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Of all the things Vox has put him through in the past week, this was definitely something Alastor wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
Any personal feelings aside, he expected that not many denizens of Hell could claim they’d had the…experience of being bound to its ruler.
With angelic rope no less!
The static hum of Vox’s surveillance camera fills the silence of whatever tower he and Lucifer are being stored away in, proving yet again that the infuriating picture-box’s power is all for show.
Alastor knows they’re being watched.
From every possible angle, of course!
The high-pitched whine right at the top of his hearing range is infuriating. It’s not the elegant, rhythmic kind he once piped through his broadcasts, but a thick, unpleasant static of modernity. It hangs heavy in the air, leaving him with an unpleasant aftertaste on his tongue no matter how many times he whets his lips.
Entirely unfair, really. He’s quite sure Lucifer doesn’t have that to deal with on top of their current humiliation.
The room is dark save for the way the bindings around them pulse faintly with golden light. Angelic magic is as cruel as it is clever, practically harmless until it isn’t, yet every time Alastor shifts, it bites into his wrists. While he purposefully switched off during Vox’s speech, he did note that he and Lucifer were bound in similar ways.
Hands tied behind their backs, chests bound so tightly together with little room to breathe, let alone anything else. The unnecessary addition is the King being placed in his lap to mitigate their height difference, adding yet another layer to this magician’s finale gone wrong.
It will all prove itself useful for their eventual escape attempt, but first -
Alastor is going to kill a few birds with one stone and have a little well-earned fun.
Starting with the divine being sitting in his lap.
Alastor shifts deliberately, making it seem like he’s testing how much movement the bindings allow. It jostles the King around ridiculously, but he doesn’t stop, not until he can feel Lucifer’s exasperated exhale bloom against his neck. It’s exactly the kind of micro-victory he was after, even if it has predictable consequences.
His ears twitch at the unmistakable sound of several lenses refocusing around them, zooming in on every detail Alastor can’t hide with his static noise.
It’s tacky.
But even as he feigns disinterest, the increased scrutiny is starting to get to him. As soon as he realised that Vox’s big scheme was taking a detour to include stringing them together overnight, Alastor had recalibrated his plan accordingly. What he’s come up with is dastardly in more ways than one, but the idea he’s going to be doing that in front of a live audience makes his skin crawl.
Even if Vox’s reaction to that sudden turn will be worth its weight in gold.
Alastor tries to school his expression into one of annoyance as the bastard's words echo around his mind, knowing he needs to find some common ground and fast if he’s going to pull this off.
There was something about him wanting to do this for a while, something about egos, and- ah!
“Try not to tear each other up by sunrise, yeah? Or at the very least, leave me enough of the angel to power the canon!”
He remembers that look, how Vox’s self-satisfied grin had extended past the edges of his screen. No matter how pathetic that idiot really is, there are certain things he’s exposed Alastor to this week that curl under his skin. Internalising that feeling, Alastor is able to coax his ears to flatten to his head, his smile wearing thin as several sparks of static pop in the air around them.
With how close they are, the King notices the change in an instant.
“Remind me,” Lucifer mutters, his breath hot against the sliver of exposed skin on Alastor’s neck, “Why I haven’t incinerated him yet?”
The ‘him’ is clearly Vox, though his tone suggests Alastor could be next in line.
Which is absolutely perfect.
“I imagine it’s because you can’t, Sire,” Alastor replies sweetly, his grin sharp when Lucifer’s eyes snap up to his, “A dreadful shame, really. A puppet King who can’t even lay a finger on the rabble, how ironic.”
Lucifer stiffens in his lap, and Alastor feels the shift in mood in stunning clarity. The hitch in Lucifer’s breath, the heat radiating from his body, the flicker of that raw, celestial power simmering just beneath the surface.
In fact, if he closed his eyes, he might almost mistake the King for a roaring fire he was more than eager to stoke.
“Careful,” Lucifer warns, voice lowering to one of the only tones he has that Alastor can stomach, “I can’t kill you, but I can make your life a living hell.”
