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"Y'know," Cherri mused, popping her bubble gum, "I always thought the Devil would be more…sexy." She was sprawled upside-down over the couch beside Angel, visiting the hotel in between self-made catastrophes. Angel couldn't be more grateful that she was here to spice the place up. And Pentious always got so flustered whenever he appeared in the lobby to find her draped over a sofa or lounging by the booze; it was hilarious. Right now, though, the snake was wrapped up in a one-sided debate with Husk about how to make a "proper" Molotov cocktail, so Angel had Cherri all to himself.
He looked up from his phone at the blond across the room. The Devil himself was rolling the sleeves of his baggy pink sweater up to his elbows, forked tongue poking between his lips in determination. He'd become a familiar sight around the hotel over the past few weeks; at the end of his first visit, Charlie had made some blithe comment that he could "come over whenever," and he’d apparently taken that to heart. Since then, barely a morning had gone by without a Short King sighting. Angel couldn't blame Cherri for her remarks, of course; she hadn't been there for Lucifer's first appearance in the hotel. As fancily as the guy had been dressed at first, his wardrobe had gotten a lot more casual since then.
Case in point, the fluffy sweater.
Lucifer's attention was currently absorbed in an attempted pig-training session, which did not seem to be going well. Angel appreciated his willingness to babysit Fat Nuggets on account of him being the greatest and cutest little piggy in all of Hell, but he couldn't deny his pet wasn't the most well-behaved critter. "Sit!" the king commanded, pointing down at the disinterested pig. The sweater sleeve flopped rebelliously over his hand, as stubborn in its refusal to stay above his elbows as Nugs was to move at all. Lucifer sighed, then gave up and dropped to a crouch to start petting the little cutie, who snuffled into his hand.
Angel blinked, taking a closer look. It was an innocent, precious scene — so why did Lucifer's drop briefly remind him of the choreography Candi Cumdump was showing him at Val's studio last week? And how was he staying up so steadily in that crouch on such tiny heels, especially with the way Fat Nuggets was pushing him? Angel knew from experience that his little pig was stronger than he looked; angelic strength or not, it took skill to stay put in heels like that.
As Angel pondered what this could possibly mean, Cherri continued, "I mean, don't get me wrong, he's fuckin' adorable; it's just…that, right? He's cute, not hot."
Angel pursed his lips, eyeing the graceful way Lucifer reached sideways to pick up one of Nugs' toys, balance still perfect. "I'm not so sure," he said, narrowing his eyes. "I think…I think he might also be hot."
Cherri scoffed. "What, you think he's hidin' some sort of sexy beast in there? Really?" she asked, gesturing towards where Lucifer was now conjuring a series of silly hats for Fat Nuggets, grinning wider and wider with each one. Which…okay, fine, maybe Angel's instincts were off. He didn't know shit about angels; maybe the pure-angelic-power package just came with the side effect of making a person look like he could short out Pay-per-view without taking his top off.
He laughed. "Alright, yeah, fair. Ya really do just wanna eat him up!" he agreed, then yelped as a familiar figure took form from the shadows on the other side of him on the couch.
"Cannibalizing our dear monarch, you say?" Alastor grinned, and if it wasn't for the single drop of self-preservation Angel had to his name, he'd have flicked the Radio Demon right in the nose for startling him.
Instead, he sighed. "I swear, you got the most one-track mind in all of Hell, Smiles," he said, shaking his head.
"Hah! Coming from you? Pot, kettle, my good man!" Alastor cackled, slapping his knee as though that was a thing literally anyone did. "Much as I wish you'd taken a page out of my book in this regard, I know better than to think you'd gained any sort of taste. I know perfectly well your remark was coming from its usual place of sexual depravity!"
Cherri grinned. "Actually, no!" At the blink this got from Alastor, she continued, "We were just talkin' about how we kinda thought Lucifer'd be hotter, 'fore we met the guy. And, like, yeah, he's gorgeous, but he's not sexy, you know? He's just…cute."
Angel could never get a read on Alastor, but in this moment his inner conflict was written plainly in his eyes: if he stayed, he accepted the premise that Lucifer was cute. If he left, he missed out on the opportunity to join in on what was at least partially a gossipy bitchfest about the king.
Before Alastor could make his choice, Charlie burst into the room, Vaggie at her heels. "Great news!!" she squealed. Everyone paused the nothing-much they'd been up to, and Alastor took the opportunity to shadow away to lurk in the corner by the bar.
"What's going on, sweetie?" Lucifer asked, his hand pausing on Nugs' back as he turned his attention daughterward.
Charlie, who'd been vibrating in place since making her announcement, raised her hands and let sparkles fly from her fingertips in an impromptu indoor fireworks display. "Niffty finally finished cleaning that empty fourth-floor space!" she exclaimed.
The maid in question poked her head out of a nearby vent. "I joined a cage match with the biggest rat gang — I won though!" she grinned, and Angel knew better than to question any of that.
"That pigsty?" Husk replied, cocking an eyebrow. "…No offense," he added upon seeing the expression on Angel's face as he gestured towards Fat Nuggets. "But, uh, damn, must've been a big job," he offered. Angel quirked a grin.
"The real quessstion," Pentious mused, briefly ripping his eyes from Cherri's hair long enough to get with the program, "is what this new space will become!" He placed his hands on his hips, looking around as though he'd said something very impressive indeed. "I, for one, believe we could always use another laboratory!"
"Another one?" Vaggie shot back, brow raised incredulously. "Yeah, no, you've already got the basement space for your weird-ass experiments, we're not doing that."
"What do you expect from asking sinners what to do with the room?" Alastor cackled. "More space for sinning, of course! So much for redemption." Lucifer curled his lip, looking as though he would love to disagree but just couldn't.
As the others argued, a spark of…something fluttered in Angel's chest. He'd caught glimpses of the studio space while Niffty had been cleaning it. The tall ceilings, the high windows that let light in without being visible to the street…there was potential there. He artfully raised one hand. "Well, what about a studio where I can show off my special skills? An' maybe teach you all a trick or two," he winked salaciously.
"We are not turning the fourth floor into a sex dungeon," Vaggie replied flatly, rolling her eye and turning towards the vent. "Niffty, did you have any ideas?"
As Niffty waxed poetic about what sounded like a torture chamber for roaches, and Vaggie looked more and more like she regretted asking the maid's opinion, Angel felt the familiar curl of disgust in his stomach at his…fuck, what did Charlie call it? Self-sabotage? He actually wanted this, wanted that room to be a place he could pole dance without having to worry about Val showing up and deciding Angel's spread legs were an invitation. Right now, his only options for practice were the sex-stained studio at Vee Tower, with all the spotlights on him in all the wrong ways, or the pole he'd installed in the corner of his room at the hotel. Which was fine for basic strength training, but Angel had eight feet of sexiness to fling around, dammit, he needed space.
And because of his fat mouth, he wasn't gonna get it.
…Shit. He was gonna have to be sincere about this, wasn't he?
As the conversation meandered, Angel plotted, until his eyes drifted towards Charlie's whiteboard and he felt a wide grin spread across his face.
~
Some hours later, Angel knocked on the door to Charlie's and Vaggie's shared office, secret weapon tucked under his arm.
"Come in," Vaggie's tired voice answered. Damn, he'd been hoping for Charlie. This would be a harder sell, especially considering how he'd initially introduced the idea. Ah, well; nothing for it now. He opened the door and walked in, expression resolutely unsultry.
