Chapter Text
Time is a funny thing.
The chiming of the grandfather clock in the room Alastor has created for the evening doesn’t usually draw his attention, but when the number of soft gongs clicks up to the maximum of twelve, he takes notice and abandons the page he was reading.
He didn’t realise it was this late. But then again, he’s not exactly chomping at the bit to leave his current embrace, which is ironic in its own right. Hell, if someone told Alastor several weeks ago that this would be a regular occurrence, he would have laughed in their face before making them a special guest on his radio broadcast.
Back then, he had no idea this warm feeling in his chest was something his body was even capable of, let alone that he would crave it.
Now he knew.
The fire burns low in the hearth, embers shifting in a lazy dance, casting long shadows across the small red couch before it. The one where Lucifer is curled into him, asleep, head tipped against Alastor’s shoulder as though it belongs there. His legs are drawn up beneath him, covered by the blanket Alastor had conjured a few hours prior, with a serene expression stretched across those beautifully angelic features.
The chain lies between them, practically forgotten by now, pooled slack across the cushions and Alastor’s thigh.
Scenes like this have become such a common occurrence that Alastor has started to take certain things for granted. Not in a negative way, far from it in fact, but he’s no longer tying himself in knots over trying to decipher the inner workings of the devil’s mind. He knows Lucifer, strange as that is to admit. But then it’s been six weeks since their chains had snapped into existence, binding them together, and three weeks since they’d finally broken the tension between them over a rather memorable breakfast.
Even if that day pales in comparison to their adventures since.
The shift had been subtle at first. It wasn’t a sudden plunge into debauchery, despite how ravenous they’d been when that string finally snapped, but more of a gradual easing. Like the chains between them loosening, but in a less literal sense. Where there had once been sharp-edged tension that refused to ebb, there was now opportunity.
With even the space between them constantly and loudly begging to be filled.
They still argued, of course. Old habits die hard and all that. But their spats had grown lazy around the edges. They were less barbed, superficial, and more performative for those around them. More often than not, they ended with Lucifer crowding into Alastor’s space deliberately, his golden eyes bright with challenge, daring him to react.
Alastor always did.
A smirk crawls over Alastor’s features as he recalls just how exciting that particular revelation had been. When they realised their competitive banter was merely an appetiser, not a barrier to their newfound intimacy. But it’s not just a pseudo fight igniting the passion between them. He’s lost count of the number of times a mundane task derailed entirely. One moment, they’d be navigating the space the chain allowed them, the next the smallest brush of a hand would spread through their nerves like wildfire.
Stolen kisses and more were commonplace by now. Neither of them broached the subject of announcing this new development to the other hotel residents. Still, neither could resist the urge to pull at each other whenever the opportunity presented itself. Brief, breathless things exchanged in hallways or behind half-closed doors. Sometimes they were playful, and sometimes they were heated enough to leave Alastor dizzy. More often than not, he’d be left with his pulse thrumming with a thrill he hadn’t known he was capable of craving.
Which was probably the reason they’d nearly been caught more than once.
Alastor had once thought himself above such juvenile thrills, but apparently, he couldn’t have been more wrong. One moment, he’d be lost in the feeling of shoving his tongue into Lucifer’s smart mouth, just to shut him up, while running his claws over every sliver of flesh he could reach. Next, they’d be thrown apart by an opening door, trying to pretend they weren’t seconds away from grinding against the wall.
All while trying not to fall into insanity over Lucifer’s lips being pink and swollen because of him.
Those moments added thrills to everything they did, an illicit spark that hummed beneath Alastor’s skin long after they’d separated. One that was as addictive as their more tender moments. The chain it seemed, surprisingly, had its perks. Most of which revolved around never having to come up with an excuse to see each other, but also allowed them hours upon hours of uninterrupted time behind closed doors.
One of those doors being that of Lucifer’s shower.
Alastor shifts on the couch, careful not to wake the being in his arms, whilst making sure he doesn’t entirely overheat. He brings his non-cuffed hand to his necktie, swiftly untangling it, while his mind drifts to the montage of sin that damned shower had provided.
What had once been a logistical nightmare had evolved into a task neither of them rushed through anymore. Steam fogging the glass door, warm water cascading down tile and skin alike, and enough ambient noise to hide even the most whorish sounds. Which the King seems to be so fond of making whenever Alastor pins him high enough to wrap those blackened legs around his back.
A week ago, or maybe a little longer, they’d even been unable to separate after the water ran cold. Alastor’s legs, shaking from the strain of half a dozen climaxes between them, had given out enough that he had to lean against the wall just to keep them upright. But Lucifer hadn’t complained, fuck, he’d only tightened around him further, taking everything Alastor had to give as their breathing synced far too easily.
That particular memory is enough for Alastor to acknowledge the way his cock is already thickening against his thigh. Arousal, at least in the consistent and prolonged form his body seems to be favouring lately, is also a new development. But it’s not as unwelcome as he expected, especially not with Lucifer being the cause.
Which, again, is laughable. Yet the more Alastor thinks about it, the more it makes perfect sense.
He’d been differently wired when alive, but that had become even more prevalent in death. He didn’t want others like they wanted him, with any hint of desire or, god forbid, expectation, being a cause for repulsion. Vox had expected things from him. The way that picture box had looked at him, not at Alastor, but at what he represented, had always left a sour taste in his mouth.
To Vox, he was only a means to an end. A conduit for power wrapped up in a parcel that creep happened to find attractive.
Lucifer wasn’t like that.
