It was... nice just being held like this. It'd been a long while. Even over his lengthy lifetime, it never failed to make him feel brand new. He lived in opulence, but this made him feel cozy. He was the most powerful being down here, but this made him feel safe.
Like he deserved it, even after all that he'd done.
Alastor's hand paused and he tipped his head to look up. His fingers rest upon his wrist, not to grab or even pull away, but to settle. They wouldn't know for sure for a little while, but... Hell, how could it not, when they'd been fooling around for weeks?
"Hah. Hook, line and sinker."
A beat. He smiled, and patted the wrist. "Your turn...?"
"Just a moment longer," Alastor murmured, nuzzling his face into Lucifer's shoulder, enjoying his smell and the feel of him so close, that hand resting on top of his.
Oh, mother, your foolish son might be giving you a grandchild.
Once that strange, pleasantly painful ache in his chest softened again, mellowed like a harsh coffee mellowed with the addition of a bit of cream, Alastor let go and passed the towel to Lucifer. His own back is still a bit muddied, the spots hidden under clumps of grass and in slight matting. Alastor could easily twist his neck around and see what he was doing if need be, but he'll indulge, trusting Lucifer with his back instead.
It's the warm breath and his hair tickling his neck and shoulder that make him squirm and snicker a bit, but he braced a hand against Alastor's other cheek and held him for that wonderful extra moment nevertheless.
Once Alastor shifted, so too did he. Bambi's back was messy, and he wasn't surprised, what with how much they sort of trashed parts of the bayou during the chasing.
With towel in hand, Lucifer set to the task to keep from clogging the fella's poor drain system in the near-future. The grass was easy enough to get- a stick too, here and there- but some of this mud had dried and wasn't going down without a fight of a soak and some very gentle breaking up.
But he couldn't help giving little scratches after handling a dirtied spot. Mud was itchy. The way he ran his claws down the length of the Radio Demon's spine...?
"Hmmmmm..." Alastor hummed a pleasurable sigh at the scratching, more expressive than he ever used to be when he was still far more guarded. Here, hidden deep and away from prying eyes, Alastor let himself relax at the attention even as his skin tingled and stood on end from those skillful claws running down his back. Oh, how very pleasant it felt... it'd make the fight to comb out the mats later less hectic.
Happy, merry, Alastor's fluffy tail waggled even as he relaxed and slouched on the stool.
No. Later. He had a semi-melty deer, and he was going to enjoy this. Lucifer marveled at the texture and length of the rest of this secret fluff, and couldn't help the little concerned coo when he came across a snarlier mat. The most he could do for now was see if he couldn't make them smaller, divvy them up, see if he can't shoo some of it away as discomfort-free as possible.
He refreshed the towel once or twice without much of a word. He had in front of him a project, a challenge, and was encouraged by the pleasant hum. Tidied up spots were given a gentle trace, and each discovered knot was given a rub. Shoo now, naughty bunched muscle. You stop being trouble, now...
But what fascinated him were the scars. He'd tussled with his fair share of Sinners and Overlords. Lucifer couldn't help but run a finger over a few of them. ...Did he have stories for each of them...?
There was a whole bevvy of different scars... some were shallow and hidden under fur, only subtle differences in texture on the skin. Some were larger and had accompanying suture scarring, resembling the sutures he'd given himself for Adam's wound.
Some scars, though, were deeper and... different. Some spots looked like flesh had been torn off, some were clear outlines of bites, they were all the most vicious looking scars and not a single one had been sutured.
"Can ya blame me?" Those different ones were reminding him of some of the odd marks he'd seen on other Sinners: Niffty's odd-shaped spots, the occasional conspicuous vertical stripes on the arms of some others, and more.
"It's always a story, and that story is something you're made to always carry with you. I guess... it makes me think of my own. But there's no wondering about them. The story of how I'd gotten mine had been told by so many people so many times."
He moved his hands elsewhere, and circled back to a particularly snarly mat. He traced over it, stroking against this section, gently teasing it loose from the tip and working inward.