"Hi, Angel," Vaggie sighed, rubbing her brow. "Is this about that fourth floor space? You get why we're not turning that into a BDSM lounge or whatever, don't you?"
In lieu of an answer, Angel thrust his binder full of notes and plans at her.
"What is that," she asked, her hands automatically reaching out though her brow furrowed.
He grinned as he handed it over, amused. "Don't tell me you've never seen a binder before, toots, your girlfriend carries one with her like a teddy bear. Probably tucks it in at night, too!" he teased.
Vaggie, notably, ignored this accusation. Headcanon accepted. "So…um, what's in it?" she asked, visibly thrown off by his preparations.
"Take a look, babe; I didn't put all this effort in for you not to even crack it open!" he answered, taking a seat on the corner of her desk as she began her perusal.
As she chuckled at his cover page and set to reading, his hands itched to bring out his phone and start scrolling. But no, that would just make him look like he wasn't taking this seriously. Fuck, he hated waiting.
After another fucking aeon, Vaggie finally closed the binder, looking up at Angel as though for the first time. "You…really care about this," she marveled, and Angel couldn't help but puff out his already-impressive chest at the remark.
"An' like it says, I'd be happy to teach some classes on it, so it's not just the Angel Dust Practice Space or nothin'!" he said.
Vaggie shook her head disbelievingly, a small grin on her face. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but…I think we might actually have a pole dancing studio in our hotel soon." She closed the binder as Angel preened. "I'll run it by Charlie; I can't imagine her not being excited about this, though, not once she sees how you're offering lessons. And," she added consideringly, "they'd probably appeal to more folks down here than yoga or tai chi." She got up and headed towards the door, pausing on her way out. "And you were right, she's gonna LOVE the fact that you put together this whole binder to prove you care about this. I might watch out for flying-Charlie hug attacks if I were you — I'll do my best to keep her grounded," she joked.
Angel laughed. "Don't worry; I'm a big boy, I can take it!" he said, for once without innuendo. He followed her out the room, hope blooming in his chest.
~*~
As a rule, whenever Angel Dust was visibly excited about something, Alastor knew to make himself scarce. Anything that excited their resident actor often involved the promise of objects going where they shouldn't, and far too many bodily fluids of the non-visceral variety.
That said, the Radio Demon was curious about whatever could have inspired the recent spring in the porn star's step, especially considering Vaggie and Charlie seemed just as enthusiastic about whatever project the three of them had taken on. It evidently had something to do with the fourth floor space.
So when his lurking shadow overheard his own name being laughed aloud by a far-too-confident bartender during a conversation with Angel Dust, he was quick to eavesdrop.
"Even Alastor?" the cat chuckled, wiping a glass and shaking his head genially. "You're barking up the wrong tree if you think that asshole would ever get in on somethin' like this."
"Mmm, I dunno," Angel teased, leaning forward on the bar and stirring his martini with an extra hand. "How much you wanna bet I can get him to join, just one pole dancing lesson? What would you put on the line, Mister Gambler?” He grinned at the snort this elicited.
Ah, so that was the plan!
Alastor cocked his head, considering. While Angel Dust's profession, as a rule, ran counter to Alastor's own tastes, he'd spent long enough in Hell to have gained a healthy respect for the athleticism involved in the art of pole dancing. So long as the porn star had no intention of filming this, or of requiring any of the more provocative aspects of the craft…well. He would go quite a ways in the name of spite, particularly against Husker.
The bartender laughed with genuine mirth, a sound that set Alastor's teeth on edge. "I'd wear your clothes for a damn month if you could get that fucker to join a pole lesson of yours, takin' it seriously and everything. Nah, he'd be on the opposite side of the Pentagram the second you asked."
Angel snorted into one hand. "I'll take you up on that, don't think I wouldn't!"
Alastor's grin sharpened. Jackpot. He swirled himself away into shadows and reappeared on the barstool beside Angel, chin resting eagerly on his interlaced fingertips as he reveled in the startled squawks this elicited. "What a fascinating wager! Assuming you are a man of your word, Husker, I would be happy to resolve this little bet of yours!"
Numbers and statistics danced behind Husker's shrewd eyes as he visibly revisited their previous conversation. Alastor caught a brief glimpse of the true power of the Overlord he'd defeated, always present behind the boozy haze. Delightful. "And you'd actually go through with it?" the cat asked, after exchanging an inscrutable glance with Angel Dust.
"Why, of course!" Alastor grinned in the face of their joint disbelief. "So it's a deal, then?" he asked, extending a menacing hand.
To his surprise, Husker recovered quickly from his shock and smirked. "You know what, sure." Alastor's ambient shadows thickened, then faltered as his pet turned to face Angel, hand outstretched. Well, that was a lot less fun.
The bartender cleared his throat and addressed the spider. "I'll let you pick outfits for me outta your closet for one month, on the condition that Alastor attends and puts genuine effort into at least one of your pole dancing classes. If he don't do it, nothin' happens. Deal?"
Angel's mismatched eyes met Husker's as they exchanged a conspiratorial grin, as though this deal were nothing more serious than an inside joke. He reached his hand out and shook. "Deal," he agreed.
Alastor narrowed his eyes at the nauseating pair. "Very well," he snipped, disappearing into the shadows.
One thing was for sure: Husker would be eating his words when it came time for their resident porn star to dress him up like a doll.
~*~
"So, Big Daddy," Angel said, holding the bottom of a pole in place as Lucifer fixed it to the ceiling, wings beating steadily and forked tongue poking adorably out in concentration.
Lucifer wrinkled his lack-of-nose down at him, giving the exact vibe of a lapdog being offered the wrong brand of wet food. "Don't call me that," he said, giving the secured pole a firm shake before gliding down to Angel's side.
Angel chuckled. "Alright, fine, don't get yer panties in a twist." Before Lucifer could open his mouth to make some argument about his underwear or whatever, he barreled on, "Wanted to ask — would you ever wanna get up there yourself?"
"Huh?" Lucifer asked, blinking up at the ceiling he'd just left as though it would have any answers for him.
"On a pole, ya dork!" Angel laughed, swinging himself up and around on the newly-installed pole, then returning to his feet. Lucifer's cheeks bore a tinge of gold, and if Angel hadn't already had trouble reconciling this guy with The Original Temptation, The Devil Himself, he sure as hell would now.
"I mean…" Lucifer faltered, glancing across the room to where Charlie was trying to put a cabinet together with Vaggie, "I'm just not sure if it's really…my place? I guess?" He bit his lip nervously, and dammit, there he went again with the bizarrely sensual body language. That was the sort of lip bite Angel would practice in the mirror before photoshoots, even if the king's anxious eyes didn't match that vibe at all.
"You sure about that?" he asked, drawing Lucifer's panicked gaze back his way.
"Oh, uhh, I mean, I think Charlie's calling me!" he squawked, summoning a portal and stepping through it with that same baffling grace. It opened on the opposite side of the room, where Charlie eagerly started showing him her and Vaggie's mostly-completed cabinet.
"…The fuck?" Angel asked himself.
Across the room, Lucifer executed a perfect bend-and-snap to pick up a spare bolt. Angel narrowed his eyes. The guy might not show up to his classes, but he was onto him.
~
Angel puffed out his chest as his first-ever batch of students entered the room. As much as he'd hyped up his teaching abilities to get Vaggie to agree to make this place a pole studio, he honestly hadn't expected a full class.
Charlie and Vaggie entered first, holding hands. He was pretty sure they'd show up, especially after the amount of preparations for this space they'd made together, but there was still something surreal about seeing Charlie roll up in a sports bra and a pair of mini shorts, matching her girlfriend's color-coordinated workout set.
