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“-And remember to attend our dear Charlie Morningstar's event tomorrow evening on trust exercises and forming new friendships- It is sure to be a grand time! Everyone will enjoy being forced to do cooperative bonding activities with people they barely know, I'm sure! With that, I will leave you with a classic of my time. Goodnight to you all, dear guests, I will see you at the event tomorrow. And if I don't, I will find you! It's required attendance! Ha ha!” With ease Alastor one-handedly switches his mic to mute and allows a song from his era to filter through instead. These evening radio broadcasts for the hotel were filled with inane, bland news per usual, but Alastor was nothing if not a professional. A few passive-aggressive jabs at the things their darling princess forced him to cover was only to keep things entertaining- He couldn't allow it to be a complete snooze fest.
His other hand is preoccupied beneath his desk, red-tipped fingers carding through feather-soft hair. A warm weight rests against one thigh, where the heat has long since permeated through his pant leg and into the flesh. It was a rare allowance of touch, and one he took a degree of satisfaction in, completely unlike his typical low-level revulsion to most forms of touch others insisted on foisting upon him. No, this one was permitted, because it was completely on his terms. It was a privilege he could revoke at any time, and the satisfaction in the control was enough to cancel out the disgust. He uses his heels to roll his chair back from the desk, peering at the figure kneeling obediently below, cheek squished into the black fabric of his trousers.
Lashes flutter at his movement and Lucifer's ruby red irises peer up at him through barely-cracked open eyes. Those beautiful pearls of red are hazy and unfocused, Alastor feeling a lick of pride beneath his sternum at the sight. To think he could reduce the King of Hell to this state- Obedient, pliant, vulnerable- He wouldn't have believed it if he had told himself of a few months ago. Their current arrangement was unexpected but favorable, and oh so satisfying.
“You seem quite comfortable like this,” He murmurs, voice lowered into something smooth. His fingers card through blonde locks, strands parting like a sea around the red of his claws. Gold swallowing blood. Something poetic about holy light purging sins flits through Alastor's mind. Lucifer's eyes flutter back shut, exhaling in a way that makes his entire body melt further into the leg he's leant against. “I'm tempted to leave you this way.”
Lucifer whines immediately, dragging his cheek further up Alastor's thigh. His eyes open again to pin Alastor down with intense ruby red. He doesn't press his face all the way up, keeping a distance between himself and Alastor's crotch. He knows better than that.
“Ahh, but I did promise a reward didn't I?” He basically purrs the words out, dragging his thumb in a motion over Lucifer's temple that could be misconstrued as loving. “I wonder what you've earned. Hmmm.” He leans back in his chair, pulling his hand away from Lucifer's hair as he does. The golden strands are left delightfully askew, the image of perfection Lucifer usually presented himself with already askew from such a simple touch. Alastor takes a much longer pause to contemplate his answer than he actually needs. It feels good to watch the suspense wind itself through Lucifer's shoulders, eyes opening a little wider in anticipation as he awaits the verdict. “Well, you seem far too comfortable to move from your spot quite yet. And obviously you have found my legs quite appealing.” He shifts his leg, Lucifer getting the memo to stop leaning on it so he can move. He adjusts, placing his shoe right in between Lucifer's spread knees. “Why not use it to reward yourself, hm?”
Lucifer blinks sluggishly, hazy brain struggling to process what is being asked of him. He looks up at Alastor, then down at the leg planted between his thighs. His lips part in a quiet “oh”, head whipping back up with much wider eyes, staring as if he couldn't believe what Alastor was allowing. Alastor chuckles, propping an elbow on the arm of the chair to rest his face against his knuckles. He gestures with the other hand, an open-palmed gesture. Inviting.
Lucifer looks down again. His tongue, pink and forked at the end, swipes over his lips nervously. Slowly his ebony hands rise, trembling nearly imperceptibly as he grips his fingers around Alastor's thigh. Alastor notices of course- He notices every small reaction Lucifer blesses him with. The tremble to his fingers, the shaky exhales of suspense, the fluttery rise and fall of his thin chest beneath his shirt. It was exhilarating, like watching a prey animal willingly walk itself straight into the maw of the beast.
