Chapter Text
Lucifer’s bedroom is hands down the worst place in the entire hotel.
No, wait, that’s being far too kind.
It’s one of the worst places in the entirety of Hell.
It’s bright in a way that’s jarring compared to the rest of Pentagram City, devoid of the deep reds that are so common around hell. The King’s aesthetic is lighter, softer, and Alastor loathes how that in itself feels like a mockery of his own aesthetic. Hell, even the bright neons of the damned entertainment district are preferable to-
No. Wait. That’s a touch too far, even for him.
Pushing those thoughts down, Alastor continues marching down the long corridor that connects Lucifer’s room to his. He’s well aware he could save time and teleport himself there, but there’s something cathartic about allowing himself to be more heavy-footed from time to time.
Right now is definitely one of those times.
Plus, there’s a special kind of thrill he gets upon seeing his name right outside of the King of Hell’s doorway. The ‘No Alastors Allowed’ engraved in pure gold is meant to deter him, he’s sure. But if anything, that little plaque is one of the only reasons he enjoys going out of his way to bother Lucifer in the obnoxious apple tower. The King made the effort to put it there, and who is Alastor if not the type to push any buttons when they’re presented in such a pretty package?
Relentlessly, of course.
Still, that doesn’t stop Alastor from feeling his hackles rising the closer he gets to the ostentatious, carnivalesque, and downright ridiculous doorway.
He takes those last few steps while raising his hand, intent on ripping the band-aid off in one fell swoop, before realising the door is already partly ajar. Sparing one final glance at the golden placard to steel his nerve, Alastor slips into the room only to be assaulted with the sight of rubber ducks.
So many rubber ducks.
Piles and piles of them, some from floor to ceiling. Far more than when he’d last been forced to grace Lucifer’s tower with his presence. A few rudimentary calculations tell him that the King must be making these at the rate of a dozen a day.
At least.
If he’s being entirely honest with himself, Alastor does find that a little impressive. Naturally, he’s disgusted that it’s the damned King who is wasting his time on these things, but he’s nothing if not an admirer of the sheer dedication it must take. Not to mention that there’s something disturbing in all the right ways about the way certain ducks seem to watch him as he moves further into the room.
Pushing down the urge to comment on such things so he doesn’t risk sinking to Lucifer’s comically low level, Alastor snaps his smile into place. He then clears his throat, folds his hands politely behind his back, and locates the annoyingly familiar silhouette amongst the chaos.
“Ah, there you are, Sire,” He starts, increasing his volume when Lucifer doesn’t so much as flinch in response, “Your daughter has requested your presence at dinner.”
A burst of static sounds around him. Requested is generous. At least, it is in the way said request had been enforced on him. The princess of Hell has two perfectly functioning legs and countless other means at her disposal that she could have used to get her dysfunctional father to attend dinner.
But no.
Charlie had pleaded, stating that her food preparation was too cumbersome to abandon partway through. But with much less articulation, mumbling her way through the usual excuses while continually looking in his direction.
Alastor had seen it for what it was, of course. Charlie had made it crystal clear over the last few months how much she craved him being on good terms with her father.
So he had refused. Twice.
He was well on the way to doing so a third time when she’d looked at him with that unbearably earnest hope that he knew couldn’t be reasoned with if he didn’t want the ordeal to drag out for days. If not weeks. Which was how Alastor had found himself climbing the stairs before she could ask again, muttering under his breath as he went.
Only to get here and be ignored.
Which Alastor just can’t allow.
“Your Majesty?” He tries again, louder still, but he’s met with silence yet again.
Asshole.
Letting his anger get the better of him, Alastor breaks his initial protocol and phases through his shadows to reappear at Lucifer’s side. Or rather, so close to the King that it knocks the flimsy desk chair he’s sat upon, and in turn, almost makes Lucifer topple over completely.
“Oh, apologies! I wasn’t aware the degradation of your hearing had reached such an advanced level.” He lowers his eyes to slits, glaring down at the buffon still regaining his balance, “Though, with everything that picture box put you through, I can imagine that accelerated the ageing process tenfold.”
That does it, to the point where Alastor can pinpoint the second the King finally loses his patience. It shows in the way his left eye twitches and the slightest dusting of gold appears on his cheeks, giving away the frustration Lucifer is trying and failing to hide.
It’s a win, but for whatever reason, it’s far less satisfying than Alastor needs.
“Oh, I heard you,” Lucifer replies, voice clipped yet somehow still rich with that infuriating smoothness, “ But since I’m in the middle of something, and you didn’t read the damn sign, I was ignoring you on purpose.”
Then he sighs heavily, still refusing to look in Alastor’s direction as he picks up a tiny paintbrush, “You can tell Charlie I’ll be down in a bit.”
Oh that fucking prick.
Alastor circles him, coming to the other side of his desk like a predator stalking prey, never turning his back, yet always just out of Lucifer’s reach. It’s all for nought with the way Lucifer ignores him yet again, already back to a task of painting a line of delicate flowers around the neck of his latest creation.
