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It began - as many things did - with a mistake. A simple mistake, of course. One that Alastor had found only mild annoyance in when it first occurred, but one that had consequences far beyond the realm of reasonable expectation. Really, how was he supposed to know that a simple slip of the hand would lead to something so incredibly bizarre? There was no precedent for it, no logical connection he could have made to predict it.
Certainly the whole thing was only possible because it involved one Lucifer Morningstar.
Alastor stood placidly in the garish little room, eyes following the devil's daughter as she paced back and forth. She was deep into yet another fantastical tirade, going on and on about her newest foolish idea, and Alastor's smile was easy and pleased as he watched her pace.
It would never work of course. The problems were numerous, the foundation flawed, and the assumptions she had made were almost laughably incorrect. It had all the hallmarks of a classic crash-and-burn, made all the more tantalizing by the fact that there was no one here to stop her - her girlfriend gone on some errand, her guests too distracted and bored to pick it apart, and Alastor himself too giddy to see the disastrous results.
This was going to be quite delightful.
The only detractor to his so far wonderful day was the odd inclusion of Lucifer at the little presentation. He had clambered his tiny self up onto one of the high top tables in the back corner of the room, resting his chin in his hand and quite obviously zoning out through Charlie's entire presentation. It was quite out of place to find the devil out and about in the hotel, much less sticking around for something as banal as this. And yet there he was, eyes glazed over and drifting from one thing to the next, like he was looking for anything to satisfy his scattered little brain.
And then, half way through Charlie's speech, the devil turned his attention to Alastor.
It wasn't exactly a sudden shift. His eyes had been wandering for some time, shifting from one thing to the next and then back again, following no particular pattern and making little, if any, sense. When the ugly little red pin pricks picked Alastor out of the crowd, it wasn't terribly surprising. He'd made it a point to look at just about every other thing of interest in the room, it made sense that he would eventually shift to the Radio Demon.
Only, his eyes didn't shift away again. Seconds went by, and then minutes, and Lucifer stayed right where he was, half draped over the table, looking bored and distracted, but most definitely looking at Alastor.
Alastor, of course, did not look back. He had a presentation to listen to, information to gather, a front to maintain. He truly did want to witness the full failure of Charlie's newest flight of fancy, and really, the royal failure's methods of keeping his tattered mind busy were of little concern to him.
But the more time went by, the more Alastor found the whole thing to be quite distasteful. The devil's eyes shifted from time to time, moving to various parts of him - his face, his shoes, the place where he was tapping his claws over his other wrist behind his back - and the blatant examination made his mouth feel particularly sharp. It was rude - of course, what more could he expect from Lucifer Morningstar? - but more than that, it was unsettling. Despite the detail of his attire, there truly wasn't all that much to see on his person just then, and while Alastor would love to attribute the oddity to Lucifer's personal brand of scatterbrained-ness, the fact that he seemed to be looking over him from time to time implied some level of actual thought going on in his head.
Which Alastor found . . . disturbing.
The only upside to the whole side show was that Lucifer was very obviously not paying attention to a word his daughter was saying. Despite Charlie having mentioned several times now how she intended to take advantage of her father for her plan, and obviously expecting him to be on board. If nothing else, there would be a distinct end to the staring, and it would be wonderfully embarrassing for both members of the Morningstar family.
At least that would be sufficiently distracting to allow him a reprieve from the voyeurism.
Only as Charlie began wrapping up her speech, it became clear that Lucifer was only paying attention to the tone of her voice, shifting his gaze back to her as she began her closing statements and obviously expecting to leave as soon as he could.
Why had he even joined in the first place? Boredom? Coercion? Had he accidentally stumbled into the room and only just realized there was a presentation ongoing? Alastor felt the way his smile curdled just slightly, displeased suddenly at the devil's gross little habit of simply drifting through life, and it was then that he made the decision he would come to regret.
It was obvious as Charlie finished that she would want to talk to Lucifer directly afterwards. Possibly force him into speaking as well. And while Alastor wouldn't mind the equally entertaining spectacle of Charlie realizing her father still didn't care any more for her endeavors than he had before, the sight of Lucifer slipping from his seat as if he was going to leave sent something prickly up his spine.
He moved on a whim as the room dragged itself back into shuffling normalcy at the end of Charlie's speech, several people pulling themselves up to leave. Lucifer's feet had already touched ground, the diminutive devil turning towards the nearest door like he had any right to escape. Alastor was there in a simple sweep of shadow, appearing just to the side of the tiny tyrant, eyes still on Charlie, expecting his appearance to be enough to halt the king.
Only it became immediately clear that Lucifer was not paying attention to his surroundings, Alastor's appearance beside him sparking nothing in the devil's eyes, and Alastor's hand raised to stop him before he'd actually thought about it.
A wretchedly stupid mistake to make. He had learned many decades ago that every action must be thought out, that every decision must have a reason. Impulsive reactions were deadly, dangerous things, and he very well knew better.
But the action was thought out. And for that, he had thought it safe. He wanted to stop the devil in his tracks, bring him to a swift halt so that he could point out his duty to his daughter. And what better way to do that than to extend his cane to block him?
Only he didn't have his cane - it was cracked into unmendable pieces, resting on his desk back in his radio tower. A blunder that was so incredibly foolish it brought something almost like embarrassment up into his chest. Obviously he didn't have his cane. Obviously there was nothing in his hands to block the devil with. And, worst of all, obviously he couldn't jerk his hand away now that he had realized that. Not when it would make his stupid, silly error that much more obvious.
And so when Lucifer went to step forward, to step past him, Alastor had no choice but to allow him to come into contact with the Radio Demon's waiting hand.
He curved his hand at the last minute, ensuring it was only the clawed tips of his fingers that met Lucifer's chest rather than his entire hand. The devil seemed startled by the touch, jerking slightly and starting to take a step back as he looked down at the hand stopping him.
And if it had only been that, it might not have been so bad. He didn't particularly like that he'd touched the devil, nor did he particularly like that he was forced into such close proximity with that action. But it was truly a tiny inconvenience in the grand scheme of things, and it would have been simply a blip in the radar of an otherwise lovely day.
Except Lucifer . . . had to be Lucifer.
The reasonable thing to do would have been to step away. Or - at the very least - look up to see whoever had stopped him. But the devil didn't do that. Nor did he fall back to the blank, bored staring he'd been gracing the Radio Demon with for the last ten minutes.