Cherri came next; Angel knew from the start that if a pole studio existed, she'd be there. They'd been practicing together for decades now, practically since she'd made her crash landing into Hell. "Ready to teach these dweebs?" she grinned, plopping her bag down by the pole nearest Angel's and chalking up her hands.
"You know it, baby!" he laughed as Pentious entered the room, clutching his arms self-consciously as he took his spot next to Cherri.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The unmistakable sound of High Heels That Mean Business echoed on the floor, accompanied by a high-pitched giggle. "Hi, Angel! I'm ready to bump and griiiiiind!" Niffty grinned sharply from about a foot higher up than her voice usually was (so, up to Angel's lower thigh).
Her boots looked like they were designed for a sinner with human-style feet, probably a size 7 or 8, and they would have gone up to midcalf on that theoretical human. On Niffty, of course, they went all the way up to her hips, and Angel had no idea how they were staying on long enough for her to strut like that.
As Niffty clomped across the room to her pole, Husk sidled into place at the back of the room, flashing Angel a sly thumbs-up. Angel wasn't even sure why he'd come — he was always happy to see the old cat, but being on this end of the pole wasn't exactly his scene — until their final student joined them in a swirl of shadows. Angel had to bite back a laugh; even if his and Husk's deal was stupid as shit, he couldn't believe they'd managed to trick Alastor into joining this class.
Angel caught the barkeep's eye, miming putting a bowtie on the suit they both knew he'd be dressing him in later. Husk rolled his eyes genially. The old cat may not care much about his appearance, but Angel had scowled when he'd found out about the way Alastor's deal prevented him from wearing proper outfits. With this new deal of theirs, Angel had free rein to dress his friend as swankily as he liked. After all, his closet was huge; Alastor might know about the crop tops and the booty shorts, but he didn't know about his collection of vintage Italian suits.
As everyone took their places, Angel clapped all three sets of hands, then reined in his extra pair and got down to business. "Alright, so Pentious, you're gonna hafta ditch the top," he said. "Your suit jacket don't work with the whole actually-grippin'-the-pole thing."
Face blazing red, Pentious proceeded to perform the most hideously awkward striptease known to man, unfastening his too-damn-complicated jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. Once he'd gotten down to the sleeveless undershirt, his hands faltered at the hem. Cherri took pity on him. "You're fine, no need to strip down all the way," she smirked as his face somehow went even redder.
Turning his attention towards the fully-suited Alastor, Angel said, "Same goes for you, Smiles. Iff'n you want more coverage, you'll hafta swap that out for somethin' skintight an' grippy."
Alastor's eyes narrowed. "And which of your precious pole-dancing laws would I be breaking if I were to refuse?" he replied.
"The laws of physics," Angel said drily. "Which, I mean, I get that those are kinda an afterthought in Hell, especially to Overlords, but they're still pretty damn important to pole dancin'. I guess you could just use your shadowy bullshit to hold you up there, but it ain't gonna count. An' you wanted this to count as you makin' an effort, right?" he asked sweetly, grinning at the way those red eyes flicked towards Husk.
With an annoyed blat of static, Alastor snapped his fingers, replacing his suit with a pair of grippy pole leggings and a black high-necked top. The sleeves reached down to mid-bicep, and Angel allowed himself one curious glance at the Radio Demon's heretofore-unseen elbows before returning his attention to the rest of the class.
Time to get this shit-show started.
~
Within five minutes, it was clear Angel had his work cut out for him. His heart went out to Charlie and the redemption exercises where it seemed like she was herding cats, because right now it felt like nobody was listening to a damn word he said.
…Actually, scratch that. Charlie had just kicked Sir Pentious in the head in an overly-enthusiastic spin, because apparently she hadn't heard his warnings against doing exactly that. Fuck it, sympathy rescinded.
From up on his own pole, he brought out his third set of arms just to pinch the bridge of his noseless nose. As he questioned his afterlife choices, Niffty's boots went flying overhead, one landing in a wastebasket across the room and the other hitting Husk on the shoulder. The barkeep scowled, then resumed his previous stance, standing motionlessly next to the pole and gripping it with all the enthusiasm of a subway commuter waiting for his next stop.
Meanwhile, Pentious was having his own set of issues.
"Alright, now spread ya legs a bit more, you'll need a bit of reach for this one!" Angel instructed the class, only for the snake to raise his hand, pointing down at his tail with an almost apologetic air.
Oh. Right.
Angel cast his mind back to the pole dancing studio at Vee Tower, trying to remember what poses his legless coworkers would use on the pole. Fuck, did any of them even work the pole, or did they all stick to floor work? He pursed his lips. "Um, everyone else, work on whatever exercises you want from the ones we've done!" he called to the group, dismounting his pole gracefully and walking over to Pentious. "So, uh, can ya get up there by wrappin' your tail around?" he asked, unsure.
Pentious reached up, skinny biceps straining, and wrapped his tail around the pole. It looked for a couple seconds like it might work — a glimmer of triumph shone in his eyes, until he fell with a startled squawk. He landed in a heap at the base of the pole, which now featured some sort of mucousy coating. Shit, Vaggie had mentioned Pentious was kinda slimy. Well, fuck.
Angel cast a helpless gaze Cherri's way, only to find her snickering into her hand. Pentious lifted his head up from his pile of self to hiss at her in outrage, but she rolled her eye and reached a hand out to help him up. "C'mere, I've got an idea," she said. He took her hand with the awestruck air of a damsel accepting a brave knight's favor, only to scowl when she added with a smirk, "You just looked too fuckin' pathetic, it was embarrassing!"
As Pentious grumbled and straightened his undershirt, Cherri glanced at Angel and nodded as though to say, 'I've got this.' And thank fuck for that, because Angel had no idea how he was gonna teach a slime-covered 12-foot-long snake with noodle arms to pole dance. The pair headed towards Cherri's claimed pole, dodging another of Charlie's flying kicks as they did.
"Oh, sorry!!" Charlie squealed, her eyes wide as her momentum hurtled her around the pole once more before landing with a stumble on her bare hooves.
"Ehhh, how's about we make this a static pole for now?" Angel said, kneeling and pulling an allen wrench out of his chest fluff to tighten the bolts. Hopefully this meant the second half of class would result in fewer casualties.
Charlie's lips pursed in a pout for a split second before she sighed. "I guess that makes sense," she said, eyes roving with mixed envy and lust towards her lover on the next pole over.
Vaggie really was a surprise; while Angel might have guessed that whatever warrior training she'd had would've given her enough strength to get up on the pole and manage a couple tricks, he'd never thought she would look so…natural up there. At this point she was as alert as ever, her eye having shot open the second Charlie squealed. She smiled softly down at her sheepish lover, one foot steadying herself on the pole while the other leg hooked around it, and she bent at the waist to kiss the princess on the forehead.
But Angel had seen her earlier, in the two damn seconds he'd had to teach the lesson before shoes and Charlies started flying everywhere, and she was transcendent. From the moment she climbed up there, she seemed to be in her own world. She'd almost seemed to hover weightlessly as her legs took her entire bodyweight, arms cradling the pole gently. She was a natural. It'd made Angel's heart tug in an unfamiliar direction, one where he was just…happy to see her enjoying this. Proud, almost, even if she was the one up there doing all the work.
