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“Ugh, the music is too all over the place! I don’t understand how you can stand listening to it!”
“Listen you music illiterate dunce, jazz is about feeling the music, not just following a rhythm.”
“Feeling the music? More like getting lost in a maze! It just wanders around like it forgot where it’s going!”
“That’s called creativity, Morningstar. Jazz is an art form. A conversation. It’s unpredictable, always changing. Something you clearly have no grasp of.”
“Oh fuck you, I’m putting swing on next.”
“Swing?! Swing is just jazz with training wheels.”
“Training wheels?! At least swing is fun. Jazz is just a bunch of guys trying to out-solo each other. It’s like a musical argument that never ends!”
“Gee, I wonder what that’s like?” a third voice interrupted the pair of them as Angel glared over the back of the sofa in the parlor. To Lucifer and Alastor who were arguing over the phonograph, their voices louder than even the music, carrying out into the whole parlor where everyone had gathered in the evening to relax. Most of the residents had learned to tune out their wildly antagonistic bickering, now two months into Lucifer’s stay at the newly renovated hotel.
Except for Charlie, whose eye twitched as though she were physically trying to crush her irritation with endlessly tried patience. “You know what?” she declared suddenly, rising so abruptly from her seat she nearly took Vaggie with her, “Neither of you get a say for the rest of the night.” She ignored the squawks of protest from the both of them as she marched over to the wall of carefully sorted vinyls and pulled out one.
That was when Alastor noticed something strange. The king went pale, which was quite a feat as he was already stark white. His cherry cheeks lightened in color and his eyes were wide as he took in the innocuous looking title of the record that Charlie selected. Chopin. Nocturne no. 20. Well, Alastor supposed that he could appreciate the classics. That didn’t explain Lucifer’s odd reaction.
“Charlie, wait-” the devil protested, but it was already too late as the princess went through the motions and the sound of soft piano began to play. The mastery of sound was undeniable and everyone went quiet as the complex and tragic melody filled the air. It was lovely, soft, and soothing, something that was such a rarity in Hell. As the song wound down, Alastor looked over to the king to see if he was going to be as insufferable about this one as he was about the jazz session. What he saw would change him forever.
Tears had filled Lucifer’s eyes, bright and shining like crystals. He was enraptured by the song, staring ahead at nothing. Alastor watched, fascinated, as the tears silently bled down his cheeks in silver trails. When the song ended, the king seemed to come back to himself as if waking from a dream. As soon as he noticed Alastor staring, he turned defensive, physically drawing back as he dabbed his eyes with his sleeve. “Stop looking at me like that!” he snapped.
Like what? Alastor wanted to know, but Angel beat him to the punch.
“Holy fuck, are you cryin’?!” the pornstar crowed, absolutely delighted. “Awwww~ That is so cute!”
“Don’t call me cute!” Lucifer cried, which was something only cute people said. “I just get affected by the music, okay? It’s very emotional music!”
“...It is pretty fucking cute though,” Husk agreed with Angel, whilst Vaggie and Charlie both tried to stifle giggles. “Hey, princess. Put on some more of that stuff.”
“No! Stop! And I command you to stop calling me cute!” the king cried out with rapidly diminishing authority. The others laughed at his expense, cajoling him into lightening up as more romantic etudes and nocturnes filled the parlor. Alastor would have joined them in mocking their king, but he found he suddenly had to leave.
Making a swift and silent exit, he retreated all the way up to his tower and promptly warded the door behind him. He leaned heavily against the wall, his body a near blistering temperature as heat flashed under his skin. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. He’d never felt this before. Yet what sparked it all was the sight of those gold and ruby eyes filled with big fat shining tears.
What was this? Schadenfreude?
Alastor supposed that might make sense. Yes. Yes, he was taking joy from seeing Lucifer suffer. That was exactly what this was. And the overreactive response? Likely because he loathed Lucifer just that much.
Already, he could feel himself relax, some of the heat coming off of him in waves, replaced instead by faintly damp sweat. It was a fluke. Just that and nothing more. So, he went up the cast iron spiral stairs to his tower to air some real music to the rest of Pentagram City.