No, instead, his eyes seemed to fix down on Alastor's hand, brighter than they had been before, something curious in the way he stared at the place where four sharp claws poked little indents into his jacket. Time stretched out, a beat, two, three, people moving around them and Lucifer remaining absurdly still, staring at the hand as if it was the most fascinating thing he had seen all day.
When he finally did look up to Alastor's face, blinking with that big, stupid, doe-eyed look, Alastor no longer particularly cared about embarrassing him.
"Charlie would like a moment of your time," he told the devil simply, letting his eyes narrow just slightly around the irritated feeling in his skin. Lucifer stared at him for another moment longer, a significant lag to his processing of the words, before he frowned and cocked his head, lip pulling back crookedly in confusion.
"What?"
Alastor didn't bother answering, cocking his head in Charlie's general direction, only for her to speak right on cue.
"Dad!" she called, and that at least finally seemed to snap Lucifer out of whatever fog of lunacy he seemed to have been in. The devil jerked up, blinking, only to spin on his heel to face his daughter, grin wide and disgustingly awkward.
"Charlie!" he replied, a lame attempt at her energy levels, and Alastor stepped back, no longer interested in seeing the upcoming spectacle.
He would have more than enough opportunities to watch the devil make a complete fool out of himself, and he was not needed for the upcoming disaster. All in all, it seemed the perfect time for him to take care of some business in any room other than this one.
He slipped away unnoticed, shedding the oddity of Lucifer Morningstar, blissfully unaware of what was to come.
Because that was not the end of the staring.
It wasn't constant, no. Nor was it nearly as blatant as that first time. They hardly spent much time in the same room together, and when they did, Lucifer often had plenty of other things to distract him. He could easily go days, or even weeks, without being looked at in any way that couldn't be considered normal.
But once in a while, it would happen. Passing by a room only to earn the devil's attention for his entire trek. Adding a thought to a conversation, only to draw those little red pin pricks back to his face. Simply standing somewhere for too long and eventually being used as some sort of king of Hell entertainment device.
And really, Alastor didn't mind attention. He quite enjoyed it actually, enjoyed drawing eyes and causing whispers, enjoyed sticking around in the minds of those who had the misfortune of interacting with him. But he understood why he drew those looks. The fresh little hellspawn scurrying away from him, the established overlord eyeing him warily. Even the looks of envy, the looks of delight, the looks of hatred. They all made sense. They fit into the neat little boxes that everyone tended to settle down into eventually.
But it did not make sense for Lucifer to be looking at him as he did. There was no hatred or annoyance in his face, no suspicion or fascination or glib superiority, like the looking was just a game. It seemed more like something absent-minded, a tendency for his eye to simply draw over to the Radio Demon and stay there, like Alastor was somehow more pleasant to zone out at than any of the others.
And that did not make sense. Because their interactions were quite the same as they'd always been - the devil doing his level best to pretend Alastor was beneath him only to rise so easily to a well-targeted jab. Much of their day-to-day interactions involved the same prickly, barbed-tongue stand-offs they always had, and Alastor could not figure out the shape of this odd new behavior from the devil.
And maybe he didn't need to. Maybe it was foolish to try to understand anything that happened behind Lucifer's ugly little eyes, in a brain so ravaged by time and its own stupidity that it likely didn't have much in there to begin with. But that little unknown, that single oddity floating around the very edges of his day, ate at him like hunger clawing at his guts.
It was almost funny that it took him so long to figure it out. Ironic, truly - of course that would be a particular blind spot for him. He had spent hours picking through possibilities, silently observing the devil back in turn as he tried to figure it out, and the answer likely would have been quite easy in any other setting.
It was several weeks after the touching incident. The occasional tendency to stare had settled into a "normal" Lucifer activity, and Alastor was cursed to walk the halls of the hotel with the knowledge that it could happen at any time. He had taken to ignoring him the last few days - Charlie was gone on her own little adventure, and Alastor very rarely had reason to engage with the devil directly - but he found little peace with the method. If anything, the lack of deliberate antagonism seemed to have put Lucifer into much more of an observing mood, and that ever present prickly sensation of being watched sat with him now like an old friend.
He was acutely aware of it as he walked along with a pair of the hotel's guests, listening idly as their conversation slowly escalated towards an argument, spurred on in no small part by Alastor's well-placed interjections. The hall they were making their way down opened up into a wide atrium, several halls jutting off it like arteries from a heart, and the timing of Lucifer's appearance felt anything but random.
The devil appeared in the doorway of one of the other halls, lingering there as he paused to watch the trio crossing the wide empty space, for all intents and purposes seeming to have been just passing by. Alastor could feel the little lasers of his eyes flickering over him, and his smile cut sharper, jagged like broken glass, as his pair of victims brought them through the atrium and into the next hall.
He was quite done with this now. The constant watching, the interest that made no sense, the frustrating little puzzle box that he didn't even care about opening in the first place. The simple pleasure of stirring a fight in the two unimportant sinners before him flickered out like a candle, and Alastor waited just long enough to be sure he was out of view before he let the shadows swallow him.
His appearance behind the devil was silent and quick, a pleasing rush of satisfaction at the way Lucifer continued looking down the hall he had just disappeared down, blissfully unaware. He hovered, patient, smile so tight and sharp that it felt at risk of cutting his own face, and the coil of irritated energy inside him hummed on the edge of relief.
When Lucifer finally went to turn back the way he'd come - back right towards Alastor - the Radio Demon took a sharp step forward, forcing the devil to side step in surprise, easily corralled against the wall.
"Can I help you?" Alastor asked sharply, smile curling so tight it felt like it took up his entire face. There was a rich satisfaction in looming over the devil here, his shadow stretching in glee to cast a veil over the little thing's too-bright face, and Alastor felt a thrill at the way Lucifer leaned back that fraction more, nearly pressed to the wall.
But it wasn't fear in his eyes. Or discomfort. Or annoyance. His face went strangely slack, his eyes wide and bright and staring, and his mouth parted on a short little breath that seemed to have no meaning. Alastor could actually see the way his throat started to bob, only to freeze part way through, the way one might respond in terror.
But it wasn't fear. And Alastor felt the frustration rising, the vicious desire to reshape the broken little thing until it fit in one of the boxes where it belonged.
"Uh," Lucifer said, predictably stupid. He blinked once, and then again, before the odd fog seemed to clear from his eyes, and Alastor watched in exasperated bewilderment as his face struggled to shift into something affronted, all awkward bluffing and-
-something . . . strange.
"No," the devil scoffed, rolling his eyes in a move that looked more chagrined than Alastor was sure he had meant. "Why would I need anything from you?"