As Vaggie borrowed the allen wrench and switched her pole from spin to static, grinning at a now-beaming Charlie, a sickening crack rang through the air, sending a shudder up Angel's spine. He inhaled slowly and counted to five, urging his fluff to lay flat after it puffed up in agitation over the sound that no body should make.
Crack.
Crikrikrikrikrikrik
"Would you STOP THAT!" Angel hissed, losing his battle against the breathing exercise and stomping towards the source of the noise.
Alastor grinned at him upside-down, both legs turned the wrong way round as he pretzeled himself into a ball at the top of the pole. "Why, whatever is the matter?" he asked, twisting his neck around with another nauseating pop until his head was right-side up, about a foot above Angel's.
"You're bein' fuckin' gross, is what!" he shot back. "You think this is gonna win you that bet? You're not doin' a damn thing I'd taught!"
Alastor rewound himself in the opposite direction, popping every joint in his spine and using his elbows in ways they were not meant to be used. Angel hid the reactive shudder that ran through him, knowing it would only encourage the bastard.
"Ah, my mistake," Alastor crooned, grinning wider. "I only meant to get creative with it! Is creativity not a redeemable virtue?" he asked, batting his eyes.
Angel raised a brow. "You're mixin' me up with Charlie, babes, I don't give a shit whether you get redeemed," he scowled. "An' I'd be surprised if you did."
Alastor huffed a short breath of air, the closest thing to a laugh he ever did when he wasn't hamming it up. "So, pray tell, what would you have me do?" he asked, effortlessly extricating one arm from his tangle of limbs to gesticulate. "Would you have me performing the same movements as dear Niffty over there?"
Angel glanced to the side, where Niffty was upside-down, humping the pole with all her miniature might. He blinked away the bizarre mental image of Alastor doing the same and answered, "Uh, no."
Alastor spread his hands in a well-there-you-have-it gesture, holding himself up with his legs.
Alright, so, fair. Clearly this wasn't a one-size-fits-all. Al was a weirdo, sure, but Hell was full of weirdos. He was participating, in his own way. It didn't look sexy at all, but then, that was never Alastor's thing, was it? Angel could afford to lean into it a little.
He took a deep breath and said, "…Alastor. Buddy. What are you goin' for here? Like, visually?"
This seemed to draw Alastor up short. "How do you mean?" he asked.
"Well…you like aesthetics. You like makin' a show of things. You even like dancin', so I know you know this looks bad," Angel said, gesturing to the mess of limbs that currently constituted the Radio Demon.
Alastor's eyes widened as though it had never occurred to him to actually try and look good while doing this. Who knows, maybe it hadn't. Either way, he was back to his normal smugness after a moment, detangling himself and landing bare-hooved on the floor beside the pole. "Oh, and I'm sure you would love the excuse to gawk at the Radio Demon in this skintight garb, flaunting himself for others' depraved enjoyment," he sneered.
Angel snorted. "Pole dancin' ain't all about gettin' your rocks off, you know."
Alastor remained unimpressed. “Oh, really?” he replied, expression flat.
"It's…how do I put this…" Angel gathered his thoughts for a moment. "It's like jazz." Alastor's ears perked up, and he continued, "Ya know how the best jazz always has those killer sax solos, an' the vocals where it sounds like the singer's never wanted ANYTHIN' more than bein' up there onstage, singin' their damn heart out?"
As he spoke, Alastor's head cocked to the side with keen interest. "I am…aware," he replied slowly, ears tilting in obvious interest.
Angel grinned. "That's sexy! — No, really!" he added, seeing the way Alastor's nose wrinkled. "Pole dance ain't about actual sex, any more'n a dirty sax solo is about actual sex. So like, plenty of folks get horny from 'em both, but ya don't have to be down to fuck to do it!"
The static buzzed as Alastor considered this. "Very well," he said after a moment. "But what if one wishes to partake in this, putting forth enough effort to count towards your silly little deal with Husker, without making such a…" and here he paused, as though switching words last-minute, "…spectacle of one's body in the process?"
Angel furrowed his brow, tapping a finger to his lips in thought. "Mm, yeah, I get that ain’t your thing so much. If you wanna be creepy with your dancin', there's ways to do that. Hell, just flexin' your foot instead of pointin' your toe, or playin' with the timing of different moves, can change the whole vibe from 'fuck me' to 'the fuck is that thing'! You've got plenty of options for lookin' spooky, an' none of 'em involve needin’ to break your own bones," he finished, scowling at the unrepentant Radio Demon.
Alastor grinned wider, eyes flashing in gleeful malice. "Oh, I believe at least some of my options involve that," he said, spinning his head entirely around his neck.
"You fuckin' freak," Angel muttered under his breath, to Alastor's apparent delight. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "Well, fine. You can do your weird joint-spinny thing, just…don't make it the main event. You don't hafta look like everyone else up there, but at least learn some of the moves, y'know? You can still be your spooky self, or whatever."
Alastor waved a dismissive hand. “You are far too excited to dress Husker in your hideous outfits.”
"Is it workin'?" Angel asked, batting his eyes and grinning to hide just how excited he was for Husk's new look, and for the look on Alastor's face once he realized he'd been played.
Alastor leveled him a considering gaze, then reached up on his pole and gracefully arced his long body around it. Angel couldn't look away from him as he hooked one knee around the pole, teasing it between his hooves on the other side, and…
Crik.
"Oh, you're right; this is much more fun!" Alastor cackled, his head the wrong way round again. Angel muttered every obscenity he knew under his breath, flashed quadruple middle fingers Al's way, and got back to his pole.
~
The second the lesson was over, Angel grabbed a startled and amused Husk by the wrist and sprinted to the elevator with him in tow, noticing a stowaway in the form of Alastor's shadow. He ignored it as they made their way to his suite, but the hairs on the back of his neck rose in response to its lingering presence. Creepy bastard.
He flung the curtains aside that led into his makeshift walk-in closet (it'd started out as a sitting area, but he had his priorities in order), revealing his vast array of mostly-scanty outfits. "Ya know, I wouldn't mind seein' you in a couple of these getups, kitty~" he crooned flirtatiously, reveling in the disbelieving snort and amused eybrow raise from the cat beside him. Clearly Husk wasn't worried Angel would actually put him in anything humiliating.
Fuck, Husk really did trust him to do right by him, didn't he? The thought brought a lump to Angel's throat. He swallowed his emotions as he pushed the front rack of clothes aside, then the off-season ones he kept behind those, and so on, until he reached the very back. In a box under the couch that still sat here unused were his old suits, the ones he'd gotten back when he'd first dropped to Hell.
As it turns out, being in Hell is way different from being on Earth, for better and worse. You can't die, but you can get tortured for basically ever. You'll never age, but you're stuck with weird-looking spider feet for all eternity. And one major difference was in how being poor went: Angel's time in the gutter on Earth was a time where he owned jack shit. Anything that was valuable was pawned, and anything that wasn't valuable would take up too much damn space and couldn't be moved with him when he inevitably went to the next street corner, the next alleyway. In the gutter in Hell, he did the same pawning of whatever valuables he'd managed to pick up, but anything not of value went straight into his hammerspace, residing somewhere nonspecific in his torso alongside his third set of arms and trusty Tommy guns.
He'd considered pawning these suits back in the 60's, but now, he was damn glad he hadn't.
A static screech rent the air the second the lid came off the box, and Angel caught the briefest glimpse of Alastor's shadow pouting as it hurried away under his door. He laughed as he brandished a dapper pinstriped suit for Husk, who reached for the vintage fabric with a sense of awe.