"And... how I 'deserved it', and 'had it coming'. But seeing others kind of... helps me accept mine a bit? I guess? I dunno. It's a weird feeling I can't explain all that well."
He can't quite relate... many of them were reminders of his failures. Never quite a betrayal... then again, Alastor had never let anyone close enough that they could betray him. Not until recently.
After a thought, he shrugged. "Many on my arms are from the desperate clawing of those trying to cling to life. Never quite required a suture for those - I would sever any arms with claws sharp enough to leave me something more serious. This one," he paused to point to a slash on his hip, "came from hunting down one of the voices for my Radio Show. She was quite displeased to be cornered. Her fishy meat was very delicious, though, and made for a fine blackened dish."
There were so many more - should he keep going?
"The scar near that mat-- dear old Vox hadn't told me about his new doll friend, she'd gotten quite sneaky when I thought I'd dealt with him and his whorish partner and gotten in a good stab. Good aim on that girl," he chuckled, praising his enemy. He wasn't even mad that they'd been so treacherous, just mad that he'd had to flee without finishing all three of them off to regenerate.
So he did have stories for them all. He didn't think he'd even have them entertained...
Wait-
"Oh, this one? ...I guess I wouldn't put it past Violet to get stabby. Those Vees... if they weren't such deeply-entrenched pains in my ass, I'd have done something about them ages ago."
"They're not important, however much they try to be," Alastor chuckled, tone utterly catty. "That silly picturebox insisted on me joining his little team. Here I'd thought a simple 'no' could suffice, I always have my own itinerary, but ugh. Men. Simply awful at accepting a no."
"Oh, not a chance in Hell, hah hah hah hah! But that certainly didn't keep Vox from asking! No, no..."
Alastor spun on his stool, crossing one knee over another coquettishly to keep gossiping. His absolute favorite passtime. "We were pals, once upon a time. He was entertaining! Fell to Hell with some newfangled technology, the cathode tube television that picked up broadcasted footage on the radio waves! Why, could you blame a guy for getting intrigued? It was a whole new medium for expression, for performance!"
With an over-dramatic roll of his eyes, Alastor tutted. "And then! He filled his airwaves with the lowest common denominator of entertainment. Appeasement of the masses, no class, no flair, just ratings! Oh, what a disappointment, I tried pulling him back in focus. Surely, one showman to another, he would understand. Oh, but no, he'd found his ambitious new pimp friend and he wanted to take over things. Ridiculous!"
Alastor turned and he was for it. His tale had Lucifer thinking of the timeline: Radios... early 1900s, 1910 was around when 'radio' was a thing? Then televisions were... 1930, around that ballpark? Thinking on that, radio didn't really get much time to stretch its legs and shine before television came along.
But such technology as television needed more time to grow, to change, while radio had stability on its side. Other factors included the cost- TVs were twice as pricey as radios- and many homes didn't even have electricity yet.
"So it wasn't really the medium, it was the core of the content. He had visual and wanted to keep those eyes glued..." He rubbed his chin.
"Oh, such wasted potential, there was only the briefest stint of time where theater was brought to the masses before absolute drivel started being produced. And Hell is all the worse for it. And trust us, as a slogan? Ugh! How gaudy."
Shaking his head!!
"How he wanted that same power that the old Overlords once held. How desperately he wanted that land, that prestige, that wealth, that control... tut, tut."
With a soft exhale, Alastor wound down his own theatrics.
"...Even so. The man is wonderful at dancing, so quick to learn. He was the one who twisted arms and greased palms to get me the first generation of alligators that now live in my little realm. We would go drinking, cause a little chaos on the town, share our fondness for music and dramas.
"But I couldn't give that man what he wanted from me."
Lucifer didn't think he'd be hearing as much as he was. But he also was getting the feeling that he'd... wanted to talk about it, if but a little. Alastor was an artist, a showman, something Lucifer himself didn't truly see until recently. His complete aesthetic spoke to a bygone era when things were far less manufactured, less... processed than things were now.