The King didn’t try to worm his way into Alastor’s good books, far from it infact. He was a constant pain in the ass, always ready to trade blows, and so easy to wind up. Hell, if they hadn’t been forced together, Alastor was quite sure that this ‘thing’, this undeniable pull between them, would have either been dead on arrival… or played out in a remarkably similar way.
But unlike everyone else who’d tried to get close to him, Lucifer didn’t rely on him. At least, not in the same way. Practicalities of their bindings aside, the King didn’t orbit around Alastor out of convenience or ambition. Didn’t try to manipulate, use, or force Alastor to fit into a box of his own design.
The ancient seraphim didn’t need him, and yet, he wanted Alastor anyway.
The thought settles warmly in his chest, grounding Alastor far more than it has any right to.
He lifts a hand and gently brushes a stray lock of pale hair from Lucifer’s face, smile twitching when Lucifer mumbles something in his sleep before leaning into the caress. So he continues, soothing his finger repetitively in the way Lucifer has grown so accustomed to him doing. It doesn’t quite stir him, with that tranquil expression still sitting on his face entirely undisturbed.
When awake, Lucifer’s face is endlessly expressive-anger, delight, anxiety, rapture flickering across those angelic features with little restraint. Alastor has come to cherish witnessing each one, but this… this quiet softness is something else entirely.
His favourite, he realises, as the pounding in his chest turns erratic.
They…they should probably head to bed.
“Lucifer?” Alastor whispers, voice in that gentle tone he’s still not used to hearing from his own mouth as he soothes his hand over the sleeping monarch.
It doesn’t work, with Lucifer barely twitching in his sleep, so Alastor tries again.
“Darling?”
A soft sound vibrates against his shoulder, then King’s warm breath puffs through the fabric of his shirt, “Mmm?”
“It’s midnight,” Alastor states, pushing Lucifer gently away from him whilst keeping a hand on his shoulder, “Considering you’re barely able to keep your eyes open, I’d say it’s time for bed.”
Unexpectedly, Lucifer stiffens before pulling back just enough to blink up at him, eyes bleary but already sharpening with awareness.
“Wait- no. Not yet. I- shit, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry- ” he fumbles, he rubs his eyes, immediately wincing as his face twists with worry, “It’s just - it’s so warm, and you’re so comfortable and…damn. Damn. I really fucked this one up, huh?”
Alastor shifts, turning fully toward the King as concern threads its way through his ribs. There’s something troublesome in the King’s expression that furrows his own brow, something that sets off several alarm bells despite him knowing Lucifer isn’t one to blow up over nothing.
Or, at least that’s what the last few weeks have told him. But that was nothing in the grand scheme of Lucifer’s existence, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if they had anything long-lasting, concrete, or that Alastor wasn’t just a-
Wait, no. He just needs to ask.
“That’s quite cryptic, my dear,” Alastor starts, careful not to jump the gun with any actual accusations, “Care to enlighten me on what’s going on in that head of yours?”
Lucifer starts to speak, but hesitates. He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth in that infuriatingly attractive way that always makes Alastor want to lean in for a kiss before he can unfurl it fully, but he keeps himself in check despite the very tempting distraction.
“Yeah,” Lucifer replies finally, voice somehow thinner than before, “Yeah, ok.”
The King clears his throat, shifts onto his knees, and somehow makes himself look even smaller as the blanket bunches around his shoulders.
“Well… now that it’s midnight, today is -” Lucifer worries at the edge of his makeshift shawl, fingers twisting the fabric, before exhaling sharply, “- It’s a special day.”
Alastor’s first instinct is to glance at his meticulously kept calendar on the far wall.
“I don’t have the date marked,” he says, carefully neutral so as not to incur any wrath for being dismissive, “Is this a holiday that I’m not aware of, or-”
“-It’s been a year,” Lucifer interrupts, his voice hitching on nothing, “A year since I reconnected with Charlie. Since I came to the hotel for the first time-” His gaze drops to the chain between them, “Since we-”
Lucifer swallows thickly, visibly gathering the courage to finish his sentence, “When we met.”
The words hit Alastor like a physical blow.
A year.
Something inside him gives way, not sharply, but with a slow, aching crack - like ice breaking under too much weight.
A full year since that first collision, since the universe had thrown them into each other’s orbit, never letting them leave.
A year since that first spark between them, the challenge neither of them backed down from, and the budding of something far more dangerous beneath it.
Alastor opens his mouth. Closes it. Nothing.
“I know it’s probably stupid, and, well, I didn’t want to make it weird, but I just…” Lucifer rushes on, his anxious energy filling the silence between them seemingly of his own will, “Every year since I fell, I’ve tried not to think too much about dates, or anniversaries. But one of the more annoying and ironic angelic perks I have is that I can’t forget anything to do with…well, when things are created.”
He risks a glance up, catching Alastor’s eye and his likely befuddled expression before continuing to ramble with ever-increasing speed.
“It sneaks up on me, you know? And then suddenly I’m remembering things I really shouldn’t have taken note of,” He risks a glance up, catching Alastor’s eye before continuing, “But on the other hand, I didn’t want today to just… go by like it didn’t matter.”
Alastor’s chest loosens for once. Slowly, carefully, he reaches out and cups Lucifer’s cheek, his claws cool against the King’s flushed skin. Lucifer leans into the touch immediately, like he’s been waiting for permission to bridge the gap between them again, shattering Alastor’s self-control even further.
“I had no idea,” he admits, truthfully, voice more static-laden than he intends.