Pink camellias, Alastor notes from the open page of the reference book, also against his will.
“I’m not playing the part of your messenger boy, your high-ness,” Alastor draws out the title with as much venom as he can while still appearing sickly sweet as he uses the tip of his microphone to tilt Lucifer’s chin skyward, “And our dear Charlie did warn me that might be your response, considering you’ve been quite the shut-in since your very public humilation.”
He waits for Lucifer’s eyes to flicker red before dealing the final blow, “How long has it been this time? Nearly four months, if I recall correctly.”
Lucifer’s lips curl into a snarl the second before Alastor turns away. There’s another sigh, and the sound of tools being picked up once more, but Alastor knows full well the King’s eyes haven’t left him as he pretends the tips of his own claws are suddenly cause for curiosity.
“Charlie also instructed me to remind you that you’ve given the same response every single night this week.” Alastor keeps his tone light as he ponders how he’s chipped the claw on his ring finger, but it lacks any real warmth, “Yet your place at the table remains, quite noticeably, empty. Why is that, I wonder? It can’t be you’re abandoning your fatherly duties yet again, can it?”
The room quickly becomes a vacuum, like it’s had all the warmth and air sucked right out of it. Which, compared to the constant static buzz that’s followed Alastor around for the last century, is far more painful than he expects. To the point that the sound of the paintbrush dropping again feels like a sonic boom,
Despite himself, he actually winces.
Then, when he manages to recover enough to pull his composure back together, Alastor has to physically restrain himself from jumping out of his skin.
Because Lucifer isn’t just staring at him. He’s partly transformed into a form that Alastor hasn’t been privy to beforehand. One he didn’t even know was in Lucifer’s arsenal until this very moment, actually. All the light has been sucked out from the space around him, making his face appear enshrouded in an impossible shadow, with nothing visible but a multitude of eyes in the darkness.
All of which feel like they’re staring straight into Alastor’s soul.
It's horrific, but if the circumstances were different, Alastor wouldn’t hesitate to admire such terrors openly. To the point where he has to feign making himself recoil before Lucifer reaches out to grasp his wrist, preventing his retreat.
“Is that right?”
Lucifer’s smile glints from the abyss while six of those eyes narrow, strangely making the eldrich being more…comprehensive. It’s one of Lucifer’s tells, a particular quirk that Alastor’s noted the King does when he’s either really annoyed or having a lot of fun pissing him off. He wagers that right now, it’s a bit of both, but sadly, that knowledge makes the scene before him no less intimidating.
Still, he manages to keep his smile stuck in place, even if his stitches ache at the sides of his mouth.
“Why, with that talk, someone might be foolish to assume you’re trying to out-parent me again,” Lucifer continues, blinking himself back to normality as his smile turns wicked, “And we really don’t want that, do we?”
Alastor fights the urge to gulp as the grip around his wrist tightens. He knows that all of this is only an attempt to intimidate him. But for once, it’s actually working, if only a little. Even though the King does so little with his vast amounts of power, it’s hard to hold his nerve when presented with such awe-inspiring majesty.
But that’s exactly why Alastor doesn’t let his expression shift, not even a millimetre.
“Well, considering her more capable parent has been absent for, what is it, seven years? Eight?” He starts, leaning down so he’s eye to eye with Lucifer before tilting his head mockingly, “Or is it closer to nine whole years since your wife left you?”
This time, Lucifer’s horns sprout in the blink of an eye.
“Watch it, pal.”
Bingo.
Alastor’s grin grows wide as he prepares to drive the knife in further, “Oh, I’m watching, Sire.”
For a few beats, they stay locked in place, neither one willing to back down. But even as the tension becomes thick enough to cut with a knife, Alastor can feel he’s winning. It’s in the King’s rapidly rising temperature, the thin trails of steam trickling out of the corner of his mouth. Even in the way he refuses to break eye contact, forcing Alastor to seek out a point on his exasperatingly flawless skin to focus on instead.
He settles just between the King’s brows and finds himself trying to figure out how they’re so much darker than the hair on his head until Lucifer breaks.
“Ok, fine-” Lucifer lets go of his wrist as his tone shifts into something softer, “I’ll be there. I will. I’m just-”
He meets Alastor’s gaze again, his pupils flicking around erratically in a way that’s somehow far more unnerving than any intimidation tactic. The voices that have been yelling at Alastor to leave since he set foot inside this cursed place become almost too loud to ignore, only for the King to break his intense scrutiny in the nick of time.
Lucifer turns back to his desk before burying his head in his hands with an overly dramatic sigh.
“-Forget it.”
Interesting.
Alastor knows the sensible thing to do would be to take the win and leave with his head held high, with the flicker of vulnerability Lucifer has let slip being more than enough to lord over him for weeks to come.
But where’s the fun in bowing out early?