Angel dutifully turned away while he changed, and he felt his undead heart thump faster than a senior on prom night when he caught the first sight of Husk adjusting a cufflink like it was second nature, his movements practiced and precise.
The old cat smiled at him, a sharp grin paired with soft eyes, and Angel may have melted right there.
~
A week after that first lesson, during which there were thankfully no more casualties, things were starting to settle into a rhythm. The whole "teaching everyone the same moves at the same time" thing didn't quite work when only half the participants were even humanoid, so it was less of a set of Pole Lessons, and more of a Pole Club. Charlie came up with a system: a log book sat outside the door of the studio, which Angel supposed was meant for him to schedule when he’d be available to teach folks. Realistically, what it turned into was him spending as much time as he wanted in there, and everyone else could do whatever the hell they wanted. Sometimes he had company, and sometimes that company would ask him for pointers, and sometimes he was alone, and he really didn't give a shit either way.
This time, it was just him and Cherri up on the poles; she'd been practicing more and more with Sir Pentious, putting some sort of routine together. Angel teased her mercilessly when he found out, and she punched him in the side, and all was right with the world. Today, though, it was just the two of them, getting into some proper gossip.
"Guess who I ran into outside the studio, again?" Angel asked, arching his back as he settled into a modified knee hold.
Cherri rolled her eye, arms slung casually around her pole as she held on with her thighs. "I dunno, Angie; if Lucifer's spendin' this much time AVOIDING actually getting on a pole, I don't think he's got any of those secret sexy-beast powers or whatever you keep goin' on about," she said skeptically.
"Nahh, he's got the chops, I'm sure of it!" Angel replied as he reached up to shift positions.
"So, what, you think he's fakin' bein' an unsexy dork?" Cherri laughed incredulously.
"I…ye — no, it's not that," Angel wavered, swinging a leg around the pole to land in a casual sit. "It's more like, he's pretendin' he's never been sexy before in his life, but he's got the same fuckin' mannerisms as me or one of my coworkers when he ain't focusin'. It's like he's reining it in or somethin'." Spurred on by his friend's contemplative expression, he continued, "You ever seen him bend over, or stretch his back? Like, it ain't just that he's got a great ass, anyone can have a great ass, that ain't special. It's the way he does it, I swear, it's driving me fuckin' nuts!"
"And, what, you wanna make his freak flag fly, or whatever? Or do you just wanna fuck him?" Cherri asked, popping her gum and stretching back until the edge of her ponytail brushed the floor.
Angel wrinkled his nose. "It ain't that, not so much. More just…I dunno. We're kinda friends over Fat Nuggets, I guess, and it'd be nice to be friends about this, too?" At Cherri's scoff, he grinned and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, I know it's cringy, fuck off!"
"Aww, I think it's sweet!" she cackled, dismounting the pole in a perfect back walkover and heading for the door. "You'll lemme know if you and the King of Hell become Pilates buddies or whatever, right?" she jeered.
He sent a fond middle finger her way, but as he returned to his routine, he couldn’t help but think that honestly didn't sound so bad.
~*~
Lucifer knew temptation, okay? It was kind of his thing. Granted, he vastly preferred to be on the giving end, rather than receiving it, but he could safely say nobody in all of history understood the mechanisms of temptation more than the original one himself.
…But one more bout of avoidance couldn't hurt, right?
"Aww, who's a good piggy? That's right, you are!" he cooed, scritching behind Fat Nuggets' ear. See, he could do this forever! Original-Temptation Lucifer did not need to exist in this hotel; here he was Daddy and only Daddy. But not that kind of Daddy. The kind of Daddy who appreciates cute animals and who helps fix things that break and who would never, ever, ever dance on a pole anywhere in the hotel run by his precious baby girl.
Alright, fine, he could admit he missed it. The thrill of a perfectly-executed death drop. The way the entire room would spin during a Falling Marley. The dazzled audience faces, Lilith's chief among them. He wouldn't go back to that time, really — Charlie hadn't existed back then, for one, and the thought of Lilith brought as much anxiety as it did joy at this point — but he could admit he was tempted by that fourth floor studio.
Part of him had even considered sneaking in and practicing when nobody was around…but no. He may not know shame innately, being from the pre-Eden era and all, but he'd put together at least some context clues over the years, thank you very much. Some things just Were Not Done, and pole-dancing at your daughter's place of work/residence was one of them.
And besides, he tended to lose track of time while dancing; with his luck, he'd just keep going until someone woke up and walked in on him.
No way was he letting that happen.
So instead, here he was. Just gotta keep focusing on the adorable piggy, and not on how his limbs itched to put his strength and flexibility to work doing what he loved.
…Aaaand now he was thinking about it again. Shit.
Fortunately, he didn't have to stew on that for too long, because all of a sudden he had an armful of excited daughter. "Dad!!" she squealed, her hug almost knocking him over as it forced his brain into happier thoughts. She'd certainly inherited more than a little of his strength!
He matched her energy in an instant. "What is it, sweetie?" he asked, grinning widely as she reached up to fix his hat back in place.
"I don't know if Angel told you or not, but a bunch of us are putting together pole fitness performances!!" she chirped. Sobering slightly, she then added, "Aaaand…okay, so I know you haven't been interested in any of this before, but it would really mean a lot to me if you at least showed up. Angel's put so much effort into this, and everyone's been working hard at their routines, and…"
Static buzzed in the space between Lucifer's ears as he rolled her words around in his mind, peering at them from every angle he could conceive until he couldn't help but ask: "Wait-wait-wait, hang on — you want me to be there?"
Charlie blinked at him, an expression flickering behind her eyes that he hadn't seen since she was a goth teenager. The one that said, no fucking shit, Dad. It was always reserved for moments in which he'd missed something utterly obvious. He knew it well.
She'd gotten pretty good at hiding that particular impatience over the years; good on her! Still, though, ouch. He'd thought he had gotten those invisible human-derived social cues right, for once.
But then, proving once and for all that his daughter was, in fact, the most wonderful person in the entire world, her expression softened with understanding. "Oh, Dad. Were you just avoiding it because you thought I wouldn't want you to join?"
He opened his mouth, then shut it. Blinked slowly. Then: "I'm guessing from…uh, all of what you just said there, that that wasn't the case."
She chuckled (hell yes, making his little girl laugh, one Daddy Point for Lucifer!), rolling her eyes good-naturedly and reaching over to pull Fat Nuggets into her lap. "I mean, we're all adults, here!" she said with a smile, scritching behind the little piggy ear. Fuck, that was adorable. "And besides, this is the first hotel activity that was dreamed up entirely by one of our guests, so it's really special to me, particularly seeing how so many of the people here have participated! So…well, yeah, I really hope you'll be there, Dad."
It wasn't until she'd already left the room with a final wave to him and good-bye pat to Fat Nuggets that Lucifer felt something within him truly shift. She actually wanted him to be there. Participating, even! Well, golly — he wasn't just gonna participate; he was gonna get a goddamn A in this class! Anything for his daughter.
~
Lucifer shuffled in his chair, not sure if it was anxiety or bone-deep excitement gnawing at his gut. He was…fine. He was in the pole studio for the first time since they'd finished its construction, and everyone else was here too, and it was fine. Charlie had asked him to be here, so he was definitely NOT intruding, or ruining anything that had been purely hers, or embarrassing her, she wanted him here, dammit. He clutched the sides of the plastic seat in a very normal way that did not result in the material crumpling ever-so-slightly in his grip.