The air between them hums with increased feedback, thickening with brimstone to finally replace the bad taste on his tongue.
Alastor glances around their glowing prison, “As opposed to…?”
There it is. That flash of recognition, the spark between them that’s continuously fired since they met. One he’s had in the past, including with the demon he’s betting it all on losing, but not like this.
It’s ironic, really. The thing that Alastor had initially chalked down as a fun way to pass the time, a teesny bit of freedom in his ever constricting binds, is exactly what’s going to have him coming out on top.
As if on cue, Lucifer shifts again, trying to find leverage, but the motion just drags them closer together. It’s absurd how close they are, borderline obscene even. And if the way Alastor’s breath is already mingling with the Kings is making his head spin, he can only imagine how much worse this is for someone as desperate for physical contact as the former angel.
Alastor just has to be patient.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” Lucifer eventually spits out, his voice caught between frustration and something he definitely doesn’t want Alastor to know about, “But at least you never did anything as humiliating as this.”
Alastor’s smile flickers, genuine amusement tugging at his lips, “Oh, such high praise coming from the Morningstar himself.”
With that, Lucifer pulls at their bindings, looking like he’s two seconds away from biting Alastor’s head off. Literally. Instead, he cuts himself off with a pained cry when the light around them flares brighter, the glow of the rope intensifying.
It’s then Alastor notices something he shouldn’t.
There’s a tremor in the King’s frame even after he recovers from the pain, something he’s desperately trying to suppress but can’t quite manage to keep a lid on.
Vulnerability.
“You’re trembling,” Alastor remarks, his tone somewhere between mockery and curiosity.
Lucifer glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it, “We’re in angelic ropes, dumbass. The last time this happened, I-”
He meets Alastor’s gaze as his eyes flicker red, before he cuts himself off with a ragged exhale.
Ah.
The noise from the electronics fades, leaving only the sound of Lucifer’s breathing, shallow, quick, human in a way that feels wrong coming from a deity. And yet… that itself is familiar.
Alastor knows this kind of fear. The way it worms its way in and never quite leaves, no matter the distance. He knows what it means to live with invisible bindings, to be trapped in a system that insists you perform obedience for survival.
For a moment, he almost pities the King. Almost.
“I see.” Alastor’s tone softens, just enough to be unsettling in comparison, “Believe it or not, I know exactly what it’s like to be bound by circumstance. No wonder you still bear their scars all these years later.”
It’s a bold move to touch on the truth when they’re being so intensely scrutinised, but it’s necessary if he wants this to work.
And it pays off instantly.
Lucifer doesn’t answer. He shakes his head as if that’s enough of a response while his eyes fix themselves on the polished floor. There’s tension in every inch of his body, with the silence taking on an air that might be overwhelming shame.
Or, Lucifer’s fury at finally being seen and it being him, Alastor supposes.
The tension between them seems to hum even louder than the machines now. Cameras blink red in Alastor’s periphery, unblinking eyes drinking in every flinch, every ragged breath. He forces himself to stop caring about the mechanical and focus on something a little more up his street.
Angel or not, Lucifer is made of flesh, bone, and blood that he intends to boil.
“Ironic that it’s you I’m bound to at the end, isn’t it?” Alastor chuckles under his breath, letting it buzz against Lucifer’s skin until he feels the King shudder for entirely different reasons, “How delightfully poetic that ones as powerful as us should find ourselves caught like pests in a lowlife’s trap.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lucifer hisses as he lifts his chin, his glare returning like a flame reigniting, “You’re the pest here, Bambi.”
It’s almost too easy.
“Mmmm, I suppose I have wormed my way under your skin as of late, haven’t I?” Alastor’s grin doesn’t falter, though his voice drops to something dangerously close to a purr, “My dear King.”
Lucifer snorts, but it comes out a little too breathy. “You wish.”
The lights flicker around them, the cameras whir. They both know Vox is watching, and yet, just like he hoped - Lucifer’s attention is now entirely on him.