"Why indeed," Alastor smiled, leaning forward and watching the way Lucifer leaned with him, curving back enough for his hair to brush the wall. "I'm certainly not inclined to provide anything, and yet here you are, watching after me like a schoolgirl with a crush."
And there, Lucifer's face did that strange thing again, the white of his skin pitching over into an odd golden hue, and it took Alastor several moments to process it for what it was.
Lucifer was blushing.
Why in Satan's name was Lucifer blushing?
The stark unexpectedness of the realization left a little window for the devil to gather himself, the bump of his throat bobbing sharply as he swallowed, eyes darting away for a moment as he seemed to drag himself back into something half-way functional.
"That a fantasy of yours?" Lucifer asked, obviously aiming for a mocking retort and falling far, far short. "Hoping one day I'll tuck a little love note in your shoes and you can finally fulfill your dreams of being the popular kid at school?"
"My, it does sound like someone's fantasy," Alastor grinned back easily, all teeth. "Tell me-"
Only before he could finish the scathing retort, a loud bang came from down one of the halls. Alastor's head snapped to the side to squint down the hall, a brief moment of alert focus, before he recognized the sound as the front doors crashing open, immediately followed by Charlie's boisterous voice.
His brief distraction was enough to let the devil escape. A flash of gold, and suddenly Lucifer was across the hall, straightening his jacket with a sharp tug and casting Alastor a short, jerky look before he was off to greet his daughter.
Alastor watched him go with narrowed eyes, the cogs turning very slowly in his head, each new tooth clunking into place. And by the time he could hear Lucifer's voice calling out to Charlie, he thought he might finally have a guess as to the shape of this thing.
It was still an odd little shape. Something out of place and unexpected. Not completely irrational of course - Lucifer was an odd little man, and it wasn't like Alastor was unfamiliar with the affliction. But the more he sat there and considered each bit of information he had, the more sure he was in his assessment, and the more confused he was by the findings.
Because he was fairly certain Lucifer Morningstar was mooning after him.
Well, perhaps that was an inappropriately benign term for what the king of Hell was suffering from, but he rather liked the term more than others. It was amusing, just a little belittling, and didn't make him cringe every time he thought it.
And no, that didn't entirely make sense. For one thing, it didn't quite track with the devil's reputation of being obnoxiously immune to advances. Nor did it track with any of the first hand evidence Alastor had seen before that afternoon weeks ago. Lucifer seemed almost allergic to other people, and even now continued to be nothing but hostile when dealing with Alastor. And yet - the staring and the stammering and the gold under his cheeks - it all seemed to point to that one embarrassing conclusion.
And perhaps that was what pitched the whole thing over from confusing and frustrating to . . . well, maybe a little bit amusing. If Lucifer had approached him, he would have found a quick rejection and a sharp retort. A pursuit by the devil was nothing he wanted to deal with - too dangerous and uncomfortable and compromising - and there was certainly nothing appetizing in it for him.
But Lucifer hadn't approached him. Instead he seemed . . . rather uncomfortable with his affliction. Embarrassed, as he should be. And certainly not interested in twisting Alastor into a shape to match. Alastor felt a strange certainty that he could trust in that - the same certainty that led him to fight the devil with so little restraint, confident that he would come out the other end quite unscathed.
So when he wandered into one of the common rooms one early morning a few days later to find the devil alone, hunched over a table and scribbling at a long roll of parchment, the decision to . . . test the waters, so to speak, was easy.
He bled into shadow, pooling across the floor lazily until he could reform just behind where the devil sat, looming over him with just a touch of added height. His eyes flickered briefly over the paper, a quick flash of curiosity that faded quickly as he recognized the dense legalease of contract paperwork, and he waited several beats before he finally spoke.
"Practicing our handwriting, are we?"
Lucifer's reaction was deeply satisfying, a short yip barking out of the devil's throat as he lurched forward dramatically. The table caught him just under the ribs, a winded sound following the surprise, and Lucifer stumbled from the chair, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tucked an arm to his bruised stomach.
"What in the unholy sacrament Alastor?" the devil wheezed, glaring at the Radio Demon as he rubbed gingerly at his waist. "Were you raised in a barn?"
Alastor's nape prickled indignantly, but his smile stayed easy and placid, watching the devil's clumsy little display with delight.
"Oh, my sincerest apologies, your highness," he grinned, cocking his head in mock sympathy. "I hadn't realized you'd begun to go deaf in your old age."
"Oh, ha ha," Lucifer mocked back in a flattened voice, his mouth twisting up slightly as he pressed lightly over his ribs. "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, sleeping or something? Why are you even awake?"
"Why, because I don't sleep, of course! All that time wasted doing nothing. Why should I spend it dreaming away when I could be awake making my dreams come true?"
Lucifer narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him, his mouth making a fun shape, and Alastor cocked his head jovially in the other direction.
"And what are you up to on this fine morning?" the Radio Demon asked in return, smile curling just slightly as the devil leaned down to pick up the scattered documents. "Drafting declarations of devotion?"
Lucifer groaned, slapping the paper onto the table with an emphatic weariness.
"It is . . . too early for this," the devil groused, walking the chair awkwardly back into place before flopping back into it. His fingers fiddled with the parchment, shuffling it back into alignment, but Alastor could see the way his eyes were not tracking any of the words, simply staring in their general direction.
The Radio Demon hummed pleasantly.
"Have you settled on an appropriately saccharine ending to your little schoolyard fantasy?"
Lucifer's face pinched at the question, his shoulders subtly hunching, before he seemed to gather some level of energy, fixing a tight smile that looked more like a grimace to his face.
"I was thinking murder-suicide," he mused in a mocking tone.
"Ah, yes. Romeo & Juliet is quite the classic."
Lucifer groaned again, pitching forward to thunk his head against the table. He made some sound, maybe words, maybe not, muffled as it was against the wood, and Alastor let the little laugh trickle up his throat.
"You're gonna be insufferable," Lucifer muttered, slightly loud enough to hear this time, and Alastor stepped up behind the devil again, letting himself creep just a little taller to loom once more.
"Was I not already?" he asked innocently.
Lucifer turned his head enough to see the Radio Demon from the corner of his eye, an amusing little scowl on his face.
"You were annoying already," he said, glaring up at him as the parchment crinkled beneath his cheek. "Now you're gonna treat me like some kind of fun new chew toy."
Alastor hummed. "Another fantasy?"
Lucifer choked, jerking up as a dull thud sounded from under the table, and Alastor wondered if he'd banged his knee on it in surprise.
