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Naturally it was the wedding of the millennia.
If one ignored the fact that instead of taking place in one of the several magnificent ballrooms in the palace, the ceremony was being held at that tawdry little hotel run by Lucifer’s daughter. Andras supposed, grudgingly, that one did need to take some interest in the activities of one’s heirs, particularly one that had yet to produce an heir of their own.
Andras also noted, even more grudgingly, that the decorations were suitably enchanting for one such as the King of Hell. The draperies were made from lace as fine as spider silk. The flowers, a combination of roses in snowy white and blood crimson, were set in tasteful urns around the hall. A carpet of petals led a pathway to the altar where Lucifer stood with the officiant, a cattish creature who Andras would swear was sneaking sips from a flask whenever he ducked behind the archway.
None of that detracted from the glory of their King.
He was magnificent, all the guests agreed. Dressed in white from the high-button spats adorning his shoes to the ironic symbolism of the priestly collar of his shirt. He’d eschewed a tie for a pin nestled close to his throat, its ruby gem glinting in the lights. His jacket was close fitted, lace dripping from the sleeves and matching ruby cuff links winked whenever he restlessly shifted his weight.
His hat was conspicuously absent. Why, Andras could hardly recall an occasion he’d been without it. She wondered, rather pettishly, why he bothered with a hat to begin with; his hair gleamed in a lustrous golden crown of its own. There was no cane in his hand today, instead he carried a single red rose, stark amongst the whiteness.
It was well known that none in Hell could compete with the beauty of the morning star. Disgusting that all this luxury was being put on display for their shining one to marry a lowly sinner.
It was a scandal, of course.
When the first invitations began to arrive, word spread through the elite quickly, the gossip train was speedier these days with all that sinstagram nonsense. The King of Hell was remarrying, not a Sin or Goetia, not even a juicy betrayal in the form of rejoining the Heavenly ranks. According to the invitation, handwritten and tastefully embossed, in two weeks’ time, he would be marrying a commoner, a human soul, a sinner, one who ranked high by their standards, and was barely above imps by the elite. Gossip was torn between horror and reluctant admiration that Lucifer could sink to the lowest of sin.
And now here they were. After a mad scramble over the last couple weeks for clothes, shoes, hats, gifts —each simply must be perfect to outmatch old grudges and enemies— all the guests were sitting for the last hour in this grandly decorated hall, their elegance on display, watching their king stand at an altar, alone.
In the first half-hour there were only nervous coughs, throat clearing, what have you, to break the quiet of the crowd. The piano player stopped after rotating endlessly through three nauseatingly loving songs and silence was starting to be overwhelmed with whispers.
"It's no more than you'd expect from a common sinner," Andras sniffed. She was only saying what everyone else was thinking and did not shrink from the dozens of reproachful looks sent her way.
It was the truth, the delicious scandal of it!
The King of Hell, the Morningstar, ruining the status of the Royal family. Trading Lilith's elegance for a common thug was one thing; for that very thug to stand the King up at the altar was a blasphemy of the like unseen in Hell.
Lucifer’s smile never changed as he stood there, twiddling that single rose in his hands. Showing no sign of his surely mounting worries and humiliation.
In the seat closest to the front was his daughter, a disappointment in her own right and what Andras wouldn’t give to see her face right now.
Perhaps it was the whispers that drove him or perhaps the embarrassment was too much for him to bear. It was the top of the hour when Lucifer finally turned to address his guests. He tucked the long stem of the rose under his arm and clapped his hands together, as if every eye wasn’t already upon him.
“Well, looks like the wedding is off, folks,” Lucifer said cheerfully. “Help yourself to dinner and drinks, the band is paid through midnight!”
He swept down in a flamboyant bow and hopped down from the dais, pausing only to speak briefly with his daughter and her clutter of misfits before trotting off towards the double-doors at the back of the hall, vanishing through them.
A few moments passed before the first guest stood and that set off a chain reaction. Guests standing and reaching for their phones, vultures eager to post on their timelines about the King’s humiliation.
The shame of it. Why, back in her day spreading gossip was a skill far removed from tapping thumbs against a screen.
It was Lucifer’s daughter who broke through the rising cacophony, standing by the altar and her voice carried over the crowd.
“Okay, everyone!” Charlotte said with determined cheer. “If you’ll come this way, dinner will be served!”
Dinner and dancing was still on, it seemed. Their names on placards and whatever favor set by their plates would surely be a collector’s item, of the King’s wedding that wasn’t. Andras wouldn’t miss this kind of gossip for all the world and fell in line with the rest. As she ate, she listened in on the chatter spreading through the hall.
‘Embarrassing,’ was a word floating around the dining tables. ‘Humiliating’ out on the dance floor, ‘shameful’ joined the pair as they stood in line for a slice of a frankly decadent cake.
For all Lucifer’s pretend cheer, the truth was he must be devastated. A lowly sinner breaking the pride of the one who ruled it with such a callous rejection, wasn’t it glorious?
