigh of relief, feels a lot calmer at work, doesn't make as many mistakes when re-shelving books, doesn't need to hear his name three times before he reacts. It's going great, work's going great, the anxiety is fading.
"Alastor! I didn't know you worked here."
Alastor's blood runs cold. He doesn't turn.
"Hey, come on, don't ignore me, sweetheart."
Soft lips brush his neck, fingers tease at the hem of his shirt. Too hot. Burning.
He doesn't know what to do.
Would Rosie accept 'the guy I've killed three times just turned up and I need to go and kill him again' as a valid excuse for abruptly leaving work?
Or maye he'll just... leave it. Accept that Lucifer's the one who got away, because he doesn't seem to remember that he's died at the hands of his one night stand several times over. Or he does, and he's into it. How interesting that would be.
But then Alastor thinks about his empty freezer, and how much he craves the sweet taste of Lucifer's flesh, how it's all he wants to eat, for every meal, for the rest of his life, forever.
Thinks he should pick a club, and pick a new victim, and maybe it will break whatever cycle he seems to have trapped himself in.
So he does.
After Lucifer asks him what the quietest corner of the library is and how much time they have. He gets on his knees for Alastor, returns the favour from the previous day and Alastor throws his back against the shelves, blindly grabs for something to hold onto, push Lucifer down until his little button nose is buried amongst Alastor's pubes.
He grips something hard, like handles- horns?
His eyes snap open and he sees his hands are full of blond locks and Lucifer is struggling, but his hands grasp tight at Alastor's ass, won't let him back up.
He cums down Lucifer's throat, to the sound of him moaning like a whore.
Lucifer asks for Alastor's number, plays it off easily when Alastor explains he doesn't have one. I know where you live and now I know where you work, you'll see me again. He winks, and leaves Alastor with a split lip from a too rough kiss.
And maybe the man Alastor finds at the club that night has blond hair and a cheeky grin. But his eyes are blue, not brown, and he's tall, so impossibly tall, with thick muscles. He's big, he'll last. He's too handsy, paws at Alastor too roughly, and they're the first things to go once Alastor gets the upper hand, after too much of a struggle that honestly has Alastor scared before he gets a knife in the man's throat.
Alastor has to stab him a couple more times once the blood spilling from him slows to a stop, just in case, even if the next step of the process is cutting away at those big muscles, using them to stock his freezer. He takes up more space than Lucifer did, obviously, and there's a weird twist in Alastor's chest, like he's sad it's not Lucifer.
He tastes wrong.
Like dirt and ash and the bottom of an unwashed trashcan.
Alastor only takes a couple of bites, gagging on each one.
Has to incinerate the rest.
He pauses at the door to the basement.
With a snarl, he turns back aroud. Opens the freezer and throws away every carefully butchered and packaged piece of meat.
He can't let Lucifer live.
Or- maybe he could talk Lucifer into just letting him have an arm. From the below the elbow. It's not much but Lucifer doesn't have to die and Alastor gets to taste him-
Fucking stupid.
What has he turned into?
Lucifer left his own number, just in case. But Alastor wasn't about to leave a physical record of him having any contact with Lucifer, so he suffers, starves himself for several days until Lucifer shows up at the library again and asks if he can come over that night.
Alastor says yes and hopes he doesn't give away how desperate he is.
Lucifer has a bottle of red wine in his hands when he arrives. He's only just able to settle it on the kitchen table before Alastor is dragging him over to the couch. He gets on his knees and he tells Alastor that he tastes good, that he's addicted, that he hasn't stopped thinking about him since their first night together. When his mouth isn't on Alastor, he's spilling endless praise for him, thrusting deep inside, a brutal pace.
Alastor's on his back, taking everything, finger nails leaving bright red trails along a pale back and shoulders. He can't help but notice that the light behind Lucifer looks like a halo. He lets out a little laugh at the irony.
Lucifer takes mock offense at that, hooks one hand behind Alastor's knee and pushes it to his chest, drives deeper, so he has no choice but to scream Lucifer's name.