“No.” He challenges before slinking around to the opposite side of Lucifer’s desk again to appear behind Lucifer’s opposite shoulder, “And if you believe I’m leaving without you either, then you’re sorely mistaken.”
He leans down once more, close enough that the King can feel the words against his cheek, “Unless of course you’d like me to inform your daughter that I’ll be stepping into your role on a more permanent basis?”
Lucifer snaps.
It’s not the afterlife-ending snap that he would be gambling with if that little caveat about Lucifer’s punishment wasn’t there, but with how it’s been increasingly difficult to properly piss off the pint-sized King in the last few months, even the sight of Lucifer springing to his feet to stand toe-to-toe with him feels like another resounding victory.
“Touching.” Lucifer hums mockingly, though the word drips with scolding heat, “Truly touching.”
Then he steps forward, enough to invade Alastor’s personal space entirely. Enough to force Alastor to either retreat or commit to standing his ground.
He, of course, remains exactly where he is.
“But if you were such a good stand-in father,” Lucifer spits, leaning in close enough for Alastor to feel those heaving breaths through his ribcage, “You wouldn’t be about to march your scrawny ass downstairs, tail between your legs, having failed to convince me to join you.”
The room goes silent once more, the air charged. And then, too quickly to think better of it, Alastor laughs.
“That’s the best you can come up with?! Oh, my dear Lucifer, will you ever tire of the sound of your own voice?” Alastor tilts his head again, smiling mockingly as one of his ears flops comically to the side, “I suppose if it will soothe your delicate ego, I can ask a second time.”
He makes a point of tilting his face down to Lucifer’s level while pursing his lips into a faux-pout.
“Won’t the almighty King of Hell do one itty-bitty favour for his favourite subject?” He singsongs, putting on a voice one usually reserves for infants under the age of three, “Just for me? Pretty please?”
To add insult to injury, he flutters his lashes, chest swelling with pride when that seems to infuriate the imbecile even further.
“You-” Lucifer growls while jabbing a finger dangerously close to Alastor’s still-healing wound, “You no good, shitty little-”
He cuts himself off mid-sentence, finger frozen on Alastor’s sternum.
Oh?
A wicked smile spreads across Lucifer’s face at an alarming rate, making Alastor’s ears twitch despite his best efforts.
Shit.
“You know what? Fuck it,” The King crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling heavily through his clenched teeth, “I’ll do whatever you ask, fuck, you can have whatever you want, asshole.” he clicks his teeth before his expression turns wild, “But only if you ask nicely for it.”
Alastor splutters through another bout of disbelief, “I beg your pardon?”
He expects Lucifer to back down, to tease Alastor for being gullible enough to believe such a request was genuine.
Worryingly, Lucifer’s eyes light up in delight.
“Oh, that’s an even better idea than the one I had!” He takes a step back, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself, “Sure thing, Bambi. Get on your knees. Beg.”
He finishes the insane request by clicking his fingers and pointing to the floor, brows raising in a clear challenge.
Fuck.
Alastor doesn’t know why, but that downright demand sets off a chain reaction in his mind that he can’t quite silence.
How dare he?
How fucking dare he?!
He’s unable to keep his lid on a century’s worth of rage that phrase stirs up in him, even more so after that whole ordeal with Vox lording over him for weeks on end. No matter how much he tries to fight it, Alastor’s smile wavers. Feedback screeches through his newly fixed microphone despite his best efforts to stop it, which only makes everything ten times worse.
“Absolutely not,” he answers quickly through gritted teeth.
Then he straightens his back, smile firmly in place even as it dries out to something brittle and sharp.
The waver in his composure was only for a second, but the way Lucifer’s eyes glimmer says he caught it.
“Hit a nerve there, have I?” Lucifer steps forward, just an inch, but enough to push him right back into Alastor’s personal space, “What’s wrong Al? Too high and mighty for any actual conviction?”
Fuck this.
While every instinct Alastor has screams at him to abandon this inane argument and fucking leave once more, he knows he can’t.
That would be losing. Where Lucifer is concerned, he can’t afford to do that.
Not again.
“I could say the same about you, your majesty,” Alastor shoots back, hands coming to rest behind his back as he invades Lucifer’s space in return, “I don't think I've ever known someone so unwilling to show a little humility.”
“Humility?!” Lucifer splutters, his horns momentarily peeking out once more, “I could kill you where you stand, sinner.”
Oh.
Oh my.
The rush Alastor feels is like winning the lottery and finishing first in a race simultaneously.
“Such scathing words,” he purrs as his eyes darken, “When we both know you can’t.”
In a flash, Alastor finds himself flat on his ass, staring up at a ceiling decorated with…
A carbon copy of the Sistine Chapel, but entirely made up of ducks.
Of course.
Alastor’s eyes flick into dials as he brings his hand to his face, only to find he wasn’t struck like he originally assumed. No, it was the force of Lucifer’s three sets of wings unfurling in a split second that had toppled him over.