Just as well. Taking Lucifer down a peg or two might well get their king back on his throne, where he belonged.
Despite always feeling on the verge of rain, there wasn’t actually a weather system in Alastor’s bayou. The air was so thick with humidity it left skin and clothes alike damp. Anyone walking through needed to mind where they put their feet lest they end up mired ankle-deep in soupy mud, forced to abandon their footwear to escape. Just as well visitors were very few and far between or the path would be marked by a graveyard of solitary shoes lost to murky depths.
Lucifer avoided all those muddy traps with ease born of experience. He made his way through the rustling grass and hillocks, stopping at the end of the dock where a pair of fine black leather shoes were lined up. They’d been handmade in the downtown district by a talented if extremely cranky cobbler of Alastor’s acquaintance and here they were, polished to a lustrous shine and without their owner. A pair of equally fine socks were tucked inside them, also handmade of red silk. Lucifer took off his own handmade shoes, the mirror image of the ones already there, white to their black. He left them alongside, tucking his socks into them to complete the picture. Then he turned towards the dock, padded out on the smooth wood in his bare feet to sit next to the figure who was already there.
The other groom was sitting with his shoulders hunched within his black tuxedo jacket, collar askew, and the pin that should be fastened there was instead poking out of his breast pocket, the diamond-encrusted snake’s head peering sightlessly out. In his lap his hands were clenched around the stem of a white rose, thankfully thornless. His head was lowered, ears sagging on either side, and his eyes firmly on where his feet dangled in the cool water, skinny calves poking out from the pants rolled up to his knees.
There was some sort of fish that looked like a catfish summoned from the nightmares of a sleeping child nibbling his hoofy toes where they dangled in the water. Lucifer summoned up a handful of pellets and cast a few towards them, watched as they were gulped up through suspiciously large fishy teeth.
“So,” Lucifer said. He tossed a few more pellets and they fell into the water with a chorus of plinks.
Alastor did not look at him. “So.”
“Can’t help but notice you didn’t make it to the wedding,” Lucifer said, idly.
“You’ve always been the observant one.”
“Just thought it was odd, considering that it was ours.” The catfish came to the conclusion he was their new lord of the fishies, swimming over to nibble his toes instead. Lucifer tossed them a few more pellets. “You okay?”
Alastor nodded a little, his eyes only on the water and the silvery fish. “I can’t do this.”
“Okay.” He waited but Alastor didn’t expand on it. In Alastor’s lap, his hands tightened until the stem of the rose snapped in two.
“Okay,” Alastor repeated flatly, “That’s it. That’s all you have to say is ‘okay’.”
Not even remotely. “Are you leaving me?”
“No!” He looked up then, stricken, his crimson eyes overbright. He’d pulled his hair back the way Lucifer liked it and wisps were escaping the diamond-encrusted clip, curling in the humidity to frame his face. “I suppose what I want doesn’t matter, I can have my things packed by—"
“Stop right there,” Lucifer said. He tossed the last of the pellets into the water and dusted off his hands before setting one on Alastor’s knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What you want matters, love. It always matters.”
“I want to be with you,” Alastor croaked out. The static in his voice was especially thick, the way it always was when he was emotional, and Lucifer knew that. He knew Alastor so very well.
“That’s what I want, too,” Lucifer told him, simply.
“I just…” Alastor sagged again, lowering his head into his hands, “I can’t do this in front of them. I dressed this morning, and I went to the ceremony, and I stood there like a fool, unable to go through the doors.” He chuckled bitterly. “Amusing, isn’t it; there’s another reason I prefer to be the radio demon. I can’t do this. I simply can’t tear open my ribcage and show them my beating heart, that’s a sight reserved only for you.”
Lucifer smiled helplessly, ah, even his love language was of the bloody variety. Give him death and mayhem and he was in his element, give him something softer and he couldn’t show his face. Except to Lucifer.
Lucifer leaned back on his hands and kicked lazily at the water, uncaring of the water droplets splashing over his fine trousers.
“You know,” Lucifer said conversationally, “Charlie was the one invested in the idea of a big wedding.”
She’d been so excited when they told her about the engagement, diving into the planning headfirst and Lucifer went along with it willingly enough. He’d noticed Alastor acting strangely, well, for him. Quieter, not injecting his opinion into every detail, and Lucifer’d written it off as boredom.
He should’ve known better; since when did anything short of catastrophe keep Alastor quiet and even that was usually to silently enjoy the entertainment.
“Charlie really got into it. Maybe too invested in a wedding that wasn’t her own,” Lucifer admitted. He reached up and fingered the pin tucked into his shirt collar. Charlie’s idea, for them to trade emblems. A diamond snake for Alastor, the ruby-encrusted head of a microphone for him. Not that it was a terrible idea, but it wasn’t theirs. “She was so happy for us, and I let her run with it without even considering what you wanted.”