"Ooh, what's the Okayest Boy thinking about now?" a high-pitched voice cooed from his left, and he blinked out of his definitely-not-a-spiral to find the hotel's maid twirling her hair, her always-manic grin widening at capturing his attention. He really should be more worried about being the object of her focus, but his lips twitched with amusement at the moniker she'd chosen for him. Apparently she'd been disappointed by his overall lack of "bad boy"-ness, but decided somewhere along the way that being the Actual Literal Devil counted for something.
He wasn't sure whether he should be flattered, but he'd certainly been called worse.
"C'mon, lay offa him, Niff," the surly bartender chastised gently from his other side. He…oh, wow, he was actually dressed kinda snazzy, for once. Not that Lucifer was judging! But the guy looked at home in a suit in a way that few sinners could pull off. Niff — Niffty, right — pouted and sat back down with a flounce.
"Alright, everybody!" Charlie cheered, clapping her hands at the front of the room. His experienced eye took in the sturdy straps on the bikini set she'd opted for, and approved of its practicality; no way was she going to suffer a wardrobe malfunction in that.
As his daughter announced a beaming Angel Dust to their audience of…what, seven?…Lucifer's mind drifted to their surroundings. He couldn't have imagined a setting less like Ozzie's place, really; the mid-afternoon light drifting in through the tall windows was the opposite of the Lust sin's preferred mood lighting, and…well, luxury seating this wasn't.
Beside him, the bartender shifted in his seat, fiddling with his cheap-but-stylish cufflinks. He peered sidelong at the cat's oddly reverent expression, then glanced forward and — oh.
Angel Dust had just started his showcase, and it was like Ozzie's club formed around him as he moved. The dancer’s strappy lingerie wound around his long frame like vines, and the pure joy he emanated with every pose left Lucifer just as dumbstruck as the cat beside him. He belatedly realized there was music playing, some Verosika Mayday hit from a couple years back, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the graceful way Angel transitioned from pose to sensual pose, the effortlessness of managing all four of his arms at once, and the playful gold-toothed smile that spoke to just how much he loved what he was doing. Fuck, Lucifer couldn't wait to get up there.
When Angel brought his third set of arms out for a finishing move, legs splayed and four of his six arms stretched out around him, Lucifer summoned several clones to join in his applause, startling the others in the room. He chuckled weakly, sat back down, and perched eagerly on the end of his chair as Angel took a seat beside Husk (right, that was his name). As the two murmured to each other and Niffty took the stage, Lucifer dismissed the clones, realizing on some level that he'd probably need to bring them back for every showcase, if he didn't want to seem as preferential as he, frankly, was.
A heavy club beat, sped up past all recognition, started up, and Lucifer almost couldn't tell what happened next with how fast the little maid moved. He was used to gravity being optional — it certainly came with the territory of being an angel — but he'd never quite seen it like this. Her buglike arms and legs skittered up and down the pole, and her hair flung out practically straight behind her with the force of her spins. Once she hit her ending pose, he summoned his clones to applaud as normally as possible. That's right, this is just how the King of Hell applauds people. Nothing less for his little girl's…pole dance class.
Fortunately, he didn't have long to stew in the strange look Husk was giving him over that decision, because…oh, fuck.
The shadows swirled around the room in a distressingly familiar fashion, several of them blocking out the lights as what was undeniably a horror movie soundtrack filtered in through the speakers. And then, there he was, in his usual outfit, only — Lucifer blinked. Was that latex!?
Sure enough, the shiny red fabric gave a telltale squeak as the Radio Demon took to the stage, the hem of his suit jacket laying not in its usual starched manner, but in the heavy waves he was used to seeing on the skirts of Ozzie’s kinkier waiters. Lucifer's heart sank at the prospect of how much effort it would take to scrub this image from his mind whenever he saw Alastor's usual suit in the future, because this was — whew.
He had no time to process whatever the fuck feeling that was before the dance began.
Alastor was…dammit, it would be so tempting to say he sucked at this. His movements were about as far from a typical pole dancer's grace as possible, all grasping claws and twitching limbs. But they were creative, and Lucifer couldn't help but admire the precision with which he matched the eerie swells of music to his harsh motions. And the poses, whew! That guy sure was flexible. He, uh…wow. Okay. Lucifer might have to look away if Alastor kept caressing the pole like that; the latex suit was bad enough, but the sly yellow grin he gave his audience told him the bastard knew precisely what he was doing. His lean body arched with grace around the pole, long limbs reaching enticingly, and then —
Crikk.
The audience cringed simultaneously as the red jerk's head turned the wrong way round. Any trace of interest Lucifer may or may not have been entertaining fizzled out in an instant. Welp, that solves that issue.
Alastor beamed at their collective dismay, landing his final move in a split with his back arched improbably far backwards. When the light returned to the room and the Radio Demon took a bow, Lucifer tried to clap as sarcastically as he could, withholding his clones as a deliberate snub to the bastard. Unfortunately, his hands betrayed him with reluctant enthusiasm as the gleam of that too-damn-shiny coat caught his eye.
Angel cocked a brow at the smug red prick, kneeling to adjust one of the poles as Charlie and her girlfriend took to the stage for the next act. "Didya get that latex suit custom made, Smiles?" he asked appraisingly, and Lucifer had to choke back a laugh at the conflicted twist that brought to Alastor's grin as Angel sauntered back to his seat. Lucifer chuckled as that grimace faded into shadows, then settled in to watch his daughter dance with her partner.
A swell of classical strings filled the room, and Lucifer’s heart melted at the gaze the two lovers shared as they took to their pole to begin their routine. He could tell in an instant that Vaggie was the more skilled of the two, as strong as his daughter was. Her movements were sharper, more controlled. But the choreography had 'Charlie' written all over it. The girls swooped, spun, and flourished with abandon, and the look of love on their faces as Charlie held Vaggie up in a slower, more deliberate move, had Lucifer choking back tears. They loved each other so much, and he couldn’t help himself. The moment their act ended, their faces brushing in an almost-kiss as they clung to the pole and each other, he leaped to his feet and summoned enough clones to fill the room, all applauding with enough enthusiasm to bring down the house.
Hotel. Whatever.
Either way, Charlie’s cheeks dimpled with pride and appreciation, so he gave himself a pat on the back (what, the clones were multi-purpose) and relaxed into his seat with a grin, ready for the next act.
The snake fellow and that pink-haired friend of Angel Dust, Cherri, were taking to the stage — ah, yes, she was particularly active on the pole, wasn't she? He grinned and poofed himself a tub of popcorn to watch the show. Angel might only bring it out during hotel guest spats, but Lucifer had really gained a taste for the stuff.
A rock n’ roll soundtrack started playing, and they started their performance on the ground, her tossing her hair and him winding sinuously around her, mere inches away. They were dancing a little more closely than he might’ve expected, from the way she was always complaining about the guy while hanging out with Angel. Then again, Husk had always smirked at that complaining, and he seemed like the sort who had a good handle on this kind of thing, so maybe he knew something Lucifer didn’t. Bartender privileges and all. Either way, it was a real treat to see them dance.
Just as he’d had this thought, the music muffled around him, and Lucifer let out a bone-weary sigh. He knew a sound-dampening field when he felt it. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked Alastor without looking away from the maybe-couple’s routine.
A chuckle from his right side. Lucifer spared a glance to his left, past Niffty, and — yep, sure enough, Husk had been unexpectedly transported into one of the seats down the way to make room for his boss beside Lucifer. Not for the first time, either, judging by the long-suffering set of his eyebrows.