Lucifer shuffles forward on his knees, warm thighs encasing Alastor's lower leg. The fingers on his thigh grip tighter unconsciously, giving away the tension Lucifer is feeling as he glances up to meet Alastor's eyes again. He keeps looking like he's expecting some sort of backlash- Like at any moment he will be rejected, kicked away, the rug pulled from beneath him. Alastor was well aware it was a courtesy of their former Queen, the uncertainty that wound around Lucifer like a set of chains. As much as he enjoyed Lucifer's unease- And in tandem, the certainty he found in Alastor specifically- He did not appreciate that Lillith had instilled it to the point of paralysis.
Alastor provides a small nudge. It's easy, a simple shift of his ankle and he presses the top of his shoe up between Lucifer's legs. The reaction is instant, gaze immediately dropping its anxious eye contact as he audibly sighs. “Go on,” Alastor encourages.
Lucifer's head drops, avoiding eye contact altogether, when his hips finally roll. It's a full body contact, his thighs around Alastor's calf, his stomach pressed close to Alastor's shin, hands still clinging onto his thigh. Alastor can feel the weight of the motion against his shoe, content to leave it as it is for now, no longer moving to provide further aid. It's surely not very satisfying, a hard shoe and his thin leg, rutted against through both their layers of clothing. But Lucifer never complains about what Alastor allows him to take. A well-trained dog, accepting scraps off the table without begging for more.
Lucifer relaxes when Alastor doesn't stop him after the first few hesitant rolls of his hips. Soon he's got a rhythm, panting and sighing, pressing his hips harder against Alastor's leg with every thrust. His forehead falls, resting against Alastor's thigh, hot breaths puffing out of his lips at such a proximity Alastor can feel each one through the fabric of his pant leg. One hand slides further down, Lucifer's palms hooking around his calf right in the crook of his knee. Gripping like if he held on tightly enough Alastor would be unable to leave.
Alastor lets him go at it without commentary, cheek resting against his knuckles as he observes. The song he left the hotel broadcast on comes to an end, and he uses his shadow to switch the entire system off without moving a muscle. For good measure he has the shadow pull things back and out of the way. He'd hate to accidentally knock any of the equipment over.
“Come now,” Alastor prompts Lucifer to stop, easily scooping one of his hands into his own. “I don't think we should finish like this.” Lucifer allows Alastor to guide him by the hand into standing, Alastor rising out of his own chair with the motion.
He had always appreciated the difference in height they had. It was just another way for Alastor to be above Lucifer, to make it clear which one of them was in control in this situation. He looks down on Lucifer, smaller and thinner, standing on legs trembling with need, and Alastor's smile is nearly smug with satisfaction. He releases Lucifer's hand, spinning his finger in a circle. “Turn.” Lucifer obeys immediately, turning around to face the desk. “Take these off,” Alastor says, hooking a finger into the waistband of Lucifer's pants.
Lucifer catches on quickly, shedding his pants and boots at record speed. “Shirt too,” Alastor adds at the last minute. He likes it when Lucifer is fully exposed, especially in contrast to himself, who always remained fully dressed during their little trysts. Lucifer obeys, unbuttoning and shrugging out of the rest of his garments until all that is left is alabaster skin exposed to the air. A set of 6 golden scars line his back- Where his wings would be if it didn't take him conscious effort to summon them after his fall. Alastor admired them every time he was able to witness them. Delicate golden lines that spoke to untold amounts of pain Lucifer had experienced in his past. Alastor had always wondered if he could add to them, draw another golden scar across Lucifer's body that never faded. He had yet to do so. But some day he would find a way.
Alastor runs his fingers over the scars, fingertips tracing down Lucifer's back in a touch that evokes a visible shiver down his spine. Alastor presses his palm between Lucifer's shoulder blades with more force, shoving him down against the wood so he's leant over the desk in his fully nude state. Lucifer moans, and Alastor can't help the way the edges of his smile twitch just a little wider. So easy to please his King.
He knows Lucifer will stay put, such a desperate to obey thing he was, and removes his hand from his back. Instead Alastor runs his palms down Lucifer's thin waist, and stops to grip at his hips. One hand drifts further, sliding down in between slightly parted thighs. His fingers find warmth and slickness. A high pitched whimper sings out from Lucifer's lips. Alastor does not press his fingers in, satisfying himself to drag two fingertips back and forth through wet folds lazily.
“So wet, your highness,” He purrs. “So desperate. You need this so badly, don't you?”