Showtime.
Alastor leans in until his nose is nearly touching the King’s cheek as his smile stretches wider, hungrier.
“Oh, I don’t need to wish, your Majesty. I can feel it.”
Lucifer opens his mouth to retort, but the words die on his tongue when Alastor tilts his head just enough for his next exhale to dance over Lucifer’s lower lip. It’s an even bolder move, one that could see him slapped across the face if nothing else.
An almost-kiss, as deliberate a play as it is cruel.
The scant air between them crackles, yet Lucifer doesn’t move.
“You really don’t know your place, do you, sinner?” Lucifer mutters, his voice breathy enough for it to sound more like a confession, “The way you flirt is shameful.”
“Oh, I’m not flirting.” Alastor retorts before dragging his tongue across his teeth.
It’s enough.
Lucifer’s gaze drops, unbidden, to Alastor’s lips. It’s brief. A flicker, a mistake, but it’s enough to make something in Alastor’s chest tighten.
Gotcha.
Alastor drops his voice conspiratorial murmur, “You know, I can get us out of here.”
Lucifer blinks, caught off guard, but matches his volume, “What?!”
With the way there’s no further movement from the cameras, Alastor can tell they’re getting away with it.
“Oh yes,” He whispers, enjoying every single emotion he sees flash over Lucifer’s flushed face, “But since I got myself captured, where you waltzed into this trap, I can’t see why I would.”
“You-” Lucifer starts, a little too loud, before hissing through his teeth, “-You’re impossible.”
“And yet…” Alastor inhales deeply before going in for the kill, “There’s something about me you can’t quite resist, isn’t there?”
The rope around them shifts again as Lucifer squirms, pressing them even closer, until Alastor can feel Lucifer’s heartbeat pounding against his ribs.
But with stakes so high, he isn’t sure whose it is that’s racing faster.
“I don’t know what you-” Lucifer starts, cutting himself off when Alastor crosses his legs and ‘accidentally’ tilts his lower half forward, “Fuck.”
Just like Alastor expected, their exchange has left the King somewhat aroused. He can feel the heat coming off Lucifer, as well as the unmistakable hardness pressing against his stomach.
While Alastor himself isn’t quite as affected, the adrenaline of the situation isn’t leaving him entirely unstirred either. That definitely helps him with the hard sell when Lucifer’s searching gaze meets his, with him able to convey his point by merely quirking up a brow.
“Get me out of this,” Lucifer snaps despite it being barely audible, “and I’ll…I’ll-”
“You’ll what, my King?” Alastor interjects while tilting his head, feigning innocence.
Lucifer swallows thickly, “Don’t make me say it.”
Delicious.
Alastor’s grin widens. He makes sure Lucifer is watching as he drags his tongue deliberately across his lips, the gesture equal parts taunting and tempting.
He drops his tone down to a sultry purr, “You know what I want.”
It’s alluring how quickly Lucifer’s pupils dilate, the flicker betraying everything he isn’t saying. His breath catches, and for the briefest second, Alastor feels a genuine pulse of something that isn’t anger between them. He chases that, leaning in again to further stoke the heat gathering between them despite their situation.
One that Alastor’s pretty sure this would’ve ignited eventually at this point. With the way they were constantly at each other’s throats, he would’ve jumped at the chance, if only to see what disaster it would cause.
Yes, even if Vox hadn’t inadvertently forced them together and inadvertently caused himself even more heartbreak.
“I’m not making a deal with you, Alastor,” Lucifer manages when he eventually gives him the space to breathe, though there’s no conviction in the slightest, “We can’t even shake on it like this!”
“Oh, there are other ways,” Alastor hums, leaning into the way his voice is now ragged with the growing anticipation, “And I’m not asking for much.”
He lets the next words form on his tongue with practiced precision, the cadence eerily familiar.
“Just one itty bitty favour, at a time of my choosing,” Alastor lets his smile grow wide in genuine glee when Lucifer’s expression gives him an irresistible kick of déjà vu, “In return, I’ll get us out of this.”