Lucifer came to understand that, because he felt the same way. He had his eras he loved, saw the pros and cons of them, but did some a lot of modern things a little distasteful, things that lost their way somehow. Call him old-fashioned, but... there was a heart missing sometimes.
The king nodded, but smiled a bit. So that's where the gators came from... he wondered how many generations it'd been.
But where he left off had Lucifer leaning a bit by the end, attention rapt.
"He definitely comes off as a man who always asks for too much. His power, it... colored that considerably, I think."
"Precisely. And it's not as though I don't stand upon the power I've accumulated for my own means. I wouldn't claim to be better in that regard. But I refuse to be like so many brutish men who insist on their claim and throw petty tantrums at refusal."
Alastor was still so, so angry at the man. So angry and frustrated and he'll tear him apart the next chance he gets. Maybe that'll ease the ache.
"I could not... be the partner he so wanted me to be. I hardly understand how you settled, but I suppose you drew from me more than I thought I could give."
The anger was very clear, that's for sure. There was considerable honor in Alastor, too. Certainly, telling him 'no' depending upon your circumstances wasn't giving you a second chance at life, but he did have his way about choosing his kills.
What Lucifer suspected seemed to be the case when it came to another facet of the rift between Vox and Alastor. It was an ah moment. Vox can't take 'no' very well, but very few could take a refusal on the chin when opening one's heart and inviting another in. Sinners dropped into Pride for a reason... and to be so vulnerable, only to be harmed at one's most open moment hurt far more than any living being realized.
"Well, it wasn't settling, that's for sure," he said immediately. Lucifer paused, then reached for a hand. His gaze was earnest.
"I realized what it was I was feeling when I'm around you, something I didn't think I could feel again. I thought that part was ripped out of me.
"I never want for you to try to be anyone else. I fell for you as yourself, you... big, cryptid asshole." He smiled lopsidedly.
For all he doesn't understand it, he knows the futility in arguing about it. No accounting for taste.
"You're prideful, fiery, insufferable - such a fun creature to lock horns and sharpen wit with. Stunning, terrifying, and the perfect dance partner," Alastor praised, adding the insults to not be too kind even as he tilted up Lucifer's chin. "You've caught me. Do you want my soul?"
But of course. Alastor couldn't be too soft, now. But with a touch to his chin and a little lift, he felt his heart leap up into his throat. He will never get used to that...
...And he never wished to.
But the question remained: Did he want this soul?
Lucifer closed his eyes, and granted himself a moment to answer properly: With eyes of burning ruby, curved dark horns and embers at the tip of his tongue, the answer was simple.
"Your very soul? Mon Cher..." he began at a growl, a hand sliding into place to wrap around his wrist. The other made a deliberate run of claws over the other demon's chest, as if prepared to snatch it now. His tail was a very long, black and spiny thing that slowly slithered against the ground akin to a serpent.
Alastor leaned forward, letting that hand roaming his scarred chest press more firmly, as if granting permission for those black claws to plunge in through his ribs without hesitation to seize the soul. Surely... even if he'd given his soul to someone or something else, Lucifer could steal it away all for himself.
"And if I told you to chain it to your soul?" he purred. Glue himself to the strongest creature in Hell, possibly beyond. The stunning, terrifying, beautiful demon he's creating a child with in defiance of EVERYTHING. "To bind us, eternally?"
His claws curled, giving the gentlest bite against the skin.
The grin widened with the question. "Oho~ You would give such a precious thing- willingly- to the Devil himself...? There are none that stand above me in authority, you know..."
This isn't something to be taken lightly. No jokes? No tomfoolery?
"Bind me tightly, so that you're all mine, too," Alastor grinned, eyes and even teeth aglow as his magic thrummed at the pleasant pinch of claws on him.
With a little flourish of his free hand, a little spark of green as he summoned a few items into his closed palm, Alastor's smirk broadened, the veves and stitching glowing around him.
"Do we have a Deal?"
Alastor asked, leaning even closer as he opened his palm - upon them rested a pair of black rings, each with a vivid ruby line going straight through the middle of them, shadows still dancing off of them from where Alastor had kept them tucked away in his little void.