Which, when he takes in the expansive wingspan now above him, isn’t really a surprise.
“You know what, fuck it.” Lucifer continues as he walks forward, stepping between the legs Alastor had neglected to close to leer down at him, “I can’t tear your scrawny ass limb from limb, but I can make your life a literal living hell unless you get on your hands and knees and plead for my forgiveness.”
He ends his sentence with another flick of all six wings, the gust of wind knocking several ducks off their shelves as well as effectively tousling Alastor’s hair ridiculously. He just about resists the urge to smooth it down, not wanting to give Lucifer the satisfaction until he’s regained some ground.
Considering how much Alastor is having to push down the feeling of finally being impressed by the devil again, that’s easier said than done. Especially when, the last time he’d felt this way in an argument with Lucifer, he had to-
No. No
Alastor literally bites his tongue in his mouth, tasting the bitterness of his own blood, as he reminds himself of the promise to never think about those traitorous thoughts ever again.
On the other hand…
“More empty threats, I’m sure.” Alastor fires back, propping himself up on his elbows in an attempt to appear far more nonchalant than he feels, “Or….perhaps not? Perhaps I’ve finally wormed my way under that sickly skin of yours?”
He vanishes in a puff of shadows, appearing behind the disappearing wings before lowering himself so that his teeth threaten the sliver of exposed skin at Lucifer’s nape, “I’ve seen first hand how gullible you are, Lucifer, yet it’s baffling to think someone as ancient as you is so easy.”
It’s a low blow, even for him, to be underhanded about using his natural and highly ironic charms in a battle of wits. But if Lucifer wants to bend their unspoken rules by flexing his superior strength, then why should Alastor play fair?
His hunch about their dear King’s very public separation, leaving him with some pesky, unmet needs, proves to be entirely on the mark. The hairs on Lucifer’s neck stand on end in an instant, and he barely manages to catch the shiver the sudden proximity causes. It throws him entirely off kilter, giving Alastor the perfect opening to grab Lucifer’s waist by-
-Oh, he can engulf the King’s waist in one hand.
That’s…troubling.
Luckily, Alastor isn’t given time to dwell on that unexpected revelation when he finds himself being shoved away in the next beat.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” Lucifer yells, the temperature around him spiking as a soft shimmer of gold colours his cheeks, “Maybe I can’t kill you myself, but I swear on the seven rings I’ll find someone who can if you don’t back the fuck off.”
Alastor doesn’t answer the blatant misdirection.
He’s too busy staring at the distance between his pointer finger and thumb with an odd fascination, flabbergasted as to why he’s so stumped about how he could easily touch the tips of his claws together when the King was in his grasp.
“I knew it. I fucking knew you’d value your pride over your life,” Lucifer snaps again when he doesn’t respond, grabbing Alastor’s shirt and pulling him down to his low, low level, “You’re so fucking stubborn, it’s unbelievable.”
That actually does knock Alastor out of his unexpected stupor, his mind running a mile a minute while his first genuine smile forms on his face.
“Pot kettle black, Sire.”
The reaction is delightfully instant.
Lucifer looks absolutely furious. More of that golden flush mottles his cheeks, only now it’s the product of pure rage. Alastor basks in it, letting himself be yanked down even further as that rage bubbles over, to the point his knees start to buckle from the awkward angle.
He doesn’t care. A front row seat to Lucifer finally losing his shit over a little taunting is the most entertaining thing he’s witnessed in years.
“That’s it? Your answer is ‘It takes one to know one’!? What, you think we’re like that old saying or something?” Lucifer snarls, tightening his grip far enough that Alastor can hear several seams start to tear, “Or are proverbs a little before your time since you’re practically bright green behind those ridiculously big ears?”
Oh, that’s…
That’s new.
Alastor blinks rapidly. He’s used to being incorrectly called outdated, washed up, and occasionally an old hag, and trading similar insults in kind. He never really considered that to Lucifer, he’s practically a babe in arms, but when the shock fades, he jumps at the chance to twist that in his favour.
“You wouldn’t be the first to underestimate my prowess,” He raises his brows, going lax in Lucifer’s hold, making it so the fallen angel has to support his weight, “It should be common knowledge by now, but considering you spent most of that battle in chains of your own making, I’ll be managmous enough to give you the benifit of the doubt.”
He finishes his drawl by running his tongue across his teeth, noting with glee how Lucifer’s pupils dart down to his lips.
Good, he thinks as he drags the tip over one of his canines, right into my trap.
“Will you humour me?” Alastor adds in a sultry purr, knowing full well how the tonal whiplash is going to haunt the King as soon as he leaves, “I might surprise you.”
Lucifer, to his credit, manages to keep himself in check with nothing more than an exasperated sigh. He tightens his hold while narrowing his eyes, looking awfully like he wants to slap Alastor down several rings in one fell swoop.
Instead, the King folds.