“I might ask the same of you!” his least-favorite voice twittered from beside him, latex squeaking with every gesticulation that Lucifer refused to look at. “While I won't deny it seems to be a habit of yours to keep yourself locked away in your little depression-cave until the last minute, I would have thought you’d be more supportive of our dear Charlie!”
Lucifer grit his teeth and focused on the dancers. Cherri had just leaped into the snake man’s arms from one pole before being twirled away to climb another one. Very nice, very creative.
“Why, if even I could join this little lascivious dance hall and participate, one has to wonder if there’s a particular reason you haven’t?” Alastor continued, heedless of how unwelcome his everything was in this situation. “It’s a shame, really. One might think you’d take more…pride…in your skills. That is, if you even have those.”
At this, Lucifer whirled his head around to chew the bastard out. As he turned, though, the music resumed its previous volume, and the only trace of the Radio Demon in the plastic chair was a lingering scent of latex and decaying meat.
Lucifer turned back to face the stage with a huff. He’d show him ‘skills.”
~
At the end of the routine, Angel Dust took to the stage again with all the grace of a natural showman. “Check out this bunch o’ sexy bastards, huh?” he grinned, gold tooth gleaming as his eyes grew mischievous. “Now, I think that’s the last act, unless anyone else wants to join in on the fun,” he crooned, leering Husk’s way.
“In your dreams!” the cat dismissed good-naturedly. Lucifer gulped, took a deep breath, and snapped his fingers. This was his moment.
With a thought, the lights in the room shifted to the blues and purples found at Ozzie’s. He teleported himself to the top of a pole in a flash of fire, clothes shifting to a short split-skirt outfit evocative of the angelic robes he used to wear. Gasps rang out, and his lips twitched as ethereal harp music started playing.
Blasphemous? Maybe.
Too soon? Possibly.
But damn, if it didn’t scratch an itch to move this way again.
When he used to perform this routine back at Ozzie’s, Lilith would announce him with pride before returning to her spot at the very front table, ready to watch him dazzle another crowd of enraptured Hellborn. Lucifer grinned widely, arms splayed wide during an upside-down spin. He caught Angel Dust’s starry-eyed gaze from the audience — hell yeah, I’ve still got it.
Flipping backwards to cling to a lower portion of the pole, Lucifer began his favorite part of the act: the final climb. He brought all six wings gently out, letting them drape behind him and brush the floor like a cape. He grasped for the pole above him like it was a lifeline, and he dragged himself up, up, up the pole, every inch of progress a dramatized show of struggle. An arch of the back, head tilting artfully to show just how “painful” the ascent was, and —
backwards he Fell.
— a stifled scream from somewhere —
down,
down,
down,
to the well-practiced landing.
He used to joke with Ozzie about being “an expert in Falling by now” whenever he did this move, but there was something about knowing he could slow his descent at the last second, trust this new semi-demonic body of his to bring him safely to the ground, that brought him so much comfort. Lilith had understood as much as she’d needed to, had known this wasn’t some masochistic urge to relive his punishment over and over (he kept any masochistic tendencies to more private environments, thankyouverymuch), but she’d never quite comprehended just how much this meant to him.
And getting to bring that feeling here to the hotel…fuck, he was home. He could live here as more than just the visiting architect, and feel welcome. He could carve out a place that’s just his, not through acts of service, not through feats of power, not through adding more and more snake-themed design elements screaming from all sides that this is ME, I’m HERE, just…his. And he really did have more in common with some of these sinners than he’d thought. Angel Dust and his love of pole alone was enough to prove that.
He wrapped his wings tightly around himself as his heartbeat slowed in the wake of the Fall, spinning into the second half of his act with a lighter heart than he’d felt in decades. The music shifted, harps bleeding into electric guitar (fuck Adam, it was his vibe first). He shifted his outfit to a strappy little black number, horns and tail bursting into being beneath the cover of his wings.
With a cheeky grin, he tucked them back into their pocket dimension, showcasing his devilish features as though they’d been intended as a gift rather than a curse. The various exclamations from the sinners in the audience were familiar to him; he knew his body had an affect on people, and he was the sin of Pride for a reason, after all. He preened at the attention, wrapping his tail around the pole and gyrating sensually before lifting himself into the next set of moves.
A squeak came from the audience. Not an excited squeal, just…a squeak, like something small had been trodden upon. Not a noise typically associated with watching a sexy-as-hell (pun intended) pole dancer.
While paused in a perfect Ayesha, he flashed a cheeky wink to the audience, only to meet the upside-down wincing stare of Charlie’s girlfriend.
And beside her…oh.
……Fuck, I am the worst father.
Charlie’s face was frozen in a grimace of support, eyes resolutely fixed somewhere along the back wall, hand clenched around Vaggie’s.
Lucifer’s mortified squawk rang out in the suddenly-silent-and-well-lit room as he lost his grip on both the pole and his powers over the studio’s ambiance, and the sharp slap of his scantily-clad body hitting the floor was just the icing on the cake for this humiliation. He sprang to his feet, snapped a fluffy and very decisively modest robe into existence, and curtseyed to the audience before fleeing through a portal. The palace workshop on the other side welcomed him back to solitude before he closed it behind him with a snap.
~*~
“Well, Angie, I gotta say: that was hot,” Cherri remarked in the silence that followed Lucifer’s hasty retreat.
Beside Cherri, Angel Dust nodded solemnly, and Husk rolled his eyes. Niffty let out a cheer as though the act was finished, rather than…interrupted…and Alastor disappeared with a hiss into the shadows. Apparently he’d stuck around til the end of the dance.
Meanwhile, Charlie was a mess of conflicted feelings. She definitely hadn’t wanted to see any of that at the end there. But before that…her dad had looked so happy to be performing, and now he was gone, and was he going to sequester himself away into his workshop for years now, just because of that? Would he ever come out again?
She ran towards the spot where the portal had just vanished, and sank to her knees. “Fuck, I — I hadn’t meant to drive him away like that,” she fretted, fingers tangling in anxiety.
Vaggie was right there with her, rubbing her back reassuringly. “Yeah, no, it’s valid not to want to see that from your dad. Also valid to want him to have a space to express himself…it was just an awkward moment, babe. No need to make it any bigger than it was.”
Her heart unclenched slightly, and she took a deep breath, counting slowly until she felt a little more like herself again. “Right. It’s not a big deal, I just need to find a way to communicate to him that it wasn’t a big deal.”
Vaggie gave her a reassuring smile. “See? There you go, just give him a call and let him know everything’s okay and he can come back when he’s ready.”
Charlie stared. Calling him!? She could see no possible universe in which that would work. God, he’d answered with ‘Hey, bitch’ the last time she’d tried calling him, and even though things had worked out alright, that really set the baseline for how Phone Calls With Dad could go. “Actually…okay, so I think we need a plan to get him back here, so I can explain properly and so we can make a nice, welcoming environment to get him to want to spend more time here.”
Vaggie wrinkled her nose. “I really don’t get why you couldn’t just —”
Angel cut in. “Nahh, I think Blondie’s got the right idea. Short King’s like a spooked horse, he’s gotta be coaxed back all gentle-like.” A devious expression crossed his face. “And I think I know just the way to do it.”
~*~
Lucifer hadn’t realized there was a way for him to fail as a father more than when he’d holed himself up in this very room for most of his daughter’s teen and adult life, but apparently there was no depth to which the devil could not fall. The thought sat bitter on his tongue, and he curled up in his heap of fluffy blankets. He was slightly overheated, but he didn’t care about his own comfort, so long as he was covered. The strappy black outfit was long since discarded in favor of a shapeless set of loungewear. It was normally his favorite cozytime outfit, but right now he would give anything to feel comfortable in less, if only to prove that he might still have the option to wear it without ruining everything.