Lucifer whines again, hands fisting against the wood of Alastor's desk. He cranes his head, desperate ruby eyes peering back at him as Lucifer tries to rock his hips back into Alastor's hand. Alastor follows the motion easily, keeping his fingers tortuously unsatisfying in their light pressure against Lucifer's sex. “Please,” Lucifer finally resorts to begging aloud, trying to roll his hips again to no avail. “Please.”
Alastor hums a contemplative sound. “Well. You have behaved so nicely.” Without warning he sinks the two fingers he was teasing with fully inside the wet heat of Lucifer's body. Lucifer lets out a sharp gasp. His thighs try to clamp shut but they're too late, only aiding in how his body squeezes down on Alastor's intrusion. Once the moment of shock has passed, the tightness melts away in favor of a relieved moan, Lucifer's forehead falling against the desk.
Alastor doesn't have to do much work himself in this position, much the same as their previous one. When Lucifer rocks his hips, Alastor does not pull away this time, keeping his wrist steady to allow Lucifer to take his pleasure from his fingers. Taking what Alastor gives him with such greed it sends a delightful lick of fire burning through Alastor's ribcage. He wouldn't call it sexual- In all their exploits, Alastor had never once felt whatever it is the average person might feel in response to a sexual encounter, never once felt the stirring of the groin associated with sexual desire- But perhaps he could call it a form of arousal in its own right.
It was a warmth, a burning, a deep and primal satisfaction that he had very little comparison for. The closest he got was the feelings he experienced during a hunt and during a kill, similarly primal in a way he would call pleasurable. This wasn't quite like his hunts- But the satisfaction was similar in a way he could understand. He had control here, and a person who, rather than resist like his other prey, was more than willing to fully submit to him. The person in question being the King of Hell, who was by all rights far more powerful than Alastor was, only enhanced the pleasure he found in Lucifer's submission.
He had the king of all the damned fully wrapped around his finger, and that was a thrill incomparable to anything else in the world.
Lucifer's buried his face in his arms, muffling his endless litany of noises, and Alastor cannot be having that. His free hand finds its way into Lucifer's golden locks and yanks. Lucifer's head is forced up, neck craned, and his cunt pulses around Alastor's fingers at the same time he cries out in pleasure. “I would like to hear you,” Alastor says simply, keeping Lucifer's head craned back with a hand as steady as the one he was allowing Lucifer to use to his liking.
To further emphasize his point, he drags his fingers out, pressing now-slicked digits against Lucifer's clit in rough, circular motions that causes him to cry out louder, voice pitching high and keening. Alastor is satisfied with the idea that if anyone dares pass by his radio tower door they would no doubt hear their King screaming in pleasure, and they would know exactly who he belonged to.
The radio equipment is still on the desk, pulled back to be out of the way but close enough Alastor could easily flip the switch again. Alastor releases Lucifer's hair, leaning over his back to drag the microphone closer, placing it right in front of Lucifer's face. “It would be very easy to turn this back on,” He tells Lucifer, tapping a red finger against its base, dangerously close to the switch that could do exactly what he describes. He sinks his fingers back inside Lucifer's wetness, three now to force a wanton moan from his lips so close to the microphone it could be easy to imagine it broadcasting.
Lucifer shudders, head trying to fall back into his arms, and Alastor catches his chin. “What do you think?” He leans down further, purring against Lucifer's ear as he forces him to stare at the mic. “Letting all of Hell hear you in such a pitiful state?” His body clenches around Alastor's fingers. “Letting them know you are owned by the radio demon?”
“Fuuuck,” Lucifer whines out.
“Imagine what they would say, their king being defiled in such a way. How shameful.”
Whatever Lucifer tries to say is completely incomprehensible, sounding like a mixture between several swears and a moan. His entire face is flushed gold. Alastor rumbles out a pleased sound in response.
Of course he would never turn the microphones back on. Sexual arousal at the idea was one thing, but the reality would mortify Lucifer to a degree that was not useful to him. No, this was his spectacle to witness alone.
Alastor sighs, running his free hand over Lucifer's side. “I am having such a conundrum,” He murmurs where his face is still pressed up next to Lucifer's, rumbling into his ear. “You have behaved so well, and I still want to be mean to you.” He stills his fingers inside of Lucifer, buried as deep as they will go to let Lucifer sit with the stretch.
Lucifer whines, lashes fluttering. His thighs squeeze together, cunt squeezing hard on the fingers inside it. “Please.”
“Please?” Alastor pretends to be surprised. “You want me to be mean to you?”