“Like Scylla and Charybdis, yet bound by pride-”
“-With hearts and hubris neither set aside.” Alastor cuts in, singing the familiar stanza in the near-forgotten melody, “That’s it? Why, it can hardly be called ancient considering it’s in the modern tong-”
He’s cut off abruptly by the feeling of something bending the atmosphere around them, followed by a deafening click.
Alastor’s first instinct is to twist his head around 180 degrees toward the door, convinced their argument has provided the perfect cover for a mystery assailant. When he finds there’s no one there, his neck snaps back toward Lucifer, accusations on his tongue, only to find the King looks just as dumbfounded.
And that’s when he feels it.
Eyes darting toward his right arm, Alastor quickly confirms he didn’t imagine the sudden weight around his wrist. But it’s not Lucifer’s hand like he expected, but rather a glowing golden cuff clasped snugly just above his hand.
But that’s not all.
There’s a chain attached to the top of the clasp, also glowing unnaturally. With growing panic, Alastor follows its line all the way up to the hand Lucifer still has tangled in his shirt, his left, to see the matching cuff around the King’s stained-black wrist.
No.
No, no, no.
Not again.
Something deep within Alastor’s gut drops through the ground as Lucifer lets him go, startled at the sudden shift, only to confirm the impossible with the soft sound of clinking chain.
“Oh,” Lucifer remarks nonchalantly, “Well. That’s something.”
“Something?!” Alastor snaps, raising his arms in anguish, which in turn causes another ripple of mocking clicks, “What did you do?”
It feels like the room starts to spin when Lucifer raises his hands along with him, though the attempt at calming him down only infuriates Alastor further.
“Listen, buddy, I’m as much in the dark as you are,” Lucifer replies in a tone that’s too damn fucking calm, “But don’t worry, I’ll just-”
He tries to pull his arm back, but that just yanks Alastor toward him with him. The King frowns and steps backwards, only for Alastor to follow entirely unwillingly. Lucifer’s next attempt involves directing some of his golden magic toward the clasp around his wrist, but the chain immediately absorbs the power, its glow increasing in intensity.
Only when the weight of the situation finally hits does Lucifer meet Alastor’s panicked gaze with both of their eyes widening in abject horror.
They’re…they’re stuck?!
They remain staring each other down, utterly dumbfounded, until panic finally bubbles up to the surface in the form of overlapping yelling.
“How the fuck did you manage to-”
“-I didn’t do anything-”
“-Like usual, I'm sure! But I'm not the one powerful enough to-”
"-You think I'd fucking choose to bind myself to the likes of-”
Alastor doesn’t let him finish that sentence.
He turns tail, storming off, intent on yanking Lucifer along with him just to blow off some steam, only for Lucifer to have a similar idea at the same time. They yank the chain in opposite directions at once, only to see themselves snapped back toward each other. It sends Lucifer stumbling into his chest with an undignified yelp, the majority of which vibrates through his pectorals. The sudden, and quite frankly, unnecessarily intimate collision has them both recoiling, pulling apart like they’ve been shocked, knocking Lucifer’s stupid hat clean off in the process.
Small victories, Alastor muses, before the horror of the situation hits him once more.
The cuffs hold fast when they pull again, further tangled by their disarray, only allowing them just enough distance to meet each other’s wide-eyed gaze.
Shit.
This time, it’s Lucifer who moves first. He flicks open a portal behind him with a casual handwave, the tear in space shimmering in shades of gold and ivory. Alastor watches with a glimmer of hope as the King steps toward it, only for his feedback to blow out several speakers when he’s dragged toward the portal aswell like a dog being hauled by its leash.
But the moment Lucifer’s foot crosses the threshold, the portal snaps shut like a slammed door, the recoil knocking them both backwards as they land in a heap of tangled limbs.
It’s odd for Alastor to notice just how soft Lucifer’s skin is when the King is flailing like a feral cat atop him, but quite frankly, it’s literally smoother than silk. To avoid the compulsion he harbours for repeatedly stroking different textures when he’s particularly anxious, Alastor is the one to attempt to escape this time.
His body dissolves into shadow, slipping down into the floor in a soundless glide-
-only to get halfway through before the chain wrenches him back up and prevents him from dissipating any further. His upper half resolidifies above a plush purple rug, while his legs remain ghostlike beneath, flickering and glitching in the void.
It’s ridiculous. Undignified. And Alastor barely manages to swallow his strangled bleat by hissing through his teeth.
Lucifer actually proves his use for once and grabs him by the arm that they’re chained together by and tries to help him. Only, he then again proves to be a bumbling fool as he tries to pull Alastor out of the floor with the same grace as someone yanking a stuck drawer loose. The effort eventually results in Alastor popping back into place with a sound like wet suction, sending a shiver of disgust through his entire body as he’s unceremoniously thrown into the King’s lap.
Their joint shriek is deafening.
With his wings puffing out again like a furious bird, Lucifer attempts to put some distance between them once again by taking flight. It’s somehow an even less thought-out attempt than the last, with Alastor momentarily being hauled into the air by his wrist like he’s some kind of ragdoll.