~o~
Alastor nearly forgot all about his little episode in the weeks that passed. Enough for a brief awkward period before they got back to their bickering once again. He could tell the near constant arguments were trying Charlie’s patience, but he honestly couldn’t help himself. He just felt so vexed whenever he saw that bastard’s smug little face.
It was enough that one day, Charlie took him aside and begged, “Alastor, please, can you make even the smallest amount of effort to get along? You don’t have to like him. Just tolerate him enough so the hotel isn’t a warzone. It’s affecting morale.”
The Radio Demon supposed that inspired what came next.
He was preparing dinner one evening, using of course the holy trinity: onions, celery, and green bell pepper. He had a shadow imp working on the roux, standing on top of the counter and ceaselessly stirring the pot of butter and flour as it darkened. He hadn’t fully worked out yet if he felt like making gumbo or etouffee. Which is when he heard the kitchen door swing open and all too familiar footsteps track into the room. They halted, causing Alastor to turn around to look at the king.
“You’re cooking?” Lucifer asked derisively.
Alastor smiled as he gripped his knife. “Why, yes, it’s my turn.”
“Well, I don’t want whatever the hell you’re making.”
His irritation instantly ratcheted up by ten degrees as the knife handle bent in his hand. Then he remembered Charlie’s plea. He supposed it was up to him to be the bigger man. In more ways than one. “Morningstar,” he said tightly as he forced himself to put down the blade, “perhaps it has escaped your notice, but Charlie is quite upset by our little spats. So perhaps you could exercise even a modicum of restraint in your thoughtlessness.”
Lucifer looked like he wanted to argue, before his face fell. “Wait. Did Charlie talk to you?”
Oh ho. It looked like the little king was left out. “Indeed she did,” Alastor preened.
“Well, why didn’t she talk to me?” Lucifer demanded, growing heated once again.
“Oh, I don’t know,” the deer demon replied lightly, “Perhaps she didn’t trust that you would be able to exercise any emotional maturity.”
A brief burst of energy emitted from the king in a flare of anger. Only proving Alastor’s point. And then, somehow, he managed to subdue his anger, tampening it down. “Okay. Okay fine. I can try to stop antagonizing you so much. I’m still not eating whatever the fuck you’re making.”
That only served to brush Alastor’s pride the wrong way as he bristled. “And why not?” he asked archly.
“Because I don’t know what weird shit you put in your swamp goo, that’s why.”
Alastor closed his eyes and counted to ten. Yet what did Lucifer just say about not antagonizing him? However, he only smiled brighter as he said, “Well, there’s an easy remedy for that, Morningstar. Just watch me cook.” Then that was when brilliance struck. “Even better, you can help.”
Lucifer blinked. “...Wait, you’re actually going to let me touch any part of your cooking?” His ire fizzled into curiosity and somewhat justifiable suspicion. Nonetheless, he drew a little closer as he looked to all the components that Alastor had laid out.
“You can chop the onions,” Alastor replied, quite pleased with himself as he pushed six onions over. “Diced, if you please.”
Lucifer pulled a face. “I hate chopping onions.”
“Very well, then I’ll go tell Charlie that you’re not willing to put an ounce of effort into our truce.”
“Okay, okay! Fine!” Grumpily, the king pulled over a small footstool and looked down to the chopping block, bowl, and onions that Alastor had helpfully set out for him. Then he set to work. As Alastor closely watched him as he took care of the rest of the mise-en-place, Lucifer’s cuts were slow but meticulous. Making sure that every single piece of onion was exactly the same size. More precise than Alastor needed, but he wasn’t about to complain.
One onion down, Lucifer started to get the sniffles.
Then on the second onion, that was when the tears began to form. Alastor watched from beside him out of the corner of his eye, as heat began to build up in his blood. It wasn’t as visceral this time, allowing him to newly feel the coil of pleasure that came from the sight of those bright crystal jewels. Oh he was enjoying this then. Schadenfreude it was.