Lucifer nods rapidly, turning his head to look at Alastor. His face is beautifully flushed, his eyes glassy and desperate, and Alastor cannot suppress the strong desire to fully break him. He sighs, pleased and content, and nuzzles against the side of Lucifer's head. “You are so good for me,” He says with more genuine joy than he intends to let slip out.
He pulls his fingers free, Lucifer whimpering on their way out, and grabs Lucifer's thin hips with both hands. His fingers dig in, just enough to leave indents of color when he lifts a hand away again. Without warning, he strikes the hand back down, a satisfying crack of skin on skin filling the room.
Lucifer screams in surprise, a full body jolt making him nearly fall off the desk he's leaned over. Alastor rubs his palm over the reddening skin, a mockery of soothing touch. He gives Lucifer a long enough pause to tell him to stop. Lucifer, ever the masochist, says nothing. A shiver noticeably runs down his spine before he arches his back, purposely presenting his ass for further abuse. Alastor's grin stretches wider. Oh his King was truly meant for him.
Rather than fulfill the unspoken request, Alastor taps his hip and says, “Turn over, onto your back please.” Lucifer obeys without question, turning until his back lays against the desk instead, legs hanging open and dangling off the edge. Alastor hums a showtune to himself, undeniably in a wonderful mood, as he presses his palms against Lucifer's thighs to force his legs open wider.
Lucifer's cunt is as flushed as his face, and absolutely gorgeous. It glistens with visible wetness, a testament to Lucifer's enjoyment of his mistreatment. Alastor runs a palm over it, allowing wetness to smear against his hand. Lucifer watches, propping himself up on his elbows, lips parted in tiny, needy pants. He tries to rut his hips up into the touch, seek more relief, and Alastor draws his palm away before he can find any satisfaction.
Lucifer whines, brow creasing ever so slightly, as his hips roll against empty air. So frustrating it must be, to be denied. Alastor is delighted by it, that warm spark under his ribs slowly transforming into a burning fire. He studies his own hand with a smile, the smear of slick on his palm. He meets Lucifer's eyes when he leans in, licking a broad stripe across his own hand, lapping up the wetness. Lucifer watches like he's been possessed, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. He groans, thighs trembling as his hips thrust up against nothing again, nearly unbearably turned on by the display.
While he's distracted processing what he just witnessed, Alastor takes the hand now slicked by Lucifer's pleasure and his own tongue, and slaps Lucifer's cunt. Hard. Lucifer's head throws back in a scream, thrown off entirely by the action he did not expect. His hips jolt, his spine arches, his eyes gone as wide as saucers.
Alastor does it again before he can recover, relishing in the cry of shock and pain that leaps off Lucifer's lips. The yell melts into a wavering moan, his arms shaking where they barely keep him propped up still. Lucifer's breathing has turned rapid and shaky, like he's on the verge of bursting into tears. Alastor feels ravenous. He wants to see it. Wants to watch tears spill over in those beautiful ruby eyes. Wants to lick the salty tracks off Lucifer's face while his breaths still hitch on remnant sobs.
He knows to take his time though. Nothing was satisfying if completed too fast. He rests his palm against Lucifer's cunt again, a soothing, gentle pressure that completely contrasts his previous harsh strikes. He drags his thumb in comforting circles against the skin, of course nowhere near anything that would provide any actual relief. Lucifer's eyes, wet with tears but shining intensely with the crazed sort of look Alastor imagines he must be wearing himself right now, meet Alastor's. “Please,” Lucifer manages out, voice roughened by his screaming merely seconds prior.
He tries to press his hips into Alastor's hand again, and Alastor calls forth two shadowy tentacles to wrap around Lucifer's thighs and hips, forcing them to lay still against the desk. “Hmm?” Alastor smiles pleasantly at him. “I thought you wanted me to be mean to you?” He lifts his hand away, and his heart soars when Lucifer's body clenches tight automatically, trying to flinch away from another strike. The hit doesn't come, Alastor's hand hanging in the air, leaving Lucifer's body tense with anticipation. “You want me to be nice now?”
Lucifer pants harder. His thighs try to squirm against the restraints, his hips try to move, but Alastor's tentacles remain steadfast. “Please,” He meets Alastor's eyes, pupils dilated wide, “hit me again.”
