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“The fucking gall of them I swear!” Y/n slammed the door behind her partially for the undoubtedly theatric sight it would make, but mostly to hear the satisfying thunk of the frame as the oak hit its mark. Clicking towards the two tufts just visible over the back of the armchair turned from her, Y/n continued,
“First Vox claims his territory is being encroached on by the Carmine district like there isn’t an entire waste between the two of them and then asks if the hotel requires “a real marketing strategy from this century.” Last I checked the stand on extermination day was plenty publicity considering the new residents are coming in at a steady rate. And not to mention—Oh”
A neon red Lucifer stepped away from the chair, arms raised in mock surrender. Well, that would make for a more interesting evening…
“ShwemighthavehadadrinkingcontessstandIwonbutIcouldn’tleavehimdownstairsss”
Y/n held up a single hand to stop the onslaught.
“Lucifer, I need you to take pauses between words so I can better understand you. Why are you here?” She gestured vaguely to the fireplace and the bayou beyond. Lucifer tipped a bit to the side before catching himself, brushing nonexistent dust from his vest.
“I had to deposit the loser of tonight’s game somewhere other than the lobby. I was worried it would upset Charlie if she saw her bellhop like this,” Lucifer sniffed.
Rounding the chair, Y/n saw Alastor in what under other circumstances might have been an appealing sight. His head was leaning against the right wing, tilted back to show the sharp angle of his jaw. His tie hung loosely around his neck and his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show the top of the softer fur that dusted his chest. At some point during the night he must have gotten somewhat comfortable – his jacket was nowhere to be seen and the deep crimson shirt gave way to black arms. In this light his scars were almost imperceivable. The one draped against his stomach was rising and falling in an even rhythm belying the depth of his slumber. A part of her wondered how exactly Lucifer had brought him up given that aside from one leg draped over the armrest, the majority of his body was upright. Y/n’s eyes drifted back to Alastor’s face – half lidded eyes glowed dimly and stared at the nothing of the swamp beyond, his mouth pressed in a soft line with the corners barely upturned. He might have looked peaceful if it weren’t for the single canine caught on his bottom lip. Ever the wolf in sheep’s clothing it seems. Still, when she brushed her fingers lightly over the wrist closest to her his heartbeat steadily tapped back.
“Er… Y/n what are you doing here?”
Feeling caught, Y/n removed her hand at what she deemed a fairly normal pace before turning back to Lucifer. Her blinked at her slow and frog-like before clearing his throat again.
“I was just giving him the update on the overlord meeting he conveniently missed. It seems he had a more pressing engagement.”
Lucifer stared at her like she had just spoken another language. He fidgeted with his wedding ring while rocking back and forth on his heels. For a moment it seemed he had forgotten he had wanted an answer to his question.
“Your highness,” Y/n cleared her throat when his watery eyes caught hers, “you may want to retire for the evening. It seems the revelry has concluded and I doubt he or I will be suitable company for the rest of the night.”
Lucifer shrugged and muttered something about a death wish before vanishing in a swirl of red and gold. Y/n turned back to the sight before her only to feel the breath exit her lungs in favor of the thoughts pushing uncomfortably at her throat.
A wicked smile that held no malice flashed briefly in her direction before Alastor continued to ramble about whatever tangent he had stumbled into. His rye sloshed precariously close to the edge of his glass as he gestured wildly at the stack of books to her left. A single tan arm was the only thing keeping Alastor from falling completely out of the chair he had flopped onto some hours ago. When the night was younger and the decanter to his left was significantly more full, he had requested to escort her home, giving some piss poor explanation on the dangers of a young woman walking by herself after a long night. Somewhere between a poor excuse about needing to change his shirt after dancing for so long, and a matching half-truth about needing another drink after the week she had, they ended up in his home. Copper eyes shimmering with mischief as he explained why the latest attempt to catch the Butcher of New Orleans was a hairbrained strategy at best, “Curfews? In this town? This close to Mardi Gras? Are they daft or illiterate?”
It was there – lounging in a decidedly un-lady-like manner on his sofa with her head pillowed on her forearms; watching the light dance off the edge of Alastor’s glasses while the waves began to bounce back into his hair from the humidity of that summer night – Y/n had realized she would never feel more safe firmly in the jaws of that damned charming wolf.
Shaking her head to clear the memory, and with Lucifer safely not in the room, Y/n made her way back to Alastor. She brushed his bangs from his face, and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Mon amour,” she whispered.
He blinked lazily before shifting his gaze down to her crouching form. He parted his lips to release something halfway between a laugh and a groan.
“Let’s get you to bed, deer.” Y/n squeezed his knee and waited for a reply. It took a few moments, but the second slow blink was either consent or a confirmation of mild alcohol poisoning. Y/n hoped it was the former and slid her arms delicately under his to help him up. His lanky form was unsurprisingly heavy, and she simply held him for a while as he regained consciousness and the use of his legs.
Once out of the chair and with both hooves firmly under him, Alastor pulled out of her grasp to brace himself against the mantle. Y/n made no comment on the fact he had displaced a candle or two in the process. They had gone out on their own after all.
“I’m fine, you should go,” he grumbled.
Y/n couldn’t help it – she laughed. She had no doubt he was glaring at her from beneath his fringe, but the way his legs were still trembling was too obvious a comparison to ignore. Shushing his creatively worded threats punctuated by intermittent static pops, Y/n slid an arm around Alastor’s slim waist to steady him.
“Come on, Bambi. You can kill me for laughing in the morning. You and I both know I’ve seen you in a worse state than this on several occasions.”
“I was more abhorred by your attempt at a joke, darling,” Alastor griped, but leaned more fully into her and settled his head on Y/n’s shoulder.
“Challenging the devil to a drinking contest, really? I mean what’s next? A fiddling bet? A nice friendly round of cards?”
She almost didn’t catch what he said, considering the words were muttered harshly into her neck just before he stumbled and pitched them both forward. They continued their balancing act in tense silence until they managed to reach their destination. When she had safely deposited him onto the bed, Y/n was sure from the stiff line of his shoulders as he turned away from her he hadn’t meant to say it at all.
“Not much left to gamble with the Devil could have.”
His words echoed in her head as she walked downstairs. She heard them in the rushing of the water filling the glass just as sure as she heard it in the creak of the new cupboards. It didn’t seem possible.
He wouldn’t be that careless would he?
No.
Desperate… maybe. But he would have said something right?
No.
His pride wouldn’t allow it. As much as he enjoyed toying with Lucifer, there was one undeniable thread that connected the two of them – Pride. But she’d be damned again if that meant his downfall.
Y/n set the water and Aspirin on the small table beside the bed before ridding him of his shoes, belt, and harness. She knew Alastor was awake, but he didn’t speak or catch her eye once. Sliding off her own jacket, vest, and shoes, Y/n settled in behind him. She kissed his shoulder lightly before pulling herself flush with his back – angling her hips to avoid crushing his tail. When his breathing had evened out to match hers, she trailed a hand down his arm until his fingers found her own. He gave a light press and tucked their clasped hands against his chest before relaxing fully against her.
Just before he succumbed to sleep again, Y/n whispered against the soft shell of his ear, “we’ll figure it out together.”
The sigh he let escape might have been in irritation, but selfishly Y/n wanted to pretend it was acceptance.
Other sheep be damned.