The feeling only grew as Alastor watched hungrily as the tears and hiccups only built up through all the chopping. Lucifer had to pause for breaks, mopping his cheeks and blowing his nose with a pink handkerchief. Until finally, a bowl of perfectly diced onions sat in pungent glory on the counter. Lucifer was a mess of tear stains and sloppy cheeks and Alastor couldn’t have been happier. “There! If you were planning to blind me, then mission succeeded,” he muttered, still attempting to wipe his puffy teary eyes with his wrist.
The deer demon didn’t even look at the onions before saying, “Excellent job, Morningstar. Your work is meticulous. You have far exceeded my expectations.” Pandering to the king’s ego, but well. He wanted him to do this again. The words worked as Lucifer’s cheeks lit up rather prettily.
“Oh. W-well. Of course it is,” Lucifer replied haughtily. “I’m the Big Boss of Hell, after all.”
“Of course,” Alastor indulged him. “Now, why don’t you sit and I’ll make you some chamomile tea and you can watch me while I make the rest of this, hmm?”
The king seemed to flounder again, caught off guard by the change in attitude. “Oh- ah. Okay...” Alastor smiled and patted him on the head. He prepared some tea in a delicate cup to bring to the center table. Lucifer’s cheeks were still blotchy, remnants of tears beaded up in the corners.
Alastor whipped out a red handkerchief, reaching out to lightly wipe away the tear trails. Lucifer only flushed more at this. “Wha- hey! Stop that! I’m not a child!”
“Hush,” he replied, tone brooking no argument. Seeing the king so flustered was a treat in itself as he mopped up the tears. He briefly cupped Lucifer’s face through the thin cloth, thumb gently dabbing. The king’s eyes widened and they both briefly stared at each other. That delicious heat, more mild now, seemed to only flourish at the heat of the king’s skin under his fingers. Then his shadow imp cheeped from the stove, catching their attention, as the roux was finally ready. Alastor carefully wrapped the handkerchief back up into his inner pocket and decided to attend to the rest of the meal.
That evening, after dinner, he found himself in his radio tower studying the handkerchief he’d saved. It still smelled faintly of him and the slightly salty scent of tears. A little rush of guilty pleasure came to him as he pressed his nose into the cloth, drinking in the near taste. He felt... oddly restless. Yet all he knew after this was that he needed to see the King of Hell in tears again.
~o~
This became somewhat of a pattern.
Anytime Alastor cooked, Lucifer would swing by under the premise of watching for suspicious substances. Which is when the deer demon would put him to work, heaping loads of praise on the king’s onion chopping skills. And he would watch in hungry pleasure as that proud face contorted into fits of tears, so sloppy and messy that he always needed to personally clean up the flustered king’s eyes and cheeks. Then Lucifer would drink some tea and watch him cook.
Everything he made had onions in it now. Thankfully, this wasn’t exactly a difficult thing to do. However, Husk did give him an odd look when he made french onion soup that one time. Perhaps a little too on the nose.
Although through this ritual of theirs the animosity between them slowly began to subside, he was always very aware of Lucifer’s eyes on him as he went through the preparations. Studying him as if he were planning something nefarious.
Then one night, he decided on seafood etouffee and dropped a single Carolina reaper pepper into the mix. Lucifer scoffed at his restraint, apparently deciding he wasn’t quite done being an ass. “Wait, only one chili pepper? I didn’t think you had such delicate taste buds.”
Alastor stared back at him over his shoulder. The Carolina reaper was the spiciest pepper in the world. If he put one more reaper in then the entire dish would be inedible. Then that was when brilliance struck again. “Do you like spicy foods?” he asked lightly.
“Oh, I can handle the heat,” the king smirked smugly.
Alastor smiled. He would see about that. “Very well,” he replied, then pulled out five more reapers to toss into the pot. He, of course, did not let them touch the sauce and ruin all his hard work, but opened a small pocket of shadow for them all to drop into. He just needed the illusion. Ignoring the way his shadow began to double over in pain, fire blazing from its mouth, he picked up the pot with a smile and brought it to the kitchen table. “Now, why don’t you go call the others and I’ll set the table, hm?”