"Keep your disgusting little anglerfish mouth away from me," the devil bristled, turning his back sharply to the Radio Demon again as he picked up his fountain pen once more.
But Alastor noted curiously that there was that hunch to the devil's shoulders again, the defensiveness to his posture, and he was suddenly quite sure that if he could see his face, there would be gold in it once more.
And that was fun. It was a delightful little pleasure to know he could get under the devil's skin so easily, and suddenly the annoyance and the uncertainty and the frustration with Lucifer's strange affliction bled away into something . . . intrigued.
What else could he elicit from the king? How else could he embarrass him, fluster him - how far could he push him until he really saw a crack? In all of their fighting and name calling and insults, it was so rare to see a true reaction from the devil, and the fact that it took nothing but a handful of blithe words to earn it here? How lovely.
It was easy then, with that thought in mind, to reach out, curving one finger delicately to press a single pointed claw into the soft skin beneath the devil's jaw. It was a blatant, flagrant action, contact that he never would have even considered making before, but there was a simple confidence to it - a simple certainty that it would not get him bit.
And he was right. Lucifer tensed beneath him, freezing in place as Alastor loomed even farther over him, smile sharp enough to cut the new tension between them. He put pressure against the delicate spot slowly, pushing with purpose, and Lucifer hesitated against it for only a moment before he went with the pressure, letting Alastor tilt his head back and back until he had the devil staring up at him from his silly little chair.
And yes, there was the gold - a soft burnishing beneath the white of his cheeks, creeping over his face like dye through water. His eyes were wide as well, seeming to take up too much of his slack face, and Alastor watched with fascination as the little pinpricks of red expanded under his scrutiny, like blood welling up in a cut.
Was that really all it took? A touch? A single point of contact, a simple, mundane action without intent or direction, and the fight seemed to have bled out of the devil like that?
Oh, this really would be insufferable for him, wouldn't it? Alastor felt his smile shift over into something else, something that tasted like copper in his mouth, and Lucifer swallowed in kind, the motion a strange sensation beneath the Radio Demon's finger.
"Now why would I do that?" he asked, his voice richer, toothier, and he could see the way Lucifer's eyes had tracked the shape of his mouth as he said it. The devil's lips parted, peeling apart softly on a little exhale of a breath, and Alastor had the strangest desire to pry them apart, press his clawed fingers over his teeth.
The stillness didn't last long enough for him to truly consider the action, Lucifer seeming to come back to reality with a rather healthy dose of mortification, and Alastor was almost amused enough not to be annoyed by the hand that the devil jammed up against the Radio Demon's jaw.
It shoved him with surprising force, prying his eyes away from the delightful little scene below him, and Alastor opted not to fight it, letting the devil push him away with a laugh.
"It is too early for this," Lucifer snapped as he shoved the chair back, snatching the parchment and the pen with annoyance as he stood. "Can't do shit in this hotel."
He shoved past Alastor, muttering about trying to work and Alastor let him go with a titter of a laugh, gleefully pleased that the devil was running from him, no matter how Lucifer might try to justify it in his mind.
"Shall we pencil it in for later in the afternoon then?" Alastor called after him breezily, mouth curling unnaturally under his eyes, and he saw the way the devil was going to turn back to him long before the fountain pen was hurtling towards his face.
Alastor let the shadows swallow him easily, dropping into the pooling darkness just long enough for the pen to cartwheel through the wisps where his head had been, before returning to the spot, unfazed and more than a little giddy. Lucifer hissed something Alastor was fairly sure was some form of vile language before the devil turned on his heel again, marching from the room, muttering obscenities as he went.
The thing was, the day-to-day happenings of the hotel were . . . rather boring. Not that Alastor was looking for chaos and screaming every day, but more days than not, nothing particularly happened outside of Charlie's continued failures to build model citizens out of filthy sinners. There were administrative tasks to do, people to learn and track, fights and arguments to stir up, but truly that only filled so much time, and the rest of it was spent simply waiting for something interesting to happen.
Which he supposed did cast Lucifer's previous staring into a new light. The siren's call of a New Interesting Thing to keep his mind busy was certainly alluring, and perhaps he couldn't entirely blame the devil for his previous indiscretions.
Though Lucifer at least had plenty of options outside of the hotel that he could have entertained himself with, so Alastor was not particularly inclined to forgive him.
Regardless, Alastor was not ignorant to the reversal of their previous dynamic, the particular form of hypocrisy he was practicing as he kept an idle eye on the devil in the following weeks. Lucifer's patterns were as difficult to predict as ever, days going by without seeing hide nor hair of the devil, only for him to appear at a random impromptu game night at two in the morning. Sometimes he would follow Charlie around like a puppy as she rambled on and on about some inane idea, nodding along happily despite how clear it was that he wasn't listening. Other times he would be completely alone in some odd corner of the hotel, doing some strange little activity (that too often concerned rubber ducks for Alastor's taste) and seemingly completely unconcerned about who passed him by.
Alastor didn't go out of his way to find him. While his new little game was fun, it wouldn't do to give the devil the impression that Alastor was particularly concerned with him as a person, and there were admittedly other things to keep him busy, even if they didn't have quite the shine of the newest curiosities. Besides, even without seeking him out, the Radio Demon found more than a few opportunities to play with his new chew toy.
The learning curve of their particular game was not terribly steep. It took Alastor hardly any time at all to find what worked best, what would elicit the most interesting reactions. He might not have taken any interest in pursuing the various people he had charmed in this life or the last, but that didn't mean he hadn't learned the art form. And considering he cared little for a positive relationship with the devil, he was free to employ a wide medley of techniques.
Touching seemed the most impactful - the purposeful ones most of all. While a stray brush of his hand might earn him a sharp look or a little jump, those that he chose to place deliberately and without ambiguity could earn him that delightful deer-in-the-headlights look, the devil freezing up like some kind of prey animal.
Alastor was particularly pleased with one instance when they had been trading barbed comments, frivolous insults that had veered into the realm of attire, and Alastor had had a wonderful excuse to slip a finger under one of those ridiculous little chains on Lucifer's jacket. He'd tugged on it slightly - just because he could - dragging the devil forward that tiny bit as he explained how terribly garish the whole ensemble was.
And he was quite certain that Lucifer heard none of it.
He didn't need to touch him though. There were certainly a wide variety of things he could do to garner his desired response - cornering him, looming, standing too close, leaning down enough that the devil could feel the ghost of his breath as he spoke. He didn't even need to be near him, he learned one night at the bar. Lucifer had been drinking some pungent concoction smelling too sweet by far and chatting about nothing with Husker as other patrons milled around. Alastor had taken the opportunity to join them, listening along languidly, even offering the odd amiable comment to the conversation as he sipped on his respectable volume of whiskey.