For a few beats, Lucifer just stares at him. He should know better -he does know better - and yet the warmth of Alastor’s breath against his skin seems to be breaking through every barrier he’s ever built to protect himself with.
And that, unsurprisingly, has Alastor’s usually disinterested anatomy quickly matching the King’s interest.
“Fine. Fine” Lucifer spits, his louder tone drawing attention before he drops it down to a hush once more, “Quit fucking around, get me out of this.”
Chance would be a fine thing.
Alastor’s eyes narrow, “Say please.”
Lucifer’s pupils flash red, his horns briefly materialising in defiance. But he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t even try.
Instead, he exhales heavily, a beautiful sound of his last shred of pride unravelling.
“Please.”
Alastor forgets about Vox. About the cameras watching them. About everything, really.
He could free them right then and there, and he will, but first…
The moment stretches as he leans in to seal the deal. Their breath mingles, the tension sharp enough to draw blood, and yet neither of them are willing to fight it anymore. Alastor lets his smile hover against Lucifer’s mouth, not quite touching, just until he hears the soft sound of breath hitching in anticipation.
The kiss is anything but tender. This isn’t romance, and yet, there’s something undeniably poignant about the way the world tips when those unfairly soft lips meet Alastor’s own. He can feel Lucifer’s hesitance, his unwillingness to see this for what it could be, which only steels his will to hold firm against that smart mouth.
Even if he knows Vox will try and twist this to his favour once he’s over the shock, there’s definite satisfaction in the sound of every single camera in the room whirring to life.
And then something shifts.
What began as a transaction quickly becomes something else. Alastor’s calculated detachment falters as Lucifer leans into him, answering his stubbornness with even more of his own. The King’s lips stir against his, and he can’t help but move with them, feeling sparks fly in the scant space such contact allows.
Even as he feels a sense of danger, Alastor chases that feeling. Again. Then again. Moving his mouth with unpractised urgency until the sound of a soft whimpers makes his ears flick erratically.
He doesn’t know how, but he’s suddenly overwhelmed with Lucifer’s presence, both from the forked tongue now pressing against his own and the friction every sudden move seems to bring.
It’s not unpleasant in the slightest. If anything, it’s quite addictive. There’s something here Alastor can’t quite ignore, something that’s fed by the same wild defiance that drives them both.
When they break apart, Alastor places his forehead against the King’s and calls upon his rapidly returning powers. The ones that are growing at the same rate as Vox’s strength, easily able to circumvent their angelic bindings.
One moment, in the chair, the next, he’s holding Lucifer against him with the King’s limbs still entwined around his waist. Their eyes meet, and oddly, that’s when the weight of what they’ve just done finally hits Alastor square in the face.
That was…
The cameras spark and fire before popping off one by one, cutting off the electricity in the room and enshrouding them in darkness.
…Something he’ll have to unpack at a later date.
The cameras spark. The lights die.
Lucifer wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as Alastor sets him on his feet, golden eyes glowing faintly, “You did that on purpose.”
Alastor’s grin widens, “You’re going to have to be more specific, Dear.”
There’s another beat, then Lucifer laughs, but it’s not the normal high-pitched Morningstar special. It’s something low, something entirely unguarded.
Alastor likes it, so he joins him.
It’s the kind of laughter born from shared ruin, an acknowledgment that whatever comes next, it won’t be survival so much as spectacle. They stand there, unbound but not apart, while the room around them sparks and fails to reboot. A large screen across the road flickers to life, with Vox’s panicked visage plastered for all to see, yet for the moment, they pay it no mind.
Lucifer glances sideways toward him, a feral smile cutting across his face.
“You know,” he says while popping several kinks out of his neck, “We might actually make a good team.”
Alastor chuckles while folding his arms behind his back, “Is that so?”
Their gazes meet- red and gold- sinner and god- yet for a split second, entirely equal.
They grin at each other like they’re about to take on the world together, or burn it down trying.