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Chapter 1 - Lucifer
“Who wants spaghetti? I made it by request, so you better eat it, Your Majesty.”
Lucifer ignored Charlie’s laugh as he leaned forward and eagerly served himself from the steaming plate Angel set on the table in front of them.
“Angel, since when can you make food?” Vaggi asked.
“I’m Italian, Toots. Food is kind of our whole shtick. Especially pasta.” His gold tooth flashed as he grinned at her.
For several minutes, the only sounds were the clinking of cutlery, chewing, and ‘pass the parmesan, please’ until the silence was broken by the doors to the dining hall slamming open.
Alastor stormed past all of them and into the kitchen, his permanently plastered smile strained. Lucifer heard mugs clinking, then a curse and a loud crash.
He got up and followed Alastor into the kitchen. “Al?” His voice was soft. The deer turned, and Lucifer saw the tension in his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around his middle.
“Sorry.” He whispered, static crackling.
Lucifer smiled softly. “It’s alright. You didn’t mean to. Let me clean this up.” He snapped his fingers, and the shattered pieces of the rust-colored mug disappeared.
He noted Alastor’s shaking hands. Something was very wrong. Alastor didn’t slip up like this - and certainly didn’t apologize for it - unless his thoughts and emotions were overpowering his will to appear indifferent.
The King of Hell reached up, brushing a lock of violently red hair out of the sinner’s eye before turning to open the cabinet for two new mugs. “What is it?”
When Alastor spoke, the static was layered so thick Lucifer could barely understand him. “He was trying to get to her. He was going to try and find her like he has any right to even look at her after what he did-”
“Al.” Lucifer interrupted his panicked words, knowing who he was talking about. “He can’t get to her. Ever again. He’s in Hell, she’s in Heaven. He’ll never find her.” He poured water into the boiler and opened the tea cabinet.
“. . . I know.” Alastor’s voice got small, and his strained smile finally dropped. Lucifer knew he was the only one who ever saw him like this, and he loved that Alastor trusted him that much.
“Mint, Ginger, Chai, or Chamomile?” He asked. Alastor shifted, biting his lip.
“The . . . Chamomile, please.” Lucifer put the Chai and Ginger back and placed the other two on the counter.
He turned, and held his arms out to Alastor. The radio demon pulled Lucifer close, burying his face in the king’s hair, and wrapping his arms around his waist.
Lucifer folded into Alastor’s embrace, pressing his ear to his chest and listening to the soft, steady beat of his heart. “I love you, Al. And I promise that if he ever finds a way into Heaven, I’ll go up there and kill him myself.”
It was an empty promise. He couldn’t hurt sinners. But he could tell it made Alastor feel better anyway.
The boiler pinged, and Alastor released him, wrapping his arms back around himself. Lucifer poured the steaming water into the two mugs and put the tea bags in - Mint for him, Chamomile for Alastor.
“Let’s go upstairs.” Lucifer said with a smile, handing Alastor the mug and tangling his fingers with Alastor’s free hand. He concentrated, and they disappeared in a shower of red sparks, reappearing in their room.
Lucifer had moved into the hotel after he’d started dating Alastor, and now they shared a room, with an adjoining workshop for Lucifer’s ducks - obviously.
Lucifer gently tugged Alastor over to one of the (extremely) plushy armchairs and gestured for him to sit down. He did, and Lucifer squeezed himself in and curled into his side, utilizing his smaller size.
He rested his head on Alastor’s shoulder and cupped his tea in both hands, using his overly large sleeves as protection from the heat. Alastor looked down at him, and Lucifer grinned. “Hi.” He whispered.
Alastor leaned down and kissed him.
It wasn’t heated. It wasn’t desperate. It was simply their lips pressing together as Alastor twirled a lock of Lucifer’s hair around his finger.
They both hated French kissing, and thought it was rather repulsive. And Lucifer didn’t think he could handle anything more than kissing after what she did. Alastor being asexual fit him perfectly.
They pulled apart, and Lucifer grinned. He loved this soft, trusting side of Alastor that no one else ever saw.
For a while, they just sat there, drinking their tea and watching over Hell through the large, ornate window. It . . . wasn’t the greatest view. But after living there for centuries, he’d grown to think of it as home.
After they’d finished their tea, Lucifer reluctantly untangled himself and carried the mugs to the table beside the door, so he’d see them in the morning and remember to bring them downstairs.
He and Alastor went into their separate bathrooms to get ready for bed. Lucifer slipped on his favorite baby blue fluffy duck-patterned pajama pants, matching knitted sweater, and his duck slippers.
He made his way back into their room pretending he didn’t look totally ridiculous and ignoring the way Alastor giggled - actually giggled, what the fuck - at his outfit.
He wrapped himself in his side of the warm quilt and rested his head on Alastor’s shoulder, throwing an arm over his stomach.
“I love you.” He whispered.
Alastor simply pulled him closer, and he drifted off to sleep.