Lucifer laughs weakly, nuzzling his palm, “Well, yeah, you don’t exactly strike me as the sentimental type.”
Alastor studies him for a long moment, then draws him back in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“On the contrary, Sire, though I may not know them as precisely as you-” Alastor says as he pulls back, gaze searching Lucifer’s as he does the math he’s been avoiding for far too long, “It’s been ten months since Adam gave me this scar. The new hotel opened its doors almost nine months ago, which means we’ve also been cohabiting that long, too.”
He pauses, taking a deep breath while knowing he’s on the precipice of revealing something he’d sworn never to tell another soul. Something that haunted him the day they were bound together, what he’d failed to bury the second it arose despite fleeing the hotel entirely just to be rid of everything-
“-It’s been just over six months since the thought of kissing you first crossed my mind,” Alastor whispers before he can talk himself out of it.
Lucifer’s eyes flick to his, shining dangerously bright, “The mugs?”
“The mugs,” Alastor confirms without a hint of remorse. “I’ve come to recognise that you had crawled under my skin beforehand, but that’s the first time I remember the urge being so blatant I had to run from it - and, well, we all know how that went.”
Lucifer laughs at the massive understatement, the sound itself seeming to shift his demeanour entirely. His shoulders drop, tension visibly bleeding away with every soft shudder. It reminds Alastor of something else, something that he both hates himself for and has to fight to hold himself back from claiming again.
This isn’t about you, he tries and mostly succeeds to remind himself even as his arousal twitches against his thigh.
“So,” Alastor starts before swallowing thickly, “Did you have something in mind to mark the date?”
“Well, uh-” Lucifer scratches at the back of his neck, eyes flicking anywhere but Alastor’s face. “No, not really. Nothing that important…”
Alastor watches him for a beat, unimpressed, as the King becomes about as opaque as a pane of glass.
“Lucifer,” he warns, fondness threading through the reprimand.
That gets the King’s attention, with him sitting bolt upright as his cheeks flush that brilliant gold Alastor has become so fond of. Lucifer eventually exhales, giving in, as his gaze drifts toward the far edge of the room, where the walls disappear in favour of hanging trees and soft, spongy moss.
“How far does that go?” The King asks quietly.
Alastor follows his eye, a slow smile tugging at his mouth.
“You know, I’m never too sure myself,” he says lightly, rising to his feet and offering his hand, “Care to find out?”
Lucifer doesn’t hesitate. He takes Alastor’s hand, warmth settling instantly into the space between them. The next beat sees him snapping back into his white and pink suit with a flicker of magic as the blanket slips forgotten to the floor.
Then, hand in hand, they set off.
It’s uncanny how quickly the scene around them transforms. One moment they’re crossing the threshold of Alastor’s quarters, and the next, they’re standing upon soft marshy grass beneath a sky heavy with stars.
The bayou stretches outward in every direction the deeper they go. Bald cypress trees rise from the dark water like ancient sentinels, their trunks draped in curtains of pale moss that sway gently in a breeze soft enough to merely whisper against the skin. The air is thick with humidity, carrying the layered scents of wet earth, blooming rose mallows, and slow-moving water.
There’s a touch of the fantastical, too, with the distant shimmer of will-o’-the-wisps hovering just above the surface of the bayou.
It is loud with life, yet impossibly peaceful.
Alastor inhales deeply as they come to a stop in a clearing. Something eases deep within his bones as he lets his eyes shut momentarily, indulging his other senses. Somewhere nearby, he can hear a chorus of frogs croaking in uneven rhythm. Insects buzz, and water laps softly against miles of gnarled roots, and a soft breeze whispers through low-hanging branches. This place is magical, not a perfect replica of the world he once knew, but close enough to soothe the ache of memory rather than sharpen it.
He’s transported back to the heat of Louisiana nights, thick with bodies, contraband, and secrets. To a time when he literally had the world at his feet.
When he opens his eyes, he notices Lucifer is staring.
Not at him this time. The King’s eyes are wide, luminous in the bayou’s glow, mouth parted in open awe as he turns slowly in place, taking everything in. In a split second he appears far younger somehow, with pure wonder written over every inch of his face.
Then he giggles excitedly, boots squeaking against the damp grass as he half-spins on the spot, “This is - this place is incredible!”
Alastor watches him as his attention flits from one thing to the next, chest warming with a quiet sort of pride. He’s seen Lucifer enamoured with many things since they were bound together; music, cooking, time with his daughter. But there’s something different about how he is now.
He realises he’s finally seeing a true echo of the angel Lucifer once was, for more than just a blink and you’ll miss it moment. The significance of that revelation while in the depths of his most sacred place isn’t lost on Alastor, almost clouding his vision as he reflectively tightens his hold on Lucifer’s hand.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Lucifer continues, somehow even softer than before, “Not empty. Just… calm.”
Alastor swallows down the lump in his throat, “Good to know you approve.”
Lucifer turns back to him then, smile utterly disarming as he moves closer. The chain clinks as he comes in for an embrace, the sound so foreign in the ambience of the bayou, and yet the reminder of being tethered to the former angel, for once, is entirely welcome.
“I’m glad you brought me here, Alastor,” Lucifer speaks into his chest, further warming him through his suit.
Alastor’s smile slips into something far more natural despite himself. Despite knowing he has no reason to feel such genuine contentment, nor the warmth buzzing through every inch of his skin.
“So am I,” he replies without a drop of irony.
They linger like that for a moment longer before Lucifer pulls back, suddenly fidgeting.
“I uh-” He clears his throat, that golden flush deepening even further, “-I did, well, I may have made you something. For today.”