He growls as whatever self-control he has left crumbles, seeing him summoning several tentacles to both right himself and shove Lucifer as far away as possible. He’s forced to cry out when the King’s smacks and kicks quickly turn to the pseudo-limbs with beams of bright light before, once again, their chains send them flying into each other.
“Oh, for fucks sake!” Lucifer yells when Alastor’s elbow narrowly misses his face in the tangled fray that sees them once again tangled on the ground, “Honestly, Alastor, I’m going to find a way to fucking end you if you don’t-”
Click.
They freeze, their childish struggle cut short as they stare at the now shining length of chain between them.
Click. Click. Click.
Alastor pushes himself to his feet as Lucifer does the same, their scramble cut short at the realisation that their binding is doing the same. They raise their joint arms wordlessly, watching in shock as the chain links disappear before their eyes, length decreasing by the second.
Click.
But that’s not all.
Click.
As if pulled toward each other by the same unseen force that binds them, Alastor quickly finds his free side drawn towards Lucifer as the chains tighten further.
Click.
They both fight it, shoving the other away, with Alastor digging his claws into whatever part of Lucifer he can reach in a desperate attempt to regain some distance.
Click. Click. Click.
Their struggle quickly ceases as Alastor finds his limbs suddenly heavy, with even the amount of effort it takes to raise his hand quickly becoming impossible. A startled gasp tells him the King is in the same situation even before he feels Lucifer’s limp hands meeting his, with the final clink echoing around the scant space between them.
They stand there, in the middle of a room in disarray, limb to limb, Lucifer’s chest to his…well, ribs if he’s being generous, both barely able to move.
His head snaps down at the same beat Lucifer’s snaps up, and for a painfully long moment, they can do nought but stare at each other as the weight of the situation finally hits.
They’re fucked.
In the sudden, choking quiet, Alastor’s voice drops low into something not entirely his own,
“Stop. Fighting. It.”
It’s a command that he has no right to issue, considering the need to escape has him ready to claw off his own skin, but it’s the one that’s needed. Lucifer’s breath stutters, but he complies, resulting in them both going very still.
A few agonising seconds tick by until Alastor feels it. The regained movement in his left arm. He flexes his fingers, encouraging Lucifer to do the same with a quick nudge until he can engulf the King’s hand in his own, bringing it to a stop, as his mind attempts to catch up.
This. This will work. Whatever rules are involved in their magic binding are punishing, but there’s something here. They just have to be patient.
…Which is far easier said than done with Lucifer’s body pressed flush against his own.
Try as he might to seem infallible, a furious blush creeps its way across Alastor’s cheekbones.
Not because he’s embarrassed, no, no. Even if the King can surely hear the way his heart is hammering or see the way his ears are now pinned flat against his head. That would be ridiculous. No, Alastor’s face is flushed because he’s furious, and utterly mortified about the situation he’s found himself in.
How is this happening? How is the magic so strong that even the damned devil can’t break it?
And why… why does Alastor have a sneaking suspicion he’s the maker of his own damn grave?!
Even as he tries to fight the urge to acknowledge Lucifer right now, he can’t help but glance down to where the King’s cheek is resting against his chest. Thankfully, the King seems to be in a similar state to him, if not worse, with his blush extending to dust the tips of his ears in bright gold.
And he’s… is he talking to himself?
It seems to be a chant of It’s ok. This is cool. I’m fine. when Alastor flicks his ears forward to tune in, which Lucifer repeats several more times until he clears his throat.
The King looks up, craning his neck to meet Alastor’s gaze before a myriad of emotions flicker over his face, “We’re so fucked.”
For whatever reason, that declaration pulls a sharp laugh straight from Alastor’s chest. It’s fleeting, but unavoidably loud, followed quickly by another when he realises he can’t even raise a hand to muffle the sound.
It’s the exact wrong reaction for the situation, a slip Alastor can barely comprehend he’s allowed himself. But when Lucifer’s eyes widen as his smile quivers uncontrollably, it becomes clear they’re not going to win this fight.
Of course they both try to restrain themselves at first, averting their eyes whilst attempting to stifle their strained breaths. But when Lucifer’s next exhale turns into a hum, it breaks on an almost pained laugh before he can catch it. After that, it’s Alastor whose chest spasms at the goofy outburst, only to make another one himself that’s equally matched in its ridiculousness.
Which only adds to the momentum.
Then it’s a bark of laughter, a sound of failing restraint, and then Lucifer letting out the most un-kingly chortle, which startles Alastor so much he forgets all about trying to avoid eye contact.
But when he does. When Alastor meets the eye of the divine being with a cheek smooshed against his chest with tears in his eyes from the effort of holding back, it’s all over.
Their laughter is as infectious as it is impossible to stop, but really, what else is there to do in a situation like this?