“Far be it from me to ruin any of Charlie’s unique visions,” Alastor said loftily. He sagged again, his smile faltering. “Although in the end, I suppose that’s exactly what I did.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Lucifer said firmly. “Not a thing. All you missed out on was a bunch of smug Goetia judging the flower arrangements and gossiping about how Satan managed to shoehorn himself into those leather pants.”
“A devastating loss to be sure.” But some of his pained smile eased, warming.
“Charlie isn’t angry, she was only worried.” Lucifer reached over and took Alastor’s hand, let the two halves of the broken rose stem fall into the water for the catfish to nibble. “And me? I don’t need a big ceremony to prove I love you. Never did. Not vows or a signed piece of paper or even a blurb in the newspaper. The symbols are nice but that’s all they are. Symbols. I mean, you think I need a big church wedding? Me?”
“I know that.” Alastor kicked at the water and sent up a splash of his own.
“Good. Because, I do. I mean,” Lucifer chuckled, “I do love you.”
It was always harder for Alastor to say. The words were difficult for him for some reason, and much as Lucifer wanted to know those whys and wherefore, it wasn’t as if they needed to open all their old wounds at once. There would be plenty of time to learn Alastor down to his atoms, eternity. Instead, Alastor showed his love in dozens of smaller ways. Tiny apple tarts waiting unobtrusively on the kitchen counter in the mornings alongside a freshly brewed pot of coffee. A button on his jacket mended by hand, a favorite song of his playing on the radio as Lucifer walked past.
Not all of Alastor’s love languages were ones Lucifer knew, but hey, he was pretty good at translating.
But to Lucifer’s surprised pleasure, Alastor echoed the words, so low as to barely be heard. “I love you as well. I do.”
Lucifer closed his eyes and took a long, shaky breath. If those were the only ‘I do’s’ they ever shared, he would call that good enough.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a ring, holding it out on the flat of his hand. Specially made in Wrath by Satan himself; for all his grumbling about it, the asshole would have been insulted if Lucifer asked for it from anyone else. It was the one thing they’d decided on together, a twined band of crimson rubies and ivory running across dark metal.
Lucifer held it in his palm, a silent offering, and without a moment of hesitation Alastor held out his own hand, letting Lucifer slip it on. The identical ring puffed out of nowhere onto Lucifer’s matching finger and he laughed. “Showoff.”
“One should always embrace their skillset,” Alastor said lightly.
His smile softened as Lucifer lifted their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to each ring and finger. “There,” he said, “now that’s settled.”
“Not quite,” Alastor replied, and his smile shifted to a more traditional smirk. “I believe there is one wedding tradition we’ve yet to indulge in?”
More than one, actually, but the rest could wait for their bedroom tonight.
“You may now kiss your groom,” Lucifer told him softly, the words barely spoken before Alastor’s mouth covered his own, with all the eager tenderness that the audience back at the hotel didn’t deserve to see.
Just as well they didn’t bother with the whole boring ceremony, Lucifer decided hazily, cutting straight to the kiss was a better choice. This was the sort of kiss that would send those hypocrites swooning in the aisles.
It took him a long time to pull away, one kiss became two, three, the urgent press of lips against his own was irresistible, the shy flick of tongue, all the unspoken words they carried captured between their mouths in this quiet place with only their love as witness.
When Lucifer finally drew back, his mouth felt hot and swollen. He reached up to cup Alastor’s face in his hand, the ring stark on his finger as he rubbed his thumb over equally swollen and damp lips.
“You know, the party at the hotel was just getting started,” Lucifer said, “and I really wanted some of that cake. What do you say? Think we could head back, show the kids some real dancing?”
“I think I’d like that,” Alastor said. He hesitated and added cautiously, “Husband.”
That single word spoken in that voice made his heart clench, a pleasurable little cramp. “I could get used to hearing that from you, husband.”
Alastor briefly closed his eyes, lashes shivering against his cheeks. Then he pulled away and stood, holding out a hand to help Lucifer to his feet.
“Well, then!” Alastor summoned his microphone, and Lucifer was amused to see a colorful bow tied just below the head. He wondered if that was Charlie’s idea or Alastor’s. “Let’s be off! If gossip is what they want, we should really give them something to talk about!”
That was more threat than promise. Lucifer could already picture it: Niffty exploding out of the cake just as it was being cut. Maybe it would knock a candelabra against one of the floral curtains and ignite it, and they’d all be spraying the flames with champagne. Alastor would take over the music from the band, either by threat or force, and the entire night would become a jazz recital. One of the tables Angel was dancing on would get overturned and send a shower of leftover boeuf bourguignon over the shrieking guests, and Husk would get drunk and end up snoring face down in the mashed potato bar. The papers tomorrow would be crammed full of pictures and stories and horrified gossip.
Lucifer couldn’t wait.
He swept down in a bow, holding out a gallant arm to Alastor. “Shall we?”
“We shall!” Alastor returned the bow with a savage grin and took his arm. A last soft kiss was shared between them, and they made their way back downstairs together.
Their shoes they left behind.
-fin