Alastor stiffens slightly as a few things slot into place. Earlier in the week, for several nights, actually. Lucifer took up his usual craft but was a lot more guarded about it. Secretive, even. And while Alastor did have a small hunch that there was something about that particular duck the King didn’t want to show him, the idea it could be for him had only crossed his mind fleetingly.
But, oh fuck, is it making his pulse hammer in his chest now.
He arches a brow as he pulls back, trying not to let anything show, “You don’t say.”
“It’s not gonna be a surprise. Obviously,” Lucifer explains quickly, somehow becoming more flustered, “But could you pretend it is?”
Not trusting himself to speak, Alastor just nods.
Lucifer brightens immediately and reaches into a coatpocket that definitely wasn’t there a moment ago, producing the duck like expected. But there’s nothing else predictable about it. It’s somehow ridiculously detailed, the brushstrokes precise despite the awkwardness of working while chained.
It’s covered in more flowers than Alastor has ever seen. Red tulips this time, each one curling delicately along its sides with their green stems winding into every unfilled space. It reminds Alastor of a postcard he was once sent by a college friend, of fields stretching on for miles with the sun setting on the horizon.
Only it’s not a field, it’s a duck. The King’s prized possessions. Decorated for the anniversary of their first meeting.
“Well,” he murmurs, accepting the duck with reverent care, “Clearly I need to brush up on my knowledge of flower language.”
Lucifer laughs, his shoulders loosening once more, “Hah, yeah. I know it’s not as popular nowadays, but it’s something I picked up a long time ago, and I thought you might- you might-”
“I may not know the exact symbolism, Sire,” Alastor interjects quickly, hoping he can mask his nerves for the painfully vulnerable moment by soothing Lucifer’s instead, “But I appreciate the sentiment regardless.”
“That’s good. Great, even-” Lucifer pulls back, scratching his neck again before his expression snaps to something mischievous that Alastor has grown unreasonably fond of, “You’ll know this one, though.”
He winks, every ounce the showman as he reaches behind his back before conjuring a single red rose, each petal lush and impossibly perfect. The gesture momentarily stuns Alastor, along with the realisation that it’s the first time he’s ever been on the receiving end of any flowers whatsoever. Thankfully, Lucifer manages to break that moment, too.
The King wiggles his brows in that ridiculous manner Alastor is also annoyingly fond of before he places the stem between his teeth.
Which shatters any attempt Alastor has to contain his laughter entirely.
He doubles over, careful not to lose his grip on the duck despite barely being able to get a breath in. The tears he’d been holding back for other reasons spill without restraint, until he’s shaking with the effort of the unexpected release, all while Lucifer pretends to be offended.
But when their eyes meet again, it’s like everything left unsaid is immediately understood.
Alastor’s gaze flicks down to the rose, still beautiful despite the ridiculous presentation, as something warm and demanding curls in his chest.
He plays along by snatching the rose from Lucifer’s teeth, “Are you flirting with me, Sire?”
“That depends,” Lucifer lifts his chin, eyes gleaming, “Is it working?”
Instead of answering, Alastor opens a small portal behind them, tucking the duck and the rose safely away in his room before letting it snap shut. When he turns back, he closes the distance between them in one smooth step.
He leans down, taking Lucifer’s chin between his thumb and forefinger once more, “Most definitely.”
The kiss that follows is tender, lips brushing almost delicately despite the heat simmering beneath it. A promise rather than the needy, hungry demands they’ve shared in the past few weeks, Lucifer melts into it with a quiet sound, hands finding Alastor’s coat, holding on like he’s afraid the moment might slip away.
Which is something Alastor can’t ignore, not after such grand gestures.
“Though you should know,” Alastor begins lightly, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, “That I refuse to be outdone.”
He snaps his fingers, and light blooms between them.
At first, it’s only one firefly, hovering near Lucifer’s shoulder like a curious ember. Then another appears, cool blue flame this time, followed by green so vivid it’s undeniably made from Alastor’s magic. A pink one flits playfully around Lucifer’s face, before a red counterpart joins the dance, slowing it to a waltz while they pulse together like tandem hearts.
Lucifer gasps, and within moments, the clearing fills entirely.
Fireflies drift up from the grass and reeds, weaving between the cypress knots and hanging moss, their glow reflecting in the shallow water pooled at their roots. They don’t swarm so much as dance, tracing deliberate arcs through the air, some circling Lucifer slowly, close enough that their light brushes his sleeves and catches in his hair. Others spiral outward, forming a winding path through the bayou, curving away into shadow like an invitation meant only for him.
“Oh, Al,” Lucifer breathes, voice going soft as his eyes follow the lights, “They’re beautiful.”
That tugs on something deep within Alastor, only this time, he’s anticipating it. Rather than fight it, he actually lets the words he’s held back for so long claw their way up his throat.
“They’re merely set dressing. A backdrop, if you will,” he says smoothly, eyes surprisingly never leaving Lucifer’s despite the feeling of his chest being flayed in two once more, “The true beauty here is you.”
Lucifer laughs, but it comes out shaky, before he, too, breaks. Tears spill far freer down the King’s cheeks than they did Alastor’s, the chain clanking as he scrubs uselessly at his face in an effort to hide them.
“You don’t-” Lucifer manages, looking up at Alastor through the wet sheen in his eyes, “-You can’t just say things like that.”
It’s like another shot to his chest, but Alastor holds firm, allowing himself a few moments of feigning innocence to buy him time to steel his nerve.
He tilts his head and blinks, “Whyever not?”