And when a believable amount of time had passed and Lucifer had apparently been lulled into some false sense of security, snickering under his breath at something Alastor had said, the Radio Demon took the opportunity to hook a finger into his own bowtie and pull it loose under the guise of the whiskey, unhooking a shirt button as he went for good measure.
The reaction was just as satisfying as the others had been. Lucifer had been distracted by the movement, glancing to the side as he took a sip, only to freeze, throat bobbing around the little bit of drink. He had looked away quickly, turning back to his glass and to Husker, insisting on listening very raptly as the cat told a rather boring story, and Alastor had grinned into his own glass as the gold bled into the devil's face once more.
"Doesn't take much, hm?" he'd mused into the rim of his glass as Husker attended to another patron, watching the devil from the corner of his eye. Lucifer had swallowed, casting a short look in Alastor's direction - a look he was fairly certain was originally intended as a glare, but that seemed to get sidelined around Alastor's throat once more - before the devil set his glass down sharply.
"Wow, look at the time," he'd laughed, pushing away from the bar and only teetering a little, which was admirable. "I need to be . . . literally anywhere else."
It took Alastor some time to realize the significance of the sheer number of incidents that had been allowed to happen. At first he'd simply chalked it up to bluff and bluster, the devil being too stubborn and proud to back down simply because Alastor was toying with him in a way that actually worked. But as time went on and the game settled into a staple - not something Alastor engaged in on every chance meeting that the two had, but often enough to be normal - it started to read as something else.
Because, admittedly, if the devil did not want to engage in these silly little torment sessions, he simply . . . didn't need to. He could have left at any time - prevented Alastor from touching him in the first place, or even inflicted some embarrassing punishment on the Radio Demon.
But he didn't. And the more time went on, the more Alastor started to suspect that it might not have been stubbornness at all.
The thing was, Alastor might not have noticed it at first, but the game had rather . . . changed . . . the way they dealt with each other. Oh the fights were still there, and just as gloriously petty as they had always been - there was no shortage of barbed comments and pithy remarks thrown around at the other's expense. But the undercurrent of frustration that had run through all of their previous fights for Alastor was strangely . . . lacking now.
Perhaps it was that he had an outlet. Perhaps it was because he finally had a guaranteed way to win over the devil himself, no longer stuck with blind stabs that often felt bitter and pitiful in his mouth. The fact that he could render the devil speechless with just the right tilt of his head was powerful, and suddenly their little war was no longer fruitless and frustrating. It was fun.
And maybe that was what kept Lucifer around. He had never tried to capitalize on Alastor's teasing, never tried to push them over into the realm of anything else, and Alastor felt just as confident now that he wouldn't as he had at the beginning. But even without that, maybe there was a benefit to Lucifer after all, and Alastor considered that thought idly as he watched the devil land in the deserted kitchen, tucking his red and white wings away as he pulled a bottle from the fridge.
It was a familiar pattern to shadow behind the devil, stopping within reach of him just as Lucifer reached the little kitchen island and leaned against it. He had shed his jacket and hat somewhere along the way, his sleeves rolled up, and Alastor wondered what he got up to in all the hours he didn't see him, watching the way his shoulders shifted under the shirt as he raised the bottle to take a long draft from it.
"Where do you hide those?" he asked musingly, pressing his fingers vaguely in the vicinity of where he believed the base of Lucifer's first set of wings met his back.
The devil choked on his drink, pitching forward over the island slightly as his throat seized to prevent it from reaching his lungs. Alastor paid his panic no mind, spreading his fingers in the space between his shoulder blades, wondering if there was anything more there to feel.
And when Lucifer finally managed to take a proper breath, shifting like he was going to pull away or turn around, Alastor made a decision and wrapped his other hand firmly around the devil's side to bring him to a halt.
"Do stay still," he hummed casually, squeezing his fingers in a little wave and feeling the way Lucifer sucked in another breath. "You'll ruin my investigation."
The effect was strangely immediate. He had expected to have to put some force behind the act, for Lucifer to resist at first, or even to portal away entirely. But he didn't. Instead he went oddly still, one arm holding him up against the island, the other still clutching the bottle that hovered a few inches from his mouth. Alastor paused, curious, letting a beat pass and then another as the fingers along the devil's back did little more than sit there. And then, when he was sure that Lucifer intended to offer no other opposition, he let his fingers spread, and ran then slowly down the devil's spine.
He did receive a reaction for that at least, Lucifer finally pulling the bottle away to set it on the counter, his breaths going quietly shallow. Alastor cocked his head, a thread of curiosity tugging quietly in his mind as he watched the devil spread his hands on the counter's edge, leaning into it slightly - and stretching his back out just a little farther - as he turned his face down.
It was oddly . . . distracting as he continued tracing along the devil's back, looking for some sign of where his wings had gone. He found himself pressing his thumb into the soft give of Lucifer's side, just as curious about the new placidness he had elicited as he was about his purported investigation, and when he reached the devil's lower back, he hesitated, wondering.
How far did that placidness go? What, again, could he get away with?
His hand shifted, pinching the fabric of Lucifer's shirt between his thumb and forefinger, and he cocked his head again when Lucifer offered no other complaint, remaining obediently still as Alastor tugged at it experimentally. He pulled the shirt up, the sound of rustling fabric now a new companion to Lucifer's quiet breathing, and it was strangely compelling to watch it come untucked from his slacks, fluttering away from his back and giving Alastor access if he so wanted it.
And still Lucifer offered no resistance.
The game had slipped away now. Turned into something else. No longer was it a challenge to get a rise out of the devil - now it was curiosity, an investigation, and he watched the little of Lucifer's face that he could see as he slipped his hand under the crisp fabric onto warm skin.
He'd expected the devil to be hot somehow. Burning. A strange assumption to make, now that he thought about it - he had touched him through fabric more than enough to know better by this point - and he ran the pads of his fingers over the bumps of the devil's spine like some kind of odd measurement.
His goal had completely lost him now, the way his fingers ran up his back lacking a well-defined purpose, and Alastor found himself leaning forward, bringing his face just over Lucifer's shoulder to get a better look at his expression. The devil had his eyes closed, his brow deeply furrowed, and Alastor listened to the quiet irregularity of his breathing, red eyes narrowing as he considered him.
It was after a few moments of this inactivity that Lucifer's eyes cracked open, foggy for a moment before they moved to find Alastor, and it was strange how the heavy lids framing them, the way the red had expanded again, dilating even as he watched them, made them almost . . . pretty.