As he considered which ducky soap opera VHS to start up, a loud moan rang out from the region of his crotch.
Baffled, he sat straight up, several pillows falling to the floor, and looked down. Nobody there, obviously, but — another moan sounded, identical to the first. Oh. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, blinking in the light of the screen as he read the notification. A new text from Angel, who had…apparently snuck onto his phone and changed his text alert. Despite his misery, his lips quirked up at the prank, and he opened the texts, more popping in as he read.
AngelDust TheTallFluffyOneWithTheArms: heya short king~
AngelDust TheTallFluffyOneWithTheArms: got matchin sweaters with nuggs but the bigger ones only got 2 arms
AngelDust TheTallFluffyOneWithTheArms: so im doin a photoshoot w charlie and nuggs instead
AngelDust TheTallFluffyOneWithTheArms: [Image Loading Error]
AngelDust TheTallFluffyOneWithTheArms: [Image Loading Error]
AngelDust TheTallFluffyOneWithTheArms: [Image Loading Error]
Lucifer gaped at his phone, devastated, as the error messages piled in. The cutest photoshoot in existence, and he didn’t get to see it!?
~*~
“Do you really think this will work, Angel?” Charlie asked, picking up Fat Nuggets and guiding his snout away from a dangling string on her sweater.
“Ohh yeah, there’s no way he’ll stay away,” Angel smirked, pasting the error message into another text before snapping a photo — even if this was only set up to bring Lu back, it’d be a waste not to have actual pictures of this cuteness.
From where she was sprawled upside-down on the couch, Cherri piped up, “I still think it’s fuckin’ hilarious that he booted himself from the place for the crime of bein’ too sexy! Really, though — who’da thought he had it in him?” Angel raised one free hand smugly, and she scowled, “Oh, fuck off, Angie. Just go get your workout buddy back so you can live happily-ever-after or whatever, loser.”
He chuckled. “Workin’ on it!” he grinned.
Suddenly, the King of Hell stumbled through a portal, wearing his frumpiest sweater over a clashing set of lounge pants and looking nothing at all like the sex-beast he’d been a mere hour ago. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I swear I’ll leave right away if you want me to, but I just had to come see because the photo shoot just sounded so adorable and I couldn’t get any of the images to load but I needed to see this and — awww!!”
His eyes sparkled as he finally slowed down enough to catch sight of his daughter, pig held in front of her, wearing matching sweaters with matching puppy-dog eyes. Fat Nuggets let out a little snort of recognition of the Known Snack-Giver, and whatever dregs of composure Lucifer may have had crumbled away in an instant as he burst into tears.
Charlie looked a little wibbly, but kudos to her, she kept her voice relatively steady as she carried Fat Nuggets towards him. “Dad.”
“Y-yeah?” he replied shakily, looking straight across at the pig as though he couldn’t quite manage to meet her level gaze. She waved Nuggs slowly back and forth, and his eyes tracked him side to side.
Angel bit back a laugh. This was serious business, after all.
“You’re fine, Dad, and you’re still welcome in the hotel,” Charlie said with determined calmness. “We’re all adults here, and I could tell you were really happy up there on the pole. While I’d rather not be around for anything that gets strip-teasey, I would never begrudge you the opportunity to participate in a hobby you enjoy, especially,” and there were the tears, Angel knew she wouldn’t be able to get through this whole thing without crying, “when it’s gotten you such wonderful friends. So would you consider coming back and joining the pole dancing club?”
Lucifer gulped, finally looking up at Charlie. “Really?” he asked. She nodded earnestly, and something in the devil seemed to slump with relief, father and daughter embracing around the contented hellpig.
“Lu. Babe. You gotta dance with us sometime!” Angel said, gesturing towards the couch, where Cherri was flipping herself vertical.
“Yeah, you sexy bitch!” she catcalled, chucking a stray throw pillow at the king, which he deflected with ease, stepping out of Charlie’s hug with a smile. “You’d fuckin’ BETTER join us for practice!”
“Actually, Cherri babes?” Angel said, grabbing Lucifer’s elbow with a lower arm, “I think pole practice should be right now.”
Lucifer’s grin grew wider and wider, enthusiasm growing until there wasn’t a hint of doubt where Charlie got it all from. He wiped a tear from his eye and chuckled to himself, shaking his head as Cherri took his other arm. “Hells, Angel, you’re worse than Ozzie.”
Angel couldn’t imagine a better compliment if he’d tried.
~*~
Husk sighed, shrugging out of his suit coat as he stepped into the privacy of his room at the end of the day. Best that he savor this experience while he could — it was only a few more days until he’d be back to his worn slacks and suspenders, courtesy of the deal for his soul. His initial gamble had jokingly included “the shirt off his back,” which Alastor had delighted in taking as a serious offer the moment his luck changed.
“I’d advise holding off on further disrobing for the moment, old chum!” an all-too-familiar voice piped up from where the bastard himself sat perched on the corner of his bottle-strewn desk, and he groaned at the sight. Speak of the devil.
“What do you want?” he asked aggressively, steadying his breath to cover the sudden shakiness of his paws. He knew this deal with Angel had been foolish, even as he’d leaped at the opportunity to wear proper clothing for once, to feel like some semblance of his old self just for a bit. And as certainly as he’d trusted Angel to dress him in something he would enjoy, he’d known Alastor’s punishment would not be far behind. He'd been expecting this for weeks now, and it was time to accept the consequences coming his way.
But the look on the demon’s face…something wasn’t right. There was no sadism dancing in those eyes, no cruel and self-possessed curl to his lip. His brows were furrowed, yes, but some other emotion was fueling him right now, and Husk didn't trust it for a minute.
“You’ve been looking…spiffy,” Alastor sneered, snapping his fingers as a green light flashed behind Husk’s closet door. “The moment this month ends, you will fix this,” he concluded, grin as sharp as ever.
Husk carefully avoided breathing out a sigh of relief at the understanding of what form his punishment would take. Humiliation? Fuckin’ fine, honestly; any amount of pride he’d had in himself had been thoroughly beaten out over the decades. The Gambling Overlord was long gone; in his place was a miserable old drunk who couldn't dress himself, this past month notwithstanding.
And he was fine with that. He had to be.
He slumped over to his closet, feet dragging as though it would change his fate. Just because it wasn't the worst punishment in the world, didn't mean he was looking forward to seeing what sort of clown costume Alastor had in store for him this time.
Opening the door, he blinked at the neat row of concierge uniforms that lined the inside. They were a cheaper material than the suits he’d been wearing this past month, and cut in the fashion more associated with staff than with high-class folks, but they were clean and they were dignified and they were…his? He turned back, a question on the tip of his tongue, but a dismissive hand waved him off before he could speak.
“I’ve recently grown to miss the days where I could be assured that those in my acquaintance would be dressed…appropriately,” Alastor sneered, not meeting his eye. “It only makes sense to enforce this where I can.”
Husk nodded in commiseration. “Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting that outta Lucifer, either. He sure was something up there, wasn’t he?”
Alastor snarled, fingers poised to snap again. “One more word out of you, Husker, and I will replace these with nothing but neon track suits straight out of the 1980’s.”
Husk schooled his expression to wipe away any trace of a grin. “Understood.”