“Well, for one,” Lucifer starts, attempting indignation yet failing miserably, “If you say things like that, I’m going to start thinking that you, that you actually like-”
It’s now or never.
“-You?” Alastor cuts in gently, voice dropping its filter as his ears flick frantically, “I’d be a fool not to, my King.”
Something in Lucifer visibly breaks.
He surges forward with an inhuman sound, something wild and otherworldly, as he grips Alastor’s coat like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.
Which Alastor, now in entirely uncharted territory, gladly welcomes.
There’s a beat that stretches for eternity before Lucifer surges upward, kissing him with a desperation that steals any remaining breath from his lungs. It’s frantic, all heat and feeling, every unspoken fear and hope poured into the contact all at once. Alastor meets him without hesitation, hands steady at his waist, anchoring them together there as the fireflies tighten their spiral around them both, lights pulsing brighter before settling into a steady thrum.
As their frantically moving lips make chills run up and down his spine, Alastor comes to terms with the idea that he’s finally crossed yet another line.
Only this is one he’s not going to regret any time soon.
As the seconds tick into minutes, Lucifer doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses closer, as though the bayou itself might try to steal this from him if he loosens his grip for even a second. His hands fist tighter in Alastor’s coat, knuckles white, breath shuddering against his mouth, until it’s like a switch flips.
Then he’s pulling at anything he can reach, intent on removing any barriers between them, breaking the kiss with a gasp when Alastor does the same by immediately pulling at his tie.
“Fuck- I need-” Lucifer whines, words tumbling over each other as they rush out his mouth, “I need to feel you properly, Alastor, please.”
Alastor stills, hearing the difference in tone, noting how this is unlike anything he’s ever heard spill from the King’s lips. There’s something raw underneath the hunger and desperation, something he can’t quite place but knows there’s a tinge of fear interwoven in it all.
Like Lucifer is just as terrified as he is.
He raises his hand, intent on transporting them back to the comfort of the King’s bedroom, only for a hand to wrap around his wrist before he has the chance.
“If you teleport us away, I will kill you.” Lucifer huffs, frowns, then rolls his eyes, “And before you think about correcting me, don’t. I will figuratively kill you.”
That literally stops Alastor in his tracks. A surge of conflicting emotions washes over him like a wave as he comes to terms with being predictable. It doesn’t sit right at first, like a bad taste in his mouth. But then Lucifer rolls his eyes again, pulling him back down to claim his mouth once more.
With the rush of endorphins, Alastor sees the callout in a different light. He feels it in the way their lips move together, in the way they manage to slot into each other despite their multitude of differences. He’s just not used to letting someone close enough to know him properly.
To see him as he is.
And that floods Alastor with an entirely different array of emotions, ones that scream at him in pure need for the heavenly being in his arms.
“You drive a hard bargain, Sire, but I accept your terms,” He purrs in the way he knows makes Lucifer’s knees weak, hands sliding up the King’s body to cradle Lucifer’s face, “However, I do have one caveat.”
“Yeah?” Lucifer questions, though the haze in his eyes speaks of how far gone he already is.
Alastor lets another, far too genuine, smile crawl over his face before snapping his fingers. In an instant, they’re both stripped bare, leaving nothing between them but shared breath and the quiet certainty of what’s to come.
Even so, he doesn’t miss the opportunity to make Lucifer more breathless than he already is.
“If I’m taking you here,” Alastor drops his hand to Lucifer’s waist, wrapping his hand around it entirely, “I want to feel everything.”
He drops his radio filter as he finally meets Lucifer’s eye again, knowing full well how effective it is. Still, the broken, needy sound the King makes in response is utterly divine. Alastor has to bite back a groan as the King claws at his bare skin, the desperate reaction sending shivers up his spine as well as fully thickening his cock as it’s pressed flush against the bottom of Lucifer’s ribs.
“Please,” Lucifer whines, frantically reaching between them to take Alastor in hand, “Please, I want you inside.”
It’s hard to resist the urge to buck into that skilled palm, even more so when it’s accompanied by such sweet begging, but Alastor manages to hold on by a thread.
“Always so impatient,” He chides fondly, though there’s no mockery left in it as he takes Lucifer’s face back into his hands again, “I’m not going anywhere, Lucifer.”
This time, he’s the one to initiate the kiss, making sure there’s no space for a single shred of doubt in the King’s mind. He shudders as their bare skin brushes together, taking advantage of the way Lucifer gasps to invade the King’s mouth with his tongue. Lips still locked, he takes a glance around the clearing before settling on a stretch of undisturbed grass.
Which he has no problem nudging Lucifer toward before picking him up, only to lower them both to the dewy ground.
The earth below them is cooler than Alastor expects, but the humidity in the air prevents any real cold from seeping in. It’s a far cry from the comfort of the hotel, even in the corridors and various doors he’s had Lucifer against seem like luxury compared to the dirt he’s lowering the King of Hell upon. It's wild, imperfect, but alive. And the way Lucifer’s hair fans out beneath him, dew soaking into each strand, somehow makes him even more breathtaking.
Fireflies drift closer as their lips meet briefly once more, their colours deepening as they orbit them in slow, curious spirals. Their glow spills across Lucifer’s skin as, catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the shaky rise and fall of his bird-like chest, even the way he swallows thickly as Alastor produces their well-used bottle of lubricant with a click of his fingers.
But most captivating of all are how the light catches in the eyes that never leave Alastor’s face, making the former seraphim seem more otherworldly than he already is.