It doesn’t take them long to crack entirely, cackling like lunatics. Whenever they get a hold of their nerve, it takes one look at each other before the cycle starts anew. It gets to a point Alastor starts laughing so hard he tips forward, shoulders shaking, which unfortunately tips Lucifer off balance again, and that just makes it worse.
Lucifer has to grip his biceps to keep himself from falling over, only to realise he can actually move his arms properly now. Which, of course, only makes them laugh harder as he tries to explain the change through heaving breaths. In turn, Alastor has to blink back tears as he helps Lucifer to right himself. His hands settle on the King’s hips with entirely different intent, using the anchor to try and calm himself as Lucifer chokes half-formed apologies between heaving breaths.
When things finally ebb enough to think they dare to straighten up, they do so carefully, not quite daring to speak. Alastor breathes a sigh of relief when the chain clinks again, but this time in the opposite direction. It doesn’t extend to the previous length, but it gives them enough to only be mildly invading each other's personal space, so it’s definitely a relief.
One that he can see written all over Lucifer’s face when their eyes meet again.
They communicate wordlessly as they start straightening themselves out, and for a few blissful moments, it’s clear that something inside them both recognises something in the other.
It’s not camaraderie. Hell, it’s barely even sympathy.
It’s a simple understanding that whatever mess they’re in, they’re not in it alone.
“So,” Alastor eventually manages, voice back under his control if a little thin, “I believe we require a plan.”
It’s stating the obvious. He knows it, and he knows Lucifer knows it.
But considering they’ve just had their world turned upside down, it’s definitely what’s needed.
“Yep. That we do.” Lucifer clears his throat, dusting himself down as if that’s all he needs to correct his disarray, “And preferably one that doesn’t involve ripping our arms off.”
Alastor winces, “Agreed.”
Another beat of silence stretches between them. It’s weighted, but strangely not as hostile as before. Only now that they’re thinking about a plan, Alastor sees that there’s a rather large elephant in the room. One that even without asking, he knows neither of them wants to address.
Yet it starts to stamp its feet, blow its trumpet, and demand-
“We should tell Charlie.” Alastor offers before it drives him insane.
Lucifer visibly recoils, “No. Absolutely not! We are not going to involve-”
The door explodes open.
Which is quite a remarkable feat, considering it was already ajar.
Regardless of that little tidbit, Alastor jumps into action, calling on his staff to defend from the imminent attack. It knocks Lucifer’s arm on the way, which he almost considers apologising for, but then the King whines about it and he finds that sentiment evaporates in an instant.
He crouches, ignoring whatever babble about manners Lucifer is spouting as he looks toward the door, only to find it’s-
-Every single one of the Hazbin Hotel’s ragtag team of staff.
Wonderful.
“Don’t do it, Lucifer! Whatever he’s offering it’s not -” Vaggi trails off, dropping her spear as she takes in the sight before her, “Oh.”
Despite her girlfriend barging into the room with murderous intent, it’s Charlie’s gasp that shifts the tension in the room to something entirely different.
Alastor breaks his gaze, looking back toward himself and the King, only to realise far too late why both of the hotel’s founders look so shell-shocked. His change of posture, coupled with how close Lucifer is to him, makes it look like he’s trying to shield the King from any potential attack.
Absolutly marvelous!!!!
Charlie blinks in that wonderfully blank Morningstar trademark way, “…Dad?”
“Heyyyy Char-Char-” Lucifer starts, quickly slipping their joint hands closer together so as not to expose the chains, “And uh-”
The King freezes, flushing even brighter as his gaze flicks between their shell-shocked opponents, "And all of Charlie's friends! How you doing? You good?!”
“Dad,” Charlie repeats, voice becoming strained, “We…We came up because we heard a lot of-”
She trails off, only for Vaggi to jump in for her in the next beat.
“We heard an awful lot of commotion, Sir.” She starts, lacing her fingers with Charlie as they exchange a pointed look, “We thought maybe Alastor had tried to…or that you’d finally lost your temper and found a way to kill-”
“-Oh, believe me, that would be preferable,” Alastor interjects, sounding off several bursts of static.
Lucifer shoots him a warning glare, which only makes the static hiss louder.
He straightens his back, his fraying dignity attempting to manifest through raw humiliation. The chain pulls just enough to keep Lucifer close enough for Alastor to feel how much the King is trying to hide his own panic, the speed of his ribcage expanding and contracting more akin to that of a hummingbird.
Charlie’s gaze drops. Her mouth falls open. Her eyes jump from the cuffs to their joined arms, up to their expressions, then back down to the cuffs again.
“What is that?”
Lucifer actually gulping in fear is almost worth this whole unfortunate circus Alastor is being subjected to.