All the air feels sucked from Alastor's lungs, his smile faltering as his lips part in surprise. Oh his King. How good his King was for him. What did he do to deserve a gift of a man so perfect as this? The grin that overtakes Alastor is more like a feral predator baring its fangs than an actual smile. Lucifer bites his lower lip with his face flushing deeper gold. Alastor gives no warning, no indication, before his palm suddenly cracks against Lucifer's cunt again. The slap is satisfying, but the way Lucifer screams makes Alastor feel like he's fully lost his mind.
Lucifer's body tries to pull against the tentacles, to no avail. His spine arches, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. His cunt surely burns by now, the skin tingling from the pain. Lucifer's breathing hitches. Alastor wants him to cry. He's never wanted anything as badly as he wants to watch the tears fall at this moment.
“Look at me,” he commands. Lucifer obeys, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze again. His chest flutters with his panting, and his eyes are welled up. Alastor smiles at him. And then he strikes again. Lucifer cries out, entire body jolting. And finally, finally, Alastor watches his tears spill over.
Alastor snarls like an actual animal, like a beast seeing its first meal in days, and dives in. He grabs Lucifer's face with both hands, uncaring about the slick covering his palm that smears against Lucifer's skin, and he licks a broad stripe up his cheek, catching the falling tear. The salty taste against his tongue draws a sound halfway between a groan and a growl from his chest. Lucifer responds with his own wavering moan, not nearly as put off as he should be by Alastor deciding to lick him.
“You take far too much pleasure in my tormenting of you, majesty,” Alastor basically rumbles the words against the skin of Lucifer's cheek, unwilling to pull back yet. “And I fear I take far too much pleasure in giving it to you.” He switches sides, tilting Lucifer's face to lick the tear track off his opposing cheek. Lucifer's lips tremble, parted on breaths that hitch every time Alastor's tongue makes contact with his skin. “Would you like me to do it again?” He can't help but nip at the edge of Lucifer's cheek with his teeth. Lucifer gasps, body jumping beneath him. He imagines what it would taste like, the salt of Lucifer's tears on his tongue mixed with the tang of his blood. “Until you are bruised?” He's panting himself now, far too exhilarated by the mere idea of tasting Lucifer in his entirety. Of sinking teeth into flesh, of golden blood staining his tongue. All things in due time. “Until you can no longer walk without remembering who did this to you?”
“Fucking hell Alastor,” Lucifer's worn voice croaks out above him, sounding shaky and breathless. “Yes-” He gasps out, “Yes, please. Please.”
Alastor grins viciously. The tentacles tug at Lucifer’s thighs, pulling them open even wider, as Alastor leans back to his full height. He loves how he towers over Lucifer like this, his King trapped on his back upon the desk. The control he has over him, hips and legs restrained fully by slithering, shadowy tendrils, is intoxicating. Alastor swipes his tongue over his lips, swiping up any remaining specks of the tears he’d taken from Lucifer’s face, before wiping his tongue over the sharp edges of his teeth for good measure. He’s nearly salivating at the thought of consuming Lucifer- In every way he would be allowed to- But he needs to restrain himself. He could convince his King to let him taste- To bite, to consume- but it needed time. In time, he would earn the King’s trust, he would wear him down during their little trysts away from prying eyes, and some day soon, he would be allowed to truly feast.
Alastor rolls his wrist and then strikes Lucifer hard- Once. Twice. Three times. The rapid succession makes Lucifer shriek, back bowing off the desk and fresh tears spilling down his lovely rose-tinted cheeks. Lucifer’s thighs shake violently in the confines of the tentacles holding them open, Alastor can even see his pretty little cunt twitching from the abuse. “FUCK, fuck, fuck, fuck-” He keeps repeating, voice high strung and warbling around the edge of a sob.
“Too much for you yet, your highness?” Alastor purrs out and slaps him again before he can respond.
Lucifer makes a noise closer to a wail, head knocking back into the wood of the desk. He tries to speak, but it melts away into the hitching breathing of his now open crying. Alastor contemplates if he’s pushed it too far, he would hate for their private moments to end because he miscalculated in his own eagerness. Then Lucifer squeaks out something just coherent enough to make out. “-’m gonna cum-” and Alastor’s ears stand at full attention. He observes for a moment, doing nothing, but from the way Lucifer’s hips writhe, his shaking thighs pulling against the restraints, yes. Yes he does believe his King is much closer than he realized.