Kneeling between legs that open for him without hesitation, Alastor pauses.
Not because of doubt, whatever is left of that particular shackle feels like it’s long since burned away, but because this feels different. The same anticipation of their first time, the feeling of standing on the precipice of something boundless in possibility, rises within him.
Once again, Alastor doesn’t fight it.
He slowly slicks up his fingers, processing how similar yet different this all feels in real time.
That first contact, first meeting of their lips, the first time he’d reached between Lucifer’s legs like he is now, had all felt like taking the plunge. Like falling. But now, as Lucifer looks up at him with an intensity that borders on reverence, it feels like Alastor is taking a far firmer step over a threshold that cannot be un-crossed.
Only to find that the ground on the other side is solid.
The chain between them glints softly as Alastor uses that hand to slowly work the King open, the metal links whispering against the grass as one finger becomes two. It's odd how much its presence no longer feels like a restraint; if anything, it feels like a manifestation of the force pulling them together. The one that’s always been there, as much as they both tried to deny it.
The irony that it had taken a physical chain for them to see the web of bindings they were already tangled in isn’t lost on Alastor as he soothes his other hand against the King’s trembling hip.
When he manages to brush against that spot that makes Lucifer sing, the reaction is instant. Those hot walls flutter around Alastor’s fingers as Lucifer arches against him with a broken cry. His claws bite into Alastor’s arms, his thighs, anywhere the King can reach, once again afraid that if he doesn’t hold on, this all will vanish.
Which Alastor just can’t allow. No, more than that. He won’t stand for Lucifer thinking he isn’t exactly where he should be.
“That’s it,” He soothes, pressing both fingers upward to make Lucifer convulse around him, “You’re getting so much better at letting me in.”
It’s a calculated tease, a distraction for the inner turmoil written all over that pretty face, and thankfully, the King takes the bait.
“Well, it’s hard not to when you look at me like -” Lucifer tries to bite back, only to cut himself off when Alastor adds a third finger without warning, “-Fuck!”
Alastor has to bite back his own moan as Lucifer’s back bows beautifully, having no problem imagining his cock in place of his hand. His own need is growing, gnawing at him to forgo the rest of the preparation to sink into the King’s inviting heat, but he manages to subdue himself by gently rutting against the underside of one of those milky thighs.
“Now, now. Be honest with yourself, Lucifer,” Alastor continues, keeping his tone at a steady tempo while rending the King apart with his fingers, “You want this, don’t you?”
He punctuates his sentence with a well-timed thrust of his hand, making Lucifer’s initial answer turn into a scream underscored by that unmistakable wet slap of flesh on flesh. Alastor doesn’t stop there, either, relentlessly spreading his fingers apart, anticipation curling just behind his navel as that tight ring of muscle starts to give.
It would be a perfect undoing.
“I- I want-” Lucifer starts, choking on the words as he rolls his hips to meet Alastor’s palm, “Please, please, Alastor. I want you.”
Then the King tilts his head back, exposing his throat as his eyes roll back in their sockets, and Alastor’s resolve breaks.
He withdraws his fingers, lubricating himself with the excess before pouring a generous amount straight from the bottle. He can feel his pulse thrum through his cock when Lucifer catches his eye and spreads those delicate legs wider, inviting him to take his rightful place between them.
He doesn’t hesitate to claim it, hissing through his teeth at the glide of his cock against Lucifer’s own when the King reaches for him and clings.
Instead of correcting him, Alastor leans into what his lover needs.
“Hold on to my shoulders, Darling-” He instructs while lining himself up, manipulating Lucifer’s body and tilting up his hips, “-That’s it- I- oh.”
With the borderline ridiculous amount of lubrication he’d applied, and how thoroughly Lucifer let him stretch him, it shouldn’t be a surprise that the second his cock catches Lucifer manages to impale himself with a roll of his hips.
The shift is so sudden, those tight walls so utterly euphoric, that Alastor’s vision momentarily whites out. His body may have adapted to Lucifer’s in how often they’ve done this in the past few weeks, but Alastor’s first thrust is still just as breathtaking. Lucifer recovers faster than he does, wrapping those shaking legs around his hips, desperately grinding upward until Alastor is fully sheathed inside him.
Not looking the slightest bit remorseful when Alastor practically whines from the effort of keeping his sanity in check.
In response leans fully over the luxurating monarch below him, bracing his weight carefully on the ground around Lucifer’s head, before exhaling with a shaky sound that sounds suspiciously like relief.
Wait.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that this is what breaks the last dam inside him, but Alastor has to squeeze his eyes shut as the weight of it all crashes over him. The past year flashes behind his lids, the tension, the aggression, the bindings they found themselves in. Then the growing need, the downright longing, the way the etheral creature beneath him has somehow become the centre of his gravity without any hope of recovery.
Not that Alastor even wants that anymore. And when he finally dares to move, it instantly overwhelms them both.
Lucifer gasps, instantly breathless as his body goes taut. His hands fly to Alastor’s back, nails digging in, not to push him away but to pull him closer, as if distance itself has become unbearable. Then, when Alastor pulls all the way out before thrusting in deep, it’s like all that tension bleeds out of him at once.
Alastor's hips stutter, again overwhelmed by the way Lucifer’s entire being seems to curve around him instinctively. Like this is where he’s always meant to be. The emotion hits harder than anything physical ever could, the realisation that he is wanted.
“Al,” Lucifer begs, eyes welling with tears that threaten to fall down his flushed cheeks, “Oh fuck, Ah!”