Lucifer let out a put upon sigh, but heaved himself up from the table to head out into the hallway. Apparently trusting him enough now that he wouldn’t put anything strange in cooked food. The sucker.
Alastor moved quickly, letting his small shades take care of placing the rest of the settings as his tentacles brought over the rice. However, he took special care with Lucifer’s set. He pulled on a glove and took out one of the reapers. Then crushed it in his claws to get the juices flowing. He smeared the chili’s oil all over Lucifer’s bowl, utensils, and the rim of his glass. Mentally cackling in delight, he tossed the evidence and sat innocently in his chair while everyone arrived.
“Oh, this smells delicious as always!” Charlie praised as the small group entered the kitchen. She had been particularly complimentary lately. Likely because he and Lucifer were ‘getting along’. Meanwhile, the haughty little king scooped himself up a big bowl of etouffee with hardly any rice, giving the Radio Demon a smug look as he took his first bite.
The look that came over the monarch’s face was magical.
Lucifer’s eyes popped out, his entire face going golden as hot blood rushed to his face as the reaper oil coated his mouth. Where it would stay for hours. Alastor smirked at him, taking a delicate bite of his food. “Morningstar, are you alright? Is it too spicy for you?” he asked lightly.
Beside them at the table, Charlie turned a little red herself as she ate. “Oh man, it does have a kick. Not as bad as your jambalaya though. Dad, what do you think?”
Lucifer stifled a cough. A small bout of flame escaped his lips as he tried to talk, then managed to stifle it. “N-no, tastes great,” he croaked.
“Oh really? You look a bit flushed. Perhaps you got a pepper in your bowl,” Alastor teased him. He let a tentacle with a spoon reach across the table, taking from the bowl (and careful not to scrape against the bottom). Taking a bite, he savored both the taste and a prank well played. “Hmm, tastes about the same to me.” Which backed the devil into a corner. He had no choice but to continue.
Looking as though he were in pain, Lucifer forced himself to continue, eating with his tainted utensils and dishes, until he only got more and more heated. And then-
Tears of pain actually filled his eyes. Just as Alastor hoped. The deer demon sucked in a sharp breath, delighting in the fact that he managed to make the King of Hell cry twice in one night. His smile grew as Charlie began to fret over her father, the heat that had nothing to do with the spicy food washing through him.
“Dad, you don’t look okay. Maybe you want some ice cream?” Charlie fussed over the king as he began to devolve into a tearful sniffling mess.
“No, no, I’m fine! I just need water,” Lucifer choked, only prolonging his own suffering.
Alastor was so fully enveloped in the sight and his own coiling pleasure, he didn’t even notice the strange stare that Husker sent his way.
~o~
Alas, spicy food was not exactly a sustainable way to elicit tears. The more one ate, the more one built up a tolerance. Besides, he couldn’t make spicy food all the time. Lucifer would see through his game too quickly. So it behooved the Radio Demon to find new ways to make the king suffer.
Irony of ironies, it turned out to be movie night.
As a rule, Alastor never participated. He was perfectly content to stay in his tower or in the library as the masses gorged themselves on that mind-rotting fluff. Then one night, his walk from the library to his tower just happened to coincide with the group as they exited the new theater.
He heard some sniffling, which immediately intrigued him, so he stepped into the shadows as he surveyed the group. To his profound disappointment, it was Charlie in tears and not her father. Vaggie comforted her with an adoring smile, whilst the princess apologized, “Oh, I’m sorry. I get all teared up at romantic movies.”
“Oh, that’s okay, honey. Just means you have a heart,” Lucifer cajoled his daughter, vexingly dry-eyed.
“Besides, you don’t blubber as much as Luci when he gets going!” Angel teased mercilessly, sending the king a look. Lucifer flushed with embarrassment.
“Look, you can’t blame me for that. You get a drama with good music and humans dying in heroic ways or for a cause, of course I’m going to get emotional,” the devil said sourly. “I used to hate all those, but I guess my way of thinking has turned around lately,” he added with a shy smile to his daughter.
“Aww, thanks Dad,” Charlie smiled, giving the king a hug.
It was all so sentimental that Alastor nearly gagged. However, it did give him an idea as he silently slipped away to his tower.