It was a beat before Lucifer seemed to really process his presence. And then he was leaning away again, reaching up to shove half heartedly at Alastor's face once more, and Alastor let him pry them apart without fuss.
"They're magic," the devil croaked after a moment, still leaning heavily against his spread hands on the island. When Alastor didn't respond, Lucifer shrugged one shoulder, glancing over it pointedly. "The wings."
Alastor hummed, not responding right away as he watched the devil raise the bottle to his mouth again.
This time he did him the courtesy of waiting until he'd finished drinking to speak.
"Yes, of course," Alastor mused, voice pleasantly normal. "The boring option, as usual."
Lucifer brought the bottle away from his mouth to huff a laugh against its rim, a half-spirited grin cutting up his cheek.
"Yes, the six angelic wings I've got just fold up into unreality," he said, huffing another short laugh. "Gotta be as boring as they come."
"Hm, yes," Alastor hummed. "A shame you don't have any redeeming qualities."
Lucifer snorted, setting the bottle back down again as he turned to look back at the Radio Demon with a crooked grin. "Oh, yeah, I'm the one with the quality issues. What did you have going for you again? Obnoxious, rude, terribly dressed?" He paused, waving his hand vaguely. "You do . . . sitcoms or something?"
Alastor's grin cracked wider, his eyes narrowing under that feeling of playful aggression, and he cocked his head, tilting it back just slightly to highlight how much he had to look down at the king of Hell.
"Strange, then, how that seems to do it for you."
Lucifer spluttered, his mouth opening in outrage, and Alastor didn't bother sticking around to hear his pitiful retort, watching the devil's ridiculous face as the shadows swallowed him whole.
Alastor watched as Charlie flew around the room, excitedly gathering up scraps of paper that inevitably came loose from her grip again as she gesticulated wildly. She was in full "brilliant new idea" mode, and Alastor watched her with a pleasant amusement as she rambled, too caught up in her idea to catch the fundamental flaw. It would at least make it farther than most, he was sure, with quite the possibility of bringing in a few more hopeful guests to the hotel, and he offered her nothing but a patient ear as she explained just what she was going to do.
It was difficult to remember how much longer she had lived than he had, in Hell and life both. Her youthful naïveté was a product of stubborn optimism rather than lack of life experience, and Alastor found it both refreshingly bright and delightfully hopeless. Her energy, if nothing else, was rather unique amongst the company Alastor had been forced to keep over the years, and the fact that she was doomed to fail over and over again was like the promise of a decadent dessert at the end of every meal. Truly the best of both worlds.
He wondered which of her parents had imparted that particular trait in the young woman.
It only took a few more erratic gestures around the room before Charlie seemed to settle into her plan, swinging around to give Alastor a giddy grin before she shot off to find her little girlfriend, calling brightly over her shoulder about how he just had to wait. She was going to fix it all.
What a charming little idiot she was.
Alastor watched after her as she sprinted from the room, once again losing scraps of paper as she hooked her hand around the doorframe to swing herself towards the far stairs, disappearing from view even as her voice still echoed down the hall. Alastor considered the doorway for a few moments, wondering if it might be worth following her up just to hear Vaggie's tentative concern over the whole thing. She at least would likely see the holes in her lover's plans, and Alastor was almost tempted to join them just to pick at her, make it that much harder for her to talk the hotel's leader down.
Only just as he had decided on his course of action, a flicker of movement caught his eye, and he turned his head to see Lucifer peeking into the room, bright eyes looking after the place his daughter had disappeared.
Speaking of charming little idiots.
"Was that Charlie?" Lucifer asked, stepping into the room and leaning a little, as if he expected to see her hiding around the far door.
"I do hope you can recognize the voice of your one and only daughter," Alastor chided in a sing-songy voice. Lucifer cut him a sharp look, eyes alighting on the Radio Demon for the first time, and Alastor preened under the attention.
"You do belong on a sitcom," Lucifer said flatly, like it was the greatest insult in the world - which it was - and Alastor hummed pleasantly.
"More of an excuse to watch me?"
"More of an excuse to watch you get hit in the face with a pie."
"My, have we already started discussing your proclivities? I'm not open to food play, I'm afraid."
Lucifer made a short sound, something distinctly affronted, and Alastor's mouth split in a wide, toothy grin.
"Unless you would like to be the food, of course."
"I am not getting anywhere near your dental nightmare," the devil snapped, crossing his arms. "I'm not into cannibalism. Or vivisection."
Alastor hummed. "Pity. I'm sure your kidneys would be a delicacy."
Lucifer made a face, something warring in his expression, like he wasn't sure how to take that, and Alastor found his mouth splitting that much wider.
It was admittedly quite fun, this game of theirs. For the winning and the power, yes, but there was a simplistic kind of enjoyment to it as well, something more akin to a thrilling hunt or a fine meal. Something he could enjoy for the basic honest pleasure of the thing, and that fact was not quite so surprising as it might have been some weeks back.
He liked it. It was as simple as that.
Which was why he supposed he did what he did next. Because there came Charlie's voice again, chattering excitedly as she raced down the stairs with her little guard dog trailing her, and when Lucifer turned his bright eyes towards the sound of her voice, Alastor found that he did not like the devil's shift in attention.
"We'll be back, Alastor!" Charlie called from somewhere near the front door, just out of view. "Tell Dad I'll see him soon."
He could see the way Lucifer opened his mouth to respond, taking a single step towards them, like maybe he was considering joining the pair, and Alastor let the shadows drag him to the devil, coalescing behind him to wrap his hand firmly over the devil's mouth.
"Of course, my dear!" he called back, taking a single step back to ensure none of Lucifer's flailing limbs could be seen. "Do enjoy your adventure."
He could feel how the devil had reached up, wrapping one hand around Alastor's wrist to pry him away, and he considered his choices only for a moment before he brought his other hand up to press, flat and wide, against Lucifer's chest.
It had the desired effect. The devil stilled under the touch immediately, his face half turned up where he'd been attempting to free his mouth and his eyes fixed up on Alastor's face.
They were such odd eyes. A thin yellow sea with two dotted red islands, inkblots on aged parchment, and bleeding that much wider as Alastor watched them. They weren't particularly attractive, especially against the clownish face - too smooth, too white, too simple - and there was certainly nothing of value going on behind them.
And yet Alastor found that he liked them fixed on him. He liked the way they looked at his face, wide and staring, liked the way they dilated with so little effort, like Alastor was the conductor for their focus. Liked the way they completed that particular expression he could make the devil make that set something alight in his brain.