It takes Lucifer’s back bowing sharply, palms scrabbling against the dirt beneath him, as a startled sound tears from his throat for Alastor to realise how much things had blurred around the edges. How much he’d allowed himself to ignore anything but ecstasy. He stills, mind running a mile a minute as Lucifer gasps again.
It’s not pain, nor fear, but it’s enough that it cuts through Alastor’s haze like ice water.
Shit.
“I’m-” Alastor starts, hating how pitiful he sounds, yet the words tumble out raw and unfiltered regardless, “-I’m not hurting you, am I?”
Lucifer blinks, disoriented, then lets out a short, breathless laugh, instantly dissolving any concern.
“What? No- I’m-”
Realisation of his own hits the King, widening those eyes until they look ready to pop out of their sockets. Then he lifts his hand, trembling slightly as he cups Alastor’s cheek, thumb brushing like he’s soothing over a deeply carved scar.
“You’re worried about me?” Lucifer almost scoffs, lips curling in unmistakable amusement, “You?”
It’s an accusation as much as it is good-natured, yet still, Alastor’s ears pin back to his head in embarrassment.
Still, he doesn’t run from it. Fuck, he barely even feels the need to anymore.
“There’s no need to look so shocked, Sire,” Alastor leans into the touch, voice softening as he sheds every last trace of his constant performance. “You’re worth worrying over.”
That does it.
Whatever composure Lucifer has left shatters completely. His expression crumples, his expression instantly mirroring Alastor’s aching vulnerability.
“I-” his words catch before he tugs Alastor down by looping his hands around his neck, “- Kiss me.”
Alastor doesn’t hesitate. He’s done with all of that nonsense.
This kiss is different from the others, even as his hips start to move again. It’s slower, grounding, his mouth moving against Lucifer’s with the same deliberate care as every roll of his lower halves.
Where once there were sparks and desperation, there’s now a steadily building heat Alastor can feel from the tips of his ears all the way down to his hooves. Even as the world threatens to slip away from him again, Alastor pours everything he has into the King’s mouth.
Letting Lucifer feel everything.
He grinds deep as they find a rhythm that lacks urgency, yet the way Lucifer clings to him, the way his insides pulse, and the way he fucking sounds every time they part for breath somehow throws Alastor to the edge far sooner than anticipated.
Which, fuck.
He’s not ready, not yet, he doesn’t want-
“You feel incredible,” he says out loud, the praise edged with something entirely foreign, “I-I’m not going to last.”
A soft, breathless sound escapes Lucifer’s lips, his lids lowering as he misunderstands the confession entirely. But just as the King starts to roll against him, sliding that unfairly lithe body against his own, Alastor stills him by a hand at his hip.
Then, despite how unnatural it feels, he forces himself to be honest.
“Could we possibly-” Alastor bites his bottom lip, ears flicking wildly as he wavers, “Can we stop? Just for a moment, I-I don’t- I don’t want this to end just yet.”
He braces himself for the worst as Lucifer stills entirely, only to find that it’s recognition, not disappointment, that twists the King’s expression this time.
“Of course,” Lucifer says without any hesitation, hand back to soothe at Alastor’s cheek, “Anything for you.”
The words settle into the space between them as Alastor, overcome with emotions he doesn’t even have the words for, leans back down to claim those kiss-swollen lips.
Only for their world to turn entirely on its head.
The chains binding their wrists begin to glow far, far brighter than they ever have. Both their heads snap to the side, watching as they illuminate the clearing entirely, with spider-webbing of pure light shining through every link. Then there’s a sharp crack, like glass shattering, and suddenly the weight around Alastor’s wrist is gone.
The cuffs break apart fully, their fragments dissolving into motes of light before they ever touch the ground.
“Did-” Lucifer finds his voice first, eyes as wide as Alastor’s own, “Did that just-?”
He trails off, seemingly unable to put words to what just happened.
And he’s not alone.
A million and one questions flit through Alastor’s mind, mainly focusing not just on how they managed to break the curse so easily, but why. What was so different about today, about this very moment, that was enough to break them free after weeks of being bound together?!
Especially as this isn’t even the first time he’s been inside Lucifer, felt that heat still threatening to consume him, even if the tenderness and care they were showing each other went above and-
-Alastor is halfway through staring at his wrist like the cuff might suddenly snap back around it when everything finally clicks into place.
“Yes,” he answers, clearing his throat as his body’s simmering need makes itself known once more, grounding him firmly in the present and very real body he’s still firmly inside of, “It would seem all we needed was to be willing to-”
“-put something before our pride,” Lucifer finishes for him, both unchained hands flying up to cover his mouth as the weight of it finally hits.
Alastor meets his gaze, something fierce and achingly tender blooming in his chest all at once. He reaches for Lucifer’s face, mirroring the hand still resting at his cheek, and the realisation of how little this actually changes settles over him like a calm tide.
“No, Lucifer,” He says quietly, “Someone.”
The space between them disappears.
Their mouths meet again, with all of Alastor’s want to stop and savour the moment vanishing to make way for the flood of desire the breaking of their bonds has allowed. They’ll have time for that later, time for whatever they want, over and over again. Alastor feels Lucifer melt into him completely, hands clutching at him with nothing holding them back as he lifts the King’s hips against him.
They find the brink, the perfect and undeniable friction, and breathe their shared pleasure between every gasping breath.
They move together instinctively, with Lucifer’s moans becoming higher and louder with every thrust. They both know the end is nearing, but Alastor somehow manages to hold it together, grinding against that internal spot while somehow managing to reach between them to Lucifer’s previously neglected cock. He drinks down the King’s screams as they hurtle over the edge, foreheads pressed together as the world narrows to sensation and warmth between them.