“So uh, me and Alastor, well…” Lucifer gestures vaguely between them, cuffs jingling lightly to put more nails in the coffin, “We’re in a bit of a pickle, you see, and-”
“-Holy shit, are those handcuffs!?” Cherry jumps in, clearly taking on the obnoxious role of her absent friend as she pushes through the small crowd to get a better look, “Damn! I didn’t know ya had it in you, Lu. Or that this creepy shit was even your type-”
“-They are not that type of handcuffs,” Alastor snaps, voice peaking just a little higher than intended, “They appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a disagreement. They’re some kind of magic in nature. Strong, too. Neither of us can break it.”
A wave of murmuring rolls through the group. Some of disbelief, some of amusement. Alastor takes it all with a forced smile that he doesn’t let budge a single inch. That is, until his over-sensitive ears catch the inane ramblings of Niffty as she clutches her hands to her chest.
It’s something along the lines of ‘hot, strung-up, bad-boys’ followed by manic laughter.
…He should not have heard that.
He wishes deeply and viscerally that he had not heard that.
But alas, it seems someone upstairs is finally holding him accountable for his multitude of sins.
Alastor’s ears flatten. The chain shifts between them, and despite the direness of their situation, he realises Lucifer is trying not to laugh again.
His internal scream is so loud he’s surprised the whole room doesn’t flinch.
Thoughts of impossible homicide aside, it’s then that Alastor notices there’s one member of the group yet to react. Charlie is staring at them, her eyes still stuck in that continual darting loop, until they practically pop out of her head in pure glee.
Oh no.
“Oh my god!” She beams, bounding toward them with an unfathomable amount of delight, “This is amazing!”
“...It is?” Lucifer attempts before Alastor can cut in with his own disbelief.
If he’s being honest, it’s not unwanted. Not when the princess is bouncing before them. As in actually, physically bouncing in place like her body is too full of joy to stay still.
“Don’t you see, it’s perfect!” she says, clasping her hands in front of her chest with such force her knuckles audibly pop. “You two don’t get along, right?”
“That’s an understatement.” Alastor, and the fucking King, say in unison.
They both freeze. They turn their heads to face each other with their eyes rapidly widening in horrified betrayal.
Oh fuck No.
The room erupts before either of them can gather their composure.
Cherry wheezes with loud, abrasive laughter, folding herself in half while losing her grip on the hellpig that’s become her constant companion. Nifty continues chittering something Alastor refuses to decipher, while Vaggi is desperately trying to distract herself from her own failing composure by stopping the smaller demon from coming toward them. Even that infuriating traitor Husker dares to look smug while laughing into his drink, shaking his head in disbelief.
If asked at a later date, Alastor would pinpoint this moment as the one where his soul left his body completely.
Or at least, that's what he wishes was the case.
Sadly, he’s still right here, stuck to Lucifer, while his daughter jumps around in front of them like it’s cause for celebration.
“See, it's far better than any trust exercise I could ever come up with!” She declares, clapping her hands rapidly while making a noise that resembles that of a firing rocket, “Now you’ll have to work together until we figure out a way to break the spell!”
Lucifer, surprisingly, doesn’t entirely humour her, at least not at first. He grimaces, closing his eyes while exhaling heavily, as if gearing himself up to do the unthinkable.
“Sweetie?” he starts, opening his arms to his daughter before wincing when that brings Alastor along with him, “Look, I know I dropped you a few times as a baby- and oh man, do I feel bad about that-”
Alastor feels his last shred of patience snap in two.
“-What your buffoon of a father is trying to get at is-” He interjects, quickly, before Lucifer can subject him to any more of his fumbling, “-this is the opposite of a good thing. Your father and I? Chained together? How are we even supposed to-”
“-See, that’s exactly what you’re going to have to work together to figure out!” Charlie almost sings, completely unfazed by the interruption as her eyes sparkle with borderline sadistic glee, “And the best part is, you’ll be doing so as-”
“-Don’t say it-”
“As partners!”
There are several overlapping choked noises from the doorway, but Alastor can barely hear them over the ringing in his ears.
He has never, in any moment of his unholy existence, felt such a strong urge to spontaneously combust.
Partners.
Partners.
Alastor keeps himself very, very still, but he can’t stop several radios in the hotel screeching with feedback before blowing out completely. He tries to ground himself in the moment, to save face, but unfortunately, the only thing his fractured mind can cling to is the source of his problem.
He can hear Lucifer’s breathing. Can feel the warmth of him against his arm as they stand mere inches apart from each other. But what takes the cherry on this entire shit-show of a cake is how he can sense the amused little smile Lucifer is desperately trying to hide.
Fuck this.
Fuck him.
Lucifer eventually meets his eye with a more apologetic smile, and it’s a wonder Alastor doesn’t punch him right in his still-flushed face. He just knows there are countless deities beyond his comprehension that are currently laughing their asses off at him. And, with Lucifer’s reputation, there’s probably even more doubled over at the fate bestowed on the fallen angel.
With no regard for Alastor’s fate whatsoever.
Because here he is, tied - literally shackled - to the most pompous, theatrical, self-righteous, insufferable prick in all of creation.
How… how the fuck is he going to get through dinner, let alone anything else?!