He can’t help the exhilarated laugh that bubbles out of him. “Do you think you can finish like this?” His tone is cruel and teasing. “Orgasm from a lowly sinner abusing you? How embarrassing.”
Lucifer whimpers hysterically, another sob hitching his voice halfway through, and Alastor presses the heel of his palm into his cunt hard. Lucifer jolts and his spine bends this way and that, trying to get away from the harsh pressure that surely hurts his horribly abused skin, to no avail. Alastor grinds his palm in harder just because he can, dropping his free palm onto the desk to support his weight as he leans over Lucifer, observing every little reaction like a starved man. Lucifer’s leaking slick covers his palm, making a mess that he couldn’t care less about at that moment.
“Well now. Go on them. Cum.” He commands with a voice ferocious enough it almost surprises even himself.
Lucifer thrashes against the desk, Alastor’s shadow quickly grabbing the equipment at the far edge that nearly topples off of it from all the motion. His hips, with what little motion the tentacles allow, buck against the harsh grind of Alastor’s palm. It's hard to say if he’s trying to get away from the pressure, or if he’s purposely pushing into it- Maybe in some twisted way it's both. He screams, and once again Alastor muses that they are lucky to be in a radio tower so far from the ground and the hotel residents' rooms. When Lucifer orgasms, his voice gives out, back arched and jaw dropped open in a silent scream that his voice couldn’t keep up with. It’s beautiful to watch, body drawn tight like a bowstring, hips jumping erratically against the pressure of Alastor’s hand. Wetness gushes across Alastor’s palm and fingers, probably has leaked onto the desk at this point too, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because he is watching his King absolutely fall apart for him and there is no sight more satisfying in all of Hell.
Slowly Lucifer comes down, tension melting away as he falls back onto the desk like a ragdoll. He pants for air, gasping, his eyes fluttering as the last few remaining tears drip down his face. Even when Alastor’s shadowy tendrils retreat, Lucifer lays where he is, absolutely boneless. Alastor withdraws his hand, and watches the results of his hard work with a smirk. He glances down at his wet fingers, and raises them to Lucifer’s face without a word. A pleased rumble almost akin to a purr rises in his throat when Lucifer opens his mouth for them without question.
Lucifer’s red eyes peek open, hazy and blissed out, as his lips close around Alastor’s fingers, tongue lapping away his own juices. When their eyes meet, the warmth burning in Lucifer’s gaze could almost be mistaken for fondness.
—
The next day’s event is as horribly dull as Alastor expected it to be. He still comes to it of course. If for nothing else, upkeeping appearances as the host of the hotel was important. And he couldn’t say no to a bit of fun intimidating the guests who may try to cause issues without his presence. He stays out of dear Charlie’s way, their princess could handle her dreadful little trust exercises event on her own just fine, and even if she needed assistance she had a slew of people to get it from that weren’t him. No, no, he was having a much more grand time staying out of the way and simply observing.
Well. Observing one attendant in particular.
Lucifer has mastered the art of wearing a smile, a poker face so well crafted most of the residents couldn’t see through it, especially not his own darling daughter. He greets her with hugs and laughter, nudging her in the side with his arm as he tells what is likely a terrible joke, but it makes her laugh all the same. Alastor tracks his movement through the event hall like a hawk, unwilling to lose sight of him for even a moment. It’s when Lucifer goes to sit at one of the tables that the mask slips- For just a moment, his brow creases, eyes squeezing shut in an undeniable wince of pain- and Alastor’s heart soars. Nobody else catches it. The smile slaps back on right away, and Lucifer has his chin resting in a hand within seconds, pretending to be invested in whatever it was Charlie was tittering on about across the table from him.
Red eyes drift away from her for only a moment, but that is all it takes. Their gazes meet across the hall. Alastor raises his hand in a pleasant little wave. Nothing suspicious or untoward at all. Lucifer’s eyes flick to the hand- The very same one he had used quite effectively last night- and his entire face flushes gold. He starts coughing, averting his gaze, and Charlie immediately interrupts her rant to start panickedly asking if he’s okay.
“You look pretty smug, boss.” Alastor turns his gaze away from his prey finally to acknowledge the approach of Husker to his left. His bartender looks appropriately apprehensive- Alastor’s exceptionally good moods usually came associated with a grotesque amount of violence. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”
“Hmmm, can’t say,” Alastor hums, pleased enough that the radio filter that accompanies his speech plays a jingle underneath the tones of his voice. “I just love when plans are going well.”