The next evening, he decided to pay Husker a visit at the bar. “So, Husker,” he crooned as the sphinx gave him a hilariously suspicious look, “Would you happen to know what kind of *shudder* films Morningstar enjoys?”
Husk merely stared at him. Then slowly put down the glass he’d been cleaning. “Boss, I’m going to only say this once. I want absolutely no part of this weird kink you have with the king.”
At first, the words didn’t make any sense at all. Then Alastor’s eyes widened in outrage. “Kink? What are you- I have no such thing with him!”
“Uh huh,” Husk replied, the two syllables dripping with skepticism.
Deciding he was absolutely not going to take such blatant disrespect from his pet, he leaned in close and pulled taut on the chain between them, forcing Husk to buckle down against the counter. “Let you forget, when I say jump, you say...”
Husk swallowed, all signs of disgruntled disobedience vanished, “How high.”
Alastor continued, “And when I tell you that on your turns for movie night that you are only going to pick films that will make Morningstar an emotional wreck, you say...”
“Yessir.” Came the quiet response.
“Good,” the Radio Demon purred, letting his pet go. Then he added with a smile as he slipped away, “Good talk, as always.”
Husk delivered on his edict immediately. On his turn, Alastor loitered outside of the theater, torn between entering for once or sticking to his principles. The conflict only grew worse as the soundtrack began to swell and he could almost feel the king inside becoming powerless to it. Oh, but what did his face look like right now? Was he already crying? Or maybe his tender heart had rent asunder, breaking to pieces as he hiccuped softly. That was almost better, to watch as the tears welled, trying so hard to keep himself composed and failing, utterly overwrought.
Alastor only just managed to look nonchalant when the doors to the theater opened, as if it were a happy coincidence that he was right there as they left. “Oh, hi Alastor! Having a good night?” Charlie said in a friendly manner as Husker shot him a positively dark look.
“Very,” the deer demon replied, eyes only on Lucifer. As promised, he was all puffed up from crying, tears still streaming down his cheeks. Lucifer gave him a nearly sulky glare as he tried to wipe up the mess on his tear stained cuffs. Unfortunately, seeing the remnants now didn’t quite hit the same as his imaginings. Yet, he swooped down all the same and pulled out his much used handkerchief, wiping up the tears.
“Hey, hey stop!” the king cried, particularly more forceful than he was after his onion chopping. Perhaps because he had an audience. Ah, public humiliation. How delicious.
Alastor tsked softly, still fussing over him. “But you’re such a mess. We can’t have anyone see our precious king like this.”
“Oh, he’s fine. It’s just us,” Charlie said, a little oblivious. Until Vaggie put a hand over her forearm. They exchanged a silent communication just between their eyes. “Well~ Vaggie and I are going to bed. Night!” Charlie said, a little abruptly. Before anyone could put two words in, they made themselves scarce.
“Yeah, bye,” was all Husk said, not even bothering with an excuse as he took Angel’s arm and booked it out of there. Leaving just Alastor and Lucifer standing awkwardly in the hall.
Now alone, Lucifer put up no fight to the deer demon’s ministrations. Only vaguely embarrassed to be treated in such a manner, his cheeks still flushed with heat when Alastor had him all cleaned up. “There we are, Morningstar. All better.”
“Lucifer.”
Alastor blinked. “Pardon?”
The king looked askance, unable to meet his eye. “Just call me Lucifer.”
...Oh. Oh that was... an odd thump his heart made. Alastor pushed it aside, deciding it had to be another fluke symptom of schadenfreude. He had clearly worn the monarch down enough that resistance was futile. Yes, that was it.
“Then... Lucifer,” he spoke, testing the name out. It sounded right. “Have a good night.”
“Night,” the king replied quietly, simply watching as Alastor took off for his tower. That evening, the deer demon felt unreasonably warm as he pressed his nose into the soft handkerchief, smelling the light scent of saline and apples.