The sound of the front door closing snapped distantly through the air, Lucifer swallowing harshly with the sound, and Alastor cocked his head, considering the position he had placed them in.
And then, deliberately, eyes still watching Lucifer's face, he took a step back. And then another. A few short paces back until they were placed in the corner of the room, out of immediate view.
And he considered the devil in his hands.
The room wasn't terribly trafficked - an uncomfortable sitting room full of furniture that was more for display than anything. It was tucked off to the side off of the main hall, unlikely to be anyone's intentional destination. But Alastor still sent his shadow stretching out regardless, positioning it quietly near the far side of the room where it could see all of the entrances to their little area easily.
He could shadow them away if he needed to. But for now, he rather liked the corner they had found themselves in.
Lucifer still hadn't fought him. He was tense under Alastor's hold, still staring up at him with his wide, pretty eyes, and Alastor could feel the strong thrum of his heartbeat under his hand.
Lucifer had called himself a toy for the Radio Demon, but Alastor found him to be more akin to a new fascinating musical instrument, something he could learn and play, something he could make sing for him in ways almost as thrilling as the screams of a hunt. Toys required no finesse, easily broken, easily replaceable, and Alastor found the comparison distinctly lacking.
No, for Alastor, Lucifer more closely resembled a Stradivarius - exceptionally rare and remarkably unique to play.
His long clawed fingers shifted on Lucifer's chest, rotating slightly to allow the Radio Demon to pet his thumb absently over his sternum. The devil's chest rose and fell rhythmically under the attention, steady and shallow, and Alastor narrowed his eyes in careful appraisal before he tucked the claw of his thumb into the seam of the devil's shirt, just in the little gap between his vest and bowtie, and sliced through the thread holding the button there.
And still Lucifer didn't fight him. His throat bobbed on a messy swallow, and Alastor was almost tempted to run his clawed fingers over it, feel it move through delicate skin. He was distracted instead by the way the devil shifted against him, legs shuffling restlessly, and it drew Alastor's eyes down the length of him, eyes alighting on the new feature shaping the pristine white trousers.
It was fascinating how effortless this was. All he'd done was put his hands on him, innocuous and still, and Lucifer's body had started blooming with interest. A simple shift of his fingers to earn him flushed cheeks and the beginnings of an erection. It was almost comedic in its absurdity - that Lucifer Morningstar would be so receptive to Alastor of all people.
He wanted to see him better. Lucifer might have been short, but the difference wasn't quite enough for Alastor to tower over him the way he wanted, and he let his bones unravel, stretching into something a touch more demonic in order to arch over the devil the way he wanted. He put pressure on the hand over Lucifer's mouth, pulling his head back that much farther, until Alastor could hover over him, staring directly down at the devil's eyes.
And then he let the hand pressed to Lucifer's chest start a path down his torso.
Lucifer jerked, coming alive under him suddenly, and he caught the wandering hand around the wrist, mirroring the grip he still had on the one over his mouth. Alastor came to a stop easily, watching the devil's face as he stared up at the Radio Demon with that warring expression once more. His breathing was heavier now, short and shallow, and Alastor could see his pulse fluttering against his throat.
He reminded him of a rabbit then. A small, terrified creature of prey, cornered and afraid as it watched its death towering over it, and Alastor's mouth watered at the familiar image, fixed as it was in this unfamiliar place.
But there was an odd tug in his gut that accompanied it, a pull that wasn't quite hunger, but something else. It urged him forward, the thumb still pressed tightly up against the devil's face shifting instead to swipe a smooth stroke over his cheek, petting back and forth slowly as he watched the way Lucifer's eyes flickered over his face.
And then, slowly, slowly, Lucifer's grip relaxed. His fingers loosened around Alastor's wrist, and when the Radio Demon shifted experimentally, testing his hold, Lucifer let him go, his fingers trailing up to cling to the worn material of his jacket, higher up Alastor's arm, instead.
And that was strangely pleasant. Satisfying. A ruddy heat bloomed in his chest, and Alastor felt the way his expression shifted, his smile dangerous and pleased and something unfamiliar as he ran his hand down the devil's torso once more.
He diverted to one of his legs first. His fingers found the dip of his hip, pressing into it with a curious interest before he continued his exploration further, smoothing his hand around the heat of his inner thigh, acutely aware of the thick artery flowing there. His thumb brushed absently into the crease of his thigh, and that earned him the first sound from Lucifer, a broken croak in his throat, before the devil closed his eyes and turned his face to the side.
Alastor let him for now, hand still wrapped tightly around his mouth as his other mapped out the compelling new space. Lucifer's interest had only increased in the short interlude, Alastor considered the shape of him idly as the tip of his thumb caught on the wrinkles of his slacks. He pressed lightly over the fabric, dipping it down where it bridged the open space between his erection and thigh, and Lucifer's feet shifted again, knees locking as he pressed back against him just slightly.
He touched him with just his nails first, scraping his fingers lightly up the length of his shaft, and Lucifer jerked, leaning harder into the hand at his mouth as he sucked in a sharp breath. Alastor paused to look at the devil's face again, half pressed against his arm now, and he examined it leisurely for a long moment before he shifted to fit his hand more firmly around the devil's erection.
It was appropriately hot against his palm, even through his slacks, and Lucifer made a short aborted sound against his hand when Alastor squeezed it experimentally, watching the way his brow furrowed and his nostrils flared. He let his fingers wander for a few moments, simply touching to touch, before his finger hooked into the fastenings at the front of Lucifer's slacks, catching on the thread of a button.
He paused there, weighing it for a brief moment, acutely aware of the way Lucifer's breath had stilled, before he sliced through the four fastenings holding the trousers closed. It was easy, then, to reach beneath the tattered fabric, hand trailing over the soft space below Lucifer's naval, a thin line of hair tickling at his fingers, until he was brushing through a thick mess of it at the base of his shaft.
He wrapped his fingers there without much consideration, palm resting against the blanket of wiry hair while his fingerpads tested the weight of him. He tugged lightly, and Lucifer shifted against him, a hand joining his - almost startling Alastor after the devil's continued inaction - to push his trousers out of the way, shimmying slightly to get them down far enough as he finally lifted his head again, this time to look down.
Alastor could feel his breath against his palm as Lucifer stared at the hand on him. Each breath was heavy, not quite as shallow as it had been before, and it was pleasantly warm over his knuckles as the devil's eyes followed the fingers tracing slowly over him. Alastor could no longer see what he was doing, the nape of Lucifer's neck blocking his view, and he considered the fine golden hair dusting over the thick tendons there as he explored the soft velvety heat under his fingers.