Even though it’s somehow far softer than previous climaxes, with them barely needing to move, it’s all-consuming in its intensity.
Alastor’s vision whites out once more, with him barely registering he’s collapsing forward, catching himself only enough to avoid crushing Lucifer before his body gives in entirely.
For a moment, there is nothing but the quiet hum of the bayou and the sound of levelling breath.
It’s bliss.
When Alastor reluctantly blinks his vision back into focus, the first thing he notices is fireflies. Two in particular, the pink and red, dance lazily around each other. Considering they’re made from his magic, the comparison should’ve been obvious, but Alastor has to bite back laughter when it hits him.
Perhaps he’s more of a romantic than he realised.
Lucifer shifting beneath him steals his attention once more, with him starting to pull back before one hand threads through his hair. Holding him there. The other snaps softly above his ear, and the blanket the King was draped in earlier appears around them, warm and impossibly soft, draped over their tangled limbs.
After that, neither of them moves to separate.
“So,” Lucifer starts after a while, voice light but careful, “Can we uh. Can we maybe not tell the others how we broke the chain in the end?”
“Charlie?” Alastor murmurs, deliberately not lifting his head.
“Charlie.” The King confirms, “She'll be happy for me - for us - don't get me wrong.”
He pauses, exhaling heavily as his body tenses, the nerves seeping through into his voice.
“But no one needs to know the more intimate details about how we managed to free ourselves,” He clicks his teeth, letting go of Alastor’s hair to brush his own brow, “Offspring or otherwise.”
Alastor hums thoughtfully, nose brushing against the warm skin of Lucifer’s cheek, “I suppose we could spin a tale about assembling furniture cooperatively.”
“Fat chance, buddy,” Lucifer laughs, the sound vibrating pleasantly through Alastor’s chest in a way he knows he’s going to demand they do again, “No one’s gonna buy that we weren’t at each other’s throats the entire time.”
The phrasing is innocuous enough, but that doesn’t stop the urge to twist that on its head from bubbling up his throat.
Especially not when he’s yet to withdraw from the still-pulsing heat keeping him half-hard.
“I suppose not,” Alastor concedes with false acceptance before he presses his mouth to the side of Lucifer’s neck. “I am quite fond of this spot, after all.”
He lets the words vibrate through Lucifer’s sensitive spots before punctuating the statement with a slow, deliberate lick.
“Al,” Lucifer breathes, head tipping back instinctively. “Fuck, that’s - that’s so good…”
Alastor catches the word that isn’t said, pulling back just enough to look at the King, “But?”
Lucifer hesitates, the humour from a moment ago fading into something more unsteady.
“Do you really want this?” he asks quietly. “Now that we’re not, y’know… forced to be together?”
His gaze flickers red as he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, “Do you still want… me?”
Panic claws at Alastor’s ribs, the fears he thought he’d dismissed rising unbidden in his chest.
Will Lucifer want more than he can give? Will this sour like every other thing he’s ever let himself reach for?
….Will he drop Alastor the second he figures out he’s not worth saving?!
He takes in a deep breath, letting his eyes meet Lucifer’s gaze, and realises he wants to try anyway.
“I can’t guarantee I’ll always be willing to indulge like this,” Alastor admits honestly, voice low and steady as he brushes the mussed hair from Lucifer’s forehead, thumb lingering there as if committing the feel of him to memory, “But I have grown rather fond of your company.”
Lucifer watches him like he’s afraid to blink, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his heart. A thousand things look like they tremble at the tip of his tongue, reassurance, excuses, dismissal, poorly timed jokes - but for once, the King doesn’t interrupt.
He waits, not because it’s easy, but because he knows it’s what Alastor needs.
“I want you, Lucifer,” Alastor states firmly, mind entirely made up as his soul soars from the confession, settling between them with quiet certainty. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
Lucifer exhales shakily, then laughs. It’s a disbelieving sound that wobbles its way out of him before he can stop it. He presses his face briefly into Alastor’s shoulder, like that’s somehow less exposed than being looked at directly, then straightens with forced composure that fools absolutely no one.
“Well, in that case,” he says, clearing his throat far too dramatically.
Alastor raises a brow, bracing himself for one of those Lucifer-patented ridiculous suggestions.
“How about dinner?”
Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that.
“Excuse me?” Alastor exclaims, voice coming out an octave higher than he intends.
“Well, you see, one of the many perks of being King,” Lucifer barrels on quickly, words tripping over themselves now that he’s committed to the idea, “Is that I can get dinner reservations at places like Dante’s Inferno whenever I want. No waiting list. No suspicious questions. But a fuck ton of eyes on us. So, I’ll magic up some fake chains, we go to dinner, have a perfectly civil time, and boom - a witnessed alibi for our bonds breaking.”
Alastor just stares at him as something unfamiliar yet unmistakably giddy rises in his throat.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
Lucifer freezes.
Colour blooms across his cheeks in a way that should be illegal for someone as ancient as him, and, suddenly, he can’t seem to decide where to put his hands.
“I, well,” He laughs, small and sheepish, “Yeah. I am. But only if you want it to be.”
The irony of Lucifer getting flustered over a date, whilst they’re still very much tangled together, is somehow the most endearing thing yet. It settles the last of Alastor’s hesitation with startling ease. He rocks forward deliberately, just enough to draw a startled whimper from Lucifer before letting his smile spread, sharp and delighted.
“I’d love to.”