~o~
Alastor would have been happy to let this cycle continue indefinitely. Between romantic classics in the parlor, the movies, the cooking, the occasional spicy prank, he was quite content with all the instances he got to see Lucifer’s consistent emotional and physical suffering. So what if some lines started to get blurred? That they barely ever fought anymore? It was what Charlie wanted, wasn’t it? Alastor got exactly what he needed, no more and no less. To see those pretty tears on a regular basis, to sink into the pleasurable heat the sight of them induced. To spend his evenings alone and reminiscing in sweet privacy.
Then one day it all came crashing down.
It was the night he was making dinner. He thought he’d try his hand at curry. He picked up the recipe from some sinner who begged him not to eviscerate him. Thattukada Ulli curry, or onion curry, something like that. He was trying to decide if he ought to make flatbread or rice, when he heard the kitchen door swing open. “Onions are there, Lucifer,” he said without looking up, gesturing to the chopping board with a knife.
...Then he heard the sniffle.
Alastor froze. Then turned around. The king was a wreck, worse than the time he got reaper oil in the eye. Worse than that three hour long film where nearly all the actors died, save for one. His eyes were filled with tears, all of them free flowing down his cheeks like a faucet. His cheeks were splotchy, eyes puffy, snot running down his face. “S-sorry, I don’t... I’m not up for...”
The deer demon dropped everything and appeared in front of him, grasping him hard by the shoulders as he peered into those liquid gold and ruby eyes. They looked so dull and in pain. “What happened?” he demanded, utterly unprepared for the different kind of heat that seared through him.
“Oh I... I just, got a letter from Heaven,” the king replied quietly. “It wasn’t... It was just Michael being Michael. That’s all.”
Michael. As in the Michael.
Who apparently had caused such emotional damage in but a few words that Lucifer would come seeking solace from him, his arch rival. Lucifer was in pain. In turmoil. Stifling bawls that rendered him into a mewling mess. So many tears not of Alastor’s own making. It was...
It was...
Unacceptable.
Pure rage filled the Radio Demon, his eyes spinning into dials as his claws threatened to sink into the king’s very flesh. “Wait here,” he commanded, his voice screeching with feedback as the air around him began to fritz, popping like overheated wires. Before he fully knew what he was doing, he stormed from the hotel and out into the streets, heading straight for the Embassy. He vaguely heard the king call him from behind, but his head was so full of static he could barely think.
When he got to the doors, he simply kicked them open. He looked around and found no one in the cold white and golden halls. Only a roll of parchment and a pen sitting on top of a desk. He snatched the pen and wrote on the paper: MICHAEL FUCKING NOW
That apparently got Heaven’s attention as the parchment rolled itself up and then abruptly burst into flames. Alastor was almost sure that any chance of exacting vengeance had gone with it up in a puff of smoke.
Then scorching light beamed from above, the air thundering as a holy host announced the arrival of the highest ranked archangel in Heaven. A robed figure, six pure white rings spread out, inflamed in a fiery halo, descended down crystal stairways, a booming voice making his ears bleed as it seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Who dares call me like some common streetwalker? the voice echoed, making Alastor’s very bones tremble as he was pressed down. However, he forced himself to stand and smiled viciously at the archangel through teeth that bled black.
He could have been witty, beguiling, charismatic. Used this rare opportunity to speak to the most powerful seraphim in Heaven.
Instead... Alastor punched him.
Barely grazed, Michael was stunned stupid, so thoroughly shocked that his fiery halo temporarily winked out and the deer demon saw a face that could have been identical to the devil’s. Then they both heard a gasp and Alastor turned around to see Lucifer standing at the entrance to the Embassy, a hand over his mouth.
The aura of fire returned, blazing with such intensity Alastor couldn’t look up without being blinded. “ You dare?! Are you asking for a smiting?! ” Michael screeched, not quite at the same booming quality as before as he went near apoplectic.
However, before any sort of smiting was to be had, Lucifer appeared in front of Alastor like a protective shield. “Woah! Hold your horses! No smiting today! C’mon everybody, let’s all take a breath.” The fire only turned hotter, a different kind of heat from Hell. An almost cleansing kind.
“Also...” Lucifer added, straightening up as he raised his chin, “you 100% deserved to get suckerpunched, you fucking asshole.”