It was just as easy to figure out the rules here as the rest of their game had been. Despite Lucifer's decidedly quiet responses, he could still tell when he did something right - could still feel the changes in breathing, the tensing of muscles, the way that, after a while, Lucifer couldn't quite control the way his hips tried to shift into each touch. Alastor's hand was wrapped firmly just under the crown of him, his thumb sliding languidly through the slick beading from his tip, and Lucifer had nearly doubled over now, leaning heavily into Alastor's hand at his mouth as he panted against him.
Alastor leaned forward, just short of pressing his nose between the two tight tendons on the back of Lucifer's neck, and listened to the nearly inaudible sounds the devil was making, always cut off before they became anything. His hand twisted smoothly, stroking down slowly only to slide back up again, completely enveloping the head and smearing slick as he went, and Lucifer tilted his face further down, stretching his neck out long for Alastor to peruse.
The desire to bite him was rising, saliva slowly filling his mouth as his teeth bared a hair's breadth from the delicate skin of the devil's neck. It would be so easy to do, simply unclench his jaw, unsheathe his teeth and fit them neatly over the perfect width of Lucifer's throat, snapping down over cartilage and tendon and bone.
And while the thought was devastatingly appetizing, it wasn't what he wanted right then. He could feel the heat of his breath washing over the fine hair along the back of Lucifer's neck, and he pulled himself back, rising to tower over the devil again, and prying his pretty little face back to force him to look at him once more.
Lucifer's eyes were thick and hazy, not as wide as they had been before as he seemed to struggle to focus on Alastor's face, and Alastor's smile felt sharp and bloody as he looked down at him. His hand shifted to a purposeful rhythm rather than the exploration he had been engaging in, languid strokes over the length of him that slowly picked up speed as he watched Lucifer's pupil's dilate and contract in odd turns.
He could see the moment Lucifer gave up trying to look at him. His face was still forced up by Alastor's hand, but his eyes had gone fuzzy, the focus gone as his breathing picked up against the fingers over his mouth. One black hand reached up clumsily, scrambling to cling to the edge of Alastor's sleeve, and his shoulders pressed back harder against Alastor's chest, tense and taut.
There was one brief moment of clarity, one quick breath where Lucifer's eyes went wide again, where he seemed to focus on Alastor above him once more as something Alastor didn't recognize - an expression almost like panic - lit up his face.
And then his pretty eyes fluttered, rolling under his lashes, as he went tense in Alastor's grip, jaw working under his hand despite the lack of noises he made. Alastor could feel him pulse under the hand that stroked him, flexing subtly in his grip, and his eyes strayed from Lucifer's face just long enough to watch with an almost clinical fascination as he spilled across his stomach, dripping down into the little patch of hair and trickling over Alastor's fingers.
He was rather certain he should have been repulsed by the way the warm liquid slid between his fingers, knowing it would be sticky and unpleasant in short order. And yet, his mind seemed wholly unconcerned with it - or perhaps wholly too occupied with the events taking place under his hands. Lucifer was shuddering against him, the tension bleeding out of him in waves, only to return again briefly as he shook through another pulse. His breath hitched messily against Alastor's hand, and Alastor could see the way his legs trembled every so often, like they might drop him at any moment.
He was distracted by the movement of Lucifer's hand, fumbling down to tug clumsily at Alastor's wrist, and it was only then that he realized he was still stroking him slowly, almost by muscle memory alone. He followed his last stroke through, ignoring the pitiful whine Lucifer pressed into his hand, before he finally released him, and the devil took a short breath before the strength seemed to go out of him.
He slumped against Alastor, dumping his weight unexpectedly into the Radio Demon's grip, and Alastor had to take one step back to offer a counterbalance to the sudden weight. He looked down at the devil, briefly displeased by his inconsideration, before he was once again distracted by the state of him - his slack, almost peaceful face. The shaky breaths he struggled to draw in only to release in a huff. The single finger still hooked absently into Alastor's sleeve.
The Radio Demon's messy hand was finally tickling at the displeasure center of his brain, and Alastor wiped it absentmindedly on Lucifer's slacks, an act that earned him a brief noise of protest, but nothing more. He watched the way the devil's face pinched, slipping away almost immediately, like he didn't have the strength to hold the unhappy expression, and Alastor watched the subtle shifts there for a few long beats before he finally lifted his hand from the devil's mouth.
Lucifer seemed almost unconcerned with the change. His lips parted immediately, the soft messy breaths rushing past his teeth instead, but otherwise he made no attempt to speak or move. Alastor found his hand lingering, his fingers brushing faintly over patches of gold-hued skin, before he pressed one fingertip over the devil's lip, feeling the way it gave easily under the pressure.
He didn't trace the jagged teeth like he had once fantasized about. Instead, his fingers simply touched over the devil's mouth, pressing across a few choice spots, before his eyes finally shifted up to find Lucifer watching him.
The devil's eyes were hardly open more than a sliver, the faintest impression of color under his lashes. The flecks of red Alastor could see were fixed on the Radio Demon, watching him in an almost lazy way as Alastor's fingers slowly slid away from his mouth. And then the devil laughed, a weak little huff of a sound as he turned his face back into Alastor's chest.
"Give me a sec," he slurred, the first words he'd spoken in untold minutes, and Alastor's ears pricked at the sound, dragging him slowly back into awareness of the room. His eyes flickered up to find his shadow, still watching dutifully from its spot near the far wall. No one had passed them, nor gotten anywhere close to this side of the hotel, and Alastor looked around the room slowly, reassessing his surroundings.
If they were to go by the rules of their established game, the next step would be to leave. It was always one of them leaving, Lucifer when he wanted to admit defeat and Alastor when he wanted to leave off his victory on a particularly high note.
And really, what higher note could there be than this? It seemed obvious that this should be the part where he reminded the devil where they were, where he got in some subtle (or not so subtle) taunt about unraveling him in the middle of the hotel, pointing out his state of dishevelment before he made his exit. It was the most poignant victory, an easy way to seal off the end of this particular round.
And Alastor . . . did not particularly want to.
His arm shifted to wrap around the devil's waist, dragging him a little firmer against him as he recalled the shadow to him. It came easily, enveloping the pair in a thick curtain of blackness, and Alastor felt the way Lucifer shifted against him, a single confused noise coming from his throat, before the shadow whisked them away from the too-open room and into the depths of the hotel.