They remain on the couch when they're done, and Lucifer falls asleep with his cheek resting on Alastor's head, an arm wrapped securely around his shoulders.
Alastor lets him have that last moment of peace, kills him right there in the living room. He'll have to burn the couch, and the carpet, but that's a problem for future him. He goes through the effort of butchering Lucifer, rewards himself periodically by licking his utensils clean, and when he returns upstairs with a nice chunk of Lucifer, rump steak, he pairs it with the red wine left on the table.
Drinks the whole bottle, because its what he deserves.
When he wakes the next morning, sufficiently hung over, he wonders just how drunk he'd gotten from one bottle of wine, because his living room has had a makeover. It's not just the blood, that had disappeared from his couch, but the fact his bookshelf of old literature now has various ornamental ducks nestled amongst the books. The painting above his fireplace has been replaced with that of a duck, and there's a duck shaped cushion on the armchair.
Why all the fucking ducks?
"I was hoping you'd share that, you know?"
And there it is.
Alastor was expecting it, but part of him had still been hoping last night would be the last time. He was getting wreckless, knew he was going to make an irreversible mistake if this continued.
Lucifer's leaning against the doorframe, in nothing but a pair of duck print boxers, looking at Alastor with fond exasperation.
"Lucifer?" Alastor asks.
Lucifer rolls his eyes, "Really? You got so drunk you forgot my name?"
"That's the name you gave me." Alastor argues, frowning.
"Yeah, when we first met."
What?
Lucifer carries on, "I'm making breakfast if you're up for eating."
Alastor squeezes his eyes shut, scrubs at his face. He really is going fucking insane and he isn't sure how much more he can handle. "I killed you last night." He whispers.
Lucifer freezes, then sighs, runs a hand through his hair, "That nightmare again?"
"It wasn't a nightmare." Alastor insists, "I killed you, right here." He slaps a hand on the couch and the dull whump it makes only angers him more, "I spilled your blood, and I dragged you to the basement, and I butchered you and I ate your flesh.."
Lucifer doesn't seem shocked by the news, "It's the same every time, Alastor, and I tell you every time that it isn't real." He walks over, takes a seat beside Alastor on the couch, puts a hand on his lower back, thumb stroking gently.
Alastor pulls away, snaps, "Yes it is!"
"It's not. We don't even have a basement."
"Yes, we do!" Alastor shouts, freezes. His eyes go wide, "We...?"
"I moved in months ago, Alastor." Lucifer explains quietly, like he's said it a thousand times before.
There's a pained look in his brown eyes.
Alastor's hurting him, and he hasn't even touched him. Has it really been months?
"Go on. Check. You always do."
Alastor lurches to his feet, feels sick. He stumbles to the door under the stairs that leads to the basement.
When he throws it open, it's just storage.
When he throws everything out, it's just an empty storage closet.
He collapses to the floor and Lucifer is right there with him.
"You haven't killed me." He says softly.
"I have." Alastor knows he has. Knows it. And no amount of arguing will convince him otherwise.
"No, you think you have. You have a nightmare and you wake up so confused, and you think you've hurt me, but I'm right here and I'm okay. Do you see? Alastor, do you see?"
A hand roughly grabs his chin, makes him look up.
He doesn't know he has tears in his eyes until they're being wiped away.
"Lucifer..." He whimpers.
"You're scaring me." Lucifer says, "Please let me take you to a doctor."
Alastor tries to pull away, "I'm fine." He says, even though he's not, because the man he killed is hugging him and calling him a liar. He's crazy but in an 'I'm a serial killer and a cannibal and its catching up to me' kind of a way, not an 'I'm an innocent man haunted by nightmares of killing my lover' kind of way.
"You don't remember my name, Alastor! You don't remember anything anymore, just your nightmares, and you won't let me help you. You don't eat and you don't sleep and I-I love you and I feel like I'm losing you. Please."