And he followed up with a punch of his own. This one had considerably more strength, sending Michael to one knee with a pained grunt. Lucifer immediately grabbed Alastor by the waist and stuck his tongue out at his angelic sibling. Before hauling both of them quickly through a portal and out of immediate danger.
Straight back to the kitchen where this whole mess started.
Lucifer stared at his hand like he barely recognized it. Then he looked to Alastor, who had fallen into a chair to physically recover from the unrestrained holy power that had threatened to crush him. “I can’t believe you punched him,” Lucifer said, almost dazed. Then he began to giggle, the very opposite of tears. Then laugh so uproariously, Alastor had to ask:
“What’s so funny?”
The king wheezed, pointing at him. “I can’t- I can’t believe you punched Michael- wearing- wearing that!”
Which was when the Radio Demon realized he was still wearing his apron. Which proudly stated DON’T KISS THE COOK in big bold lettering. Alastor went pale as Lucifer only laughed harder, collapsing into a chair to pound on the table.
Which was when the Radio Demon realized the other greatly disturbing thing about this whole mess. He had been upset when Lucifer was in distress. Enough to do something as heinously stupid as nearly getting himself smited. That wasn’t... How could it be schadenfreude if he wasn’t taking pleasure in Lucifer’s pain?
And if it wasn’t that... then what the Hell was this?
Alastor could barely think for how loudly Lucifer was braying with laughter. In fact, his laughing was now so out of control, he had fallen to the ground and could hardly breathe. Tears sprung from his eyes as he wheezed, rolling down his cheeks in silvery crystal globs. That all too familiar pleasurable heat seared through him, so disorienting now with this new facet of crying. Tears of joy.
The deer demon didn’t know what to do. He simply slunk down onto the ground, feeling like his world had bottomed out.
Eventually, the king got himself back under control. Panting for breath, he smiled over at the Radio Demon. “Well?” he said. “What are you waiting for?”
“What?” Alastor blinked.
Lucifer gestured to his sopping wet cheeks. “Kind of surprised you’re not all over me.”
A rush of embarrassment surged through the Radio Demon. “You knew?”
“...I mean, you made it kind of obvious,” the devil replied with a raised eyebrow. Pushing himself up to a sit, he scooted over to where Alastor had collapsed onto the ground. Still grinning, he picked up Alastor’s hand cupping it to his wet skin barehanded. A tremble went through the deer demon, feeling the tear trails firsthand for the first time. “Y’know, there’s a lot more painful ways to make someone cry than getting them to listen to romantic music.”
“That- I was- It was effective!” Alastor protested.
“Yeah, course it was,” Lucifer smiled, nuzzling his moistened cheek against Alastor’s hand. His teary eyes seemed to glow with something Alastor didn’t recognize. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. You can do whatever you like with my tears.”
That was... quite a promise. That coil of pleasure pulsed within him, awakening something dark and hungry. Tentatively, he leaned forward and gently nibbled against the wet saline skin with his sharp teeth. Then his tongue lapped at the salty trail up to Lucifer’s eyelid and he let out a soft moan of need. As promised, Lucifer just let him do as he liked, letting him taste his tears as though they were an aphrodisiac. Their bodies pressed into each other, groping hands fueling their urgency.
Then suddenly, the door to the kitchen opened. Both of them froze. Practically underneath the table, they saw Charlie’s legs. Thankfully, they were at such an angle that they were hidden from view. “Hm, guess they’re not here,” she muttered to herself, before leaving the room. Both of them let out a breath of relief as they were left on their own.
“...I suppose I should actually start cooking,” Alastor said reluctantly after a pause.
“I’ll help,” Lucifer said, popping up to his feet. Going straight for the onions. And the promise of something more. Which made the Radio Demon all that much more eager to get started, allowing himself to begin imagining future encounters.
After a companionable silence, one onion down with eyes just beginning to tear, the king said, “Oh by the way...”
“Hm?” Alastor hummed, hungrily watching his face as the little crystals began to well.
“If you ever put Carolina reaper oil on my utensils again, I’m going to kiss you.”
“...Understood.”