Chapter Text
If there was one word Lucifer never thought he’d use to describe Alastor, it was punctual. He didn’t have what anyone could call a routine, no one sane, anyway. Deer boy wandered downstairs anywhere from dawn to noon for his first cup of rancid coffee, he showed up at staff meetings midway through or just before they ended or was somehow in the room before the door was opened. His radio show came on random days and ran anywhere from two minutes to ten hours. Alastor’s presence could be assumed to be everywhere and nowhere, with one single exception.
Every night right after dusk, he came out on the rooftop to look out over the city. He’d bring a glass with gently clinking ice cubes and stand there sipping it. Surveying his domain, that was what it looked like, except it wasn’t his, it was Lucifer’s and it wasn’t a domain, it was a prison, and they were all trapped in here together.
But it was his single moment of consistency, that nighttime drink. Once he’d looked his fill, he and his glass would head back to his room and tomorrow would be a repeat of random appearances right up until nightfall.
Lucifer knew that. What he didn’t know was when he got into the habit of watching him.
It started as a suspicion. He didn’t trust this asshole, couldn’t understand why Charlie let him come back to the hotel. Surely there had to be some exception to the whole ‘redemption is possible for everyone’ rule. An exception aside from Lucifer himself. If so, then Alastor was definitely in the running for the position and Lucifer decided that keeping a close eye on him was a necessity, one that would be easier if the bastard ever showed up when he was supposed to and when Lucifer saw this guaranteed opportunity to watch him, he took it with both grabby hands.
The important part was making sure Alastor never saw him, that would ruin his perfect plan right out of the gate. That’s where the whole angelic powers thing came in; Lucifer had a whole sight beyond sight gig going, he could peer out with inter-dimensional vision without ever leaving his bedroom, hey, use the perks you have. He’d sit and watch Alastor while he had his nightly drink and looming session, and sure, he wasn’t exactly learning anything new about the asshole but at least he was keeping an eye, many of them, on him. His own nightly ritual of Alastor watching.
It got to the point that it was almost soothing, in a weird way. Lucifer found himself getting antsy if something held him up from going to his room at night, fidgeting impatiently as whoever it was droned on about therapy sessions and chore lists, and whatever else hotel running business was out there. Even Charlie would get a distracted hug and forehead kiss before he dashed away, throwing himself through a portal to his room to get there in time before the outer door from Alastor’s room opened and he came out, glass in hand. They’d sit together, Lucifer watching, Alastor silent and unknowing, until his drink was finished and Lucifer could relax for the night.
He was so accustomed to it by now that tonight he jumped when the door slammed open hard enough to bang into the wall, Alastor storming out, glass in one hand and bottle in the other as he went to the wall.
What was going on? Lucifer opened a few more eyes in several dimensions, trying unobtrusively to get a closer view. What he saw perturbed him and he wasn’t sure why. Alastor had his back to the city, leaning against the wall rather than looking over it. He threw back the whiskey in the glass and poured another, missing the glass and slopping it over his fingers. He threw the glass down impatiently, glimmering shards of crystal scattering over the rooftop and drank directly from the bottle, throat working as he gulped it down.
What was wrong, what could have ruined his normal evening ritual? Lucifer didn’t know and he couldn’t ask, he could only watch as Alastor finished the bottle and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He half-expected the bottle to join the glass and if it was still there in the morning, he’d clean it up even though he wouldn’t be able to mock Alastor about it without revealing his own secret, he wasn’t sloppy with them, thank you.
Except he didn’t. Alastor stood there with the empty bottle in his hand, his back to the city and his smile reduced to clenched teeth. This was so far out of the normal routine Lucifer didn’t know where this was going to go and he couldn’t have begun to guess what would happen.
Not in a thousand years watching from a thousand dimensions would he ever have expected to see Alastor start to one-handedly work open his belt. After the first shock, he assumed the guy was about to take a leak, ew, that was one thing Lucifer didn’t get added to his agenda when he took on a physical body. Pissing off the roof, or worse, on it, was about the manners Lucifer expected from Alastor.
Except he didn’t. The fly of his pants was unbuttoned, the waistband sagging down to expose a thin line of bare skin between his pants and his shirt, but his hand remained firmly inside and instead his forearm began to move in a brisk rhythm.
This… this was…
Lucifer should not be watching this.
What he should do was close all of his eyes and call it a night. Maybe get drink of his own, relax, hey, alcohol might not work on him but he could appreciate a nice sherry.
He should do that, at once, immediately, even before that.
He should not be sitting here, frozen, watching the way Alastor’s face contorted as he jerked off. Eyes tightly closed, lower lip caught between his teeth. Lucifer couldn’t hear anything, all he could do was see and the sight left his mouth dry from breathing too fast. As many times as Lucifer watched Alastor out here on the rooftop, somehow he’d never noticed how pretty he was. Those soft, tufted ears were perked high, his shoulders rising as he breathed heavily, feet spread as he braced against the wall and stroked what Lucifer couldn’t see.
What would his cock look like? Long and slender, like the man himself, or plump and stout, overfilling his grip. The head would be shiny wet by now, his hand slick with it and if Lucifer were there he’d hear the obscene sound of slippery skin moving against slippery skin in a rhythmic dissonance. Was he panting? Was Alastor making little noises him, tiny whimpers, impatient grunts, was he eager for his climax or was this simply a chore, something he was trying to get over with before he went inside.
There was no way to know, all Lucifer could do was watch him. His pace increased, his arm was pumping furiously and one of Lucifer’s hands twitched from where it was resting in his knee in the direction of his cock where it was pressing painfully hard against the fly of his pants. He clenched his hand into a fist, forcing it to be still. This was enough, more than, too much, he wasn’t going to compound his sin with another.
All too soon, Alastor tipped his head back, the wings of his hair falling to expose the line of his throat as he visibly shuddered. Mouth open, sweat rolling down his face in a mockery of tears, so pretty as he came in a shivery spasm. His knees almost buckled and he managed to follow the wall down in a controlled slide instead, legs sprawled lewdly apart in something so close to an invitation that Lucifer’s claws drove through his pant legs to leave tiny, stinging cuts on his thighs.
He sat there, an empty bottle still in one hand and the other pulling out of his pants to rest on his knee, the palm shiny-wet. After a moment Alastor’s eyes lazily opened, lashes dipping low. His mouth began to move, slowly and deliberately and to his horror, Lucifer could understand the words he was mouthing.
Enjoying the view?
He slammed all his eyes shut, even the ones on his face, closing himself off from everything. Lucifer curled up in a ball on his bed, arms wrapped tight around his knees as he ignored the throbbing ache in his crotch. He lay there in the sightless dark and told himself lies; that this was done, his days of spying were at an end. He told himself he wouldn’t be back again, maybe to watch, maybe to take in the view in person, he didn’t know.
He’d have to see tomorrow.
-finis