"It's only been a week."
Lucifer lets out a wail, buries his face in his hands and start sobbing.
Alastor swallowed thickly, doesn't know how to handle the display, "We met a week ago." He starts slowly, "In a club and you told me your name was Lucifer, and obviously it's not your real name, but it's the only one I know. I brought you back here, and we fucked, and then I killed you, and butchered you and devoured your flesh and it's- it's the best thing I've ever tasted." Alastor shivers, swallows again, "And when I woke up the next morning, you were in my bed, like nothing had happened, and I killed you again. And I thought that was it, but then you showed up at my door looking for your belt, and I killed you again."
"Stop-"
"And you were dead. I made sure of it. And then you showed up at my job, and I didn't kill you that day, I killed someone else instead, I thought- I don't know what I thought. I didn't like the way they tasted, so I incinerated it." Its a full on confession at that point and Lucifer can get him jailed if he wants to, but he just sits there, crying, softly pleading for Alastor to stop. "Then you showed up at my work, again and I killed you again. Just last night. Right there." He points to the couch, "Your blood was everywhere, and I didn't care, and I cooked up a slice of your fucking ass cheek and ate it with that wine."
Lucifer just keeps crying and Alastor stands. He still feels sick, head pounding. He's looking for a heavy object and it just so happens to be a metal duck shaped doorstop.
He brings it down hard onto Lucifer's head.
He doesn't want to, but he needs to. He wants to curl up with Lucifer and apologize for scaring him because his cries are heartbreaking, but the hunger wins out, he needs to eat. He feels like he's been starved. Maybe it has been longer than a week, maybe Lucifer is telling the truth and Alastor is so fucked up, he doesn't remember what's real and what isn't, just knows he's hungry, and Lucifer is there, and Lucifer tastes so good.
The first blow doesn't kill him, but there's a wound in his hair, wet and sticky.
Alastor's vision is so blurred from tears he can't tell if Lucifer's blood is red or gold.
Lucifer raises a shaking hand up in front of him, a pathetic attempt to stop the next blow, but Alastor can't.
He needs to.
The sickening crunch makes him double over and lose his dinner of red wine and steak.
It looks like blood on the carpet.
He hits Lucifer with the doorstop until he can't recognize his face, his head a bloody pulp.
He drags him to the kitchen, slices a sliver of flesh from Lucifer's arm, throws away the half finished attempt at breakfast to make room to fry up the slice. And he stands there in the kitchen, eats Lucifer piece by piece, until he feels so full his stomach might burst.
He throws up in the sink.
Goes right back to eating.
There's a heavy knocking on the door and Alastor spins, eyes wide, a deer in headlights. His heart pounds in his chest.
There's a half eaten dead body on the floor, and blood all over his face.
The door is kicked open.
He's caught red handed.
Lucifer's gone.
Alastor's still covered in blood.
There's a gun pointed at his head.
He grins wide, raises his hands, blood dripping from them.
He isn't quite sure he can talk his way out of this one.
Lucifer peeks out from behind the cop with a fiery red gaze. The look he's giving Alastor is overflowing with pride.
He's proud of him.
For what, Alastor doesn't know, he's killed him five times.
And now he's about to die for his crimes.
Lucifer holds a finger to his lips, steps out from behind the cop. He's still short, but his presence is larger somehow. He's wearing a nice white suit, reminiscent of a circus's ringmaster. Long red horns sprout from his forehead, knocking his large tophat askew.
"You did well." He purrs, "What a good boy you were, Alastor, but the fun is only beginning." He looks him over in calm appraisal, gives a subtle nod of his head, "Antlers? Yes, definitely antlers."
Alastor can't respond. As much as he wants to, ask Lucifer what the fuck he's talking about, ask what the fuck is happening. The cop's shouting, but all he hears is ringing in his ears. Something hot is running down his face and for a brief second he thinks its rain, but rain isn't warm and he's still in his kitchen.
His knees buckle and he falls to the pristine white floor.