He'd always said it himself... Don't take shit from other demons. He knew better than to make Deals with others, risk his soul, but then again, he always had that authority to snap those chains like they were made of candy.
But this was... different. Rather than simply shake hands and have an accord, when those long fingers opened to reveal a pair of rings, he was reminded of when he finally let go of that gold band he hung on to.
Momentarily, the Devil had to blink. Was... was Alastor...?
But his eyes narrowed, blazed as he reached into that hand and took one of them. The time for questions was later. Hesitating only looked worse.
He took that left hand of his, however, and the grin widened. His power lifted, like any other Deal, and it coiled like a serpent. "Hahah... You surprise me every day, Alastor. ...Deal."
He'd done this just once before, of course. But he wouldn't forget how to slide a ring upon the last finger of the other's hand, at a pace that was without hesitation, but nothing so quick as to get it over with. Once it was on, he traced a thumb over the back of that hand. He let that coiling power curl, brush like so many of his own pearly scales, invite his partner's to join in.
Their powers mingled so sweetly. The red stone ring set in the middle of the jet black band thrummed with subtle light, reacting to the magic - the other still in Alastor's palm seemed to synchronize with the light, empowered by Alastor's magic as well.
Having a ring slid onto his finger... another ritual that Alastor never expected to experience. And yet he didn't find himself doubting or even considering working through a back door escape - he... wanted this.
Love is such a scary thing, if that's what this really is, and it must be because Alastor has never felt so simultaneously insane and clear-headed. To love is to have a new vulnerability, an emotion that can be exploited and not hidden away with a mysterious smile. Still... only this king can use it against him; no one would dare step to Lucifer in order to get at Alastor. He was safe.
With equal reverence, Alastor took Lucifer's left hand and held it between slender fingers. First, he raised it to kiss the knuckles of his silly, terrifying little king, reverence not for his title or power but for that act of devotion in creating life with him. Whether or not it took root, Lucifer stayed. Alastor was a broken, twisted man... but if that's what Lucifer wanted and was happy with, then he would give it. In a steady motion, the Demon slid the matching ring onto the matching finger of the Devil himself.
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divinetree2024-04-01 08:17 am
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Like he deserved it, even after all that he'd done.
Alastor's hand paused and he tipped his head to look up. His fingers rest upon his wrist, not to grab or even pull away, but to settle. They wouldn't know for sure for a little while, but... Hell, how could it not, when they'd been fooling around for weeks?
"Hah. Hook, line and sinker."
A beat. He smiled, and patted the wrist. "Your turn...?"
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Oh, mother, your foolish son might be giving you a grandchild.
Once that strange, pleasantly painful ache in his chest softened again, mellowed like a harsh coffee mellowed with the addition of a bit of cream, Alastor let go and passed the towel to Lucifer. His own back is still a bit muddied, the spots hidden under clumps of grass and in slight matting. Alastor could easily twist his neck around and see what he was doing if need be, but he'll indulge, trusting Lucifer with his back instead.
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Once Alastor shifted, so too did he. Bambi's back was messy, and he wasn't surprised, what with how much they sort of trashed parts of the bayou during the chasing.
With towel in hand, Lucifer set to the task to keep from clogging the fella's poor drain system in the near-future. The grass was easy enough to get- a stick too, here and there- but some of this mud had dried and wasn't going down without a fight of a soak and some very gentle breaking up.
But he couldn't help giving little scratches after handling a dirtied spot. Mud was itchy. The way he ran his claws down the length of the Radio Demon's spine...?
No real reason for that. That was just for him.
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Happy, merry, Alastor's fluffy tail waggled even as he relaxed and slouched on the stool.
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No. Later. He had a semi-melty deer, and he was going to enjoy this. Lucifer marveled at the texture and length of the rest of this secret fluff, and couldn't help the little concerned coo when he came across a snarlier mat. The most he could do for now was see if he couldn't make them smaller, divvy them up, see if he can't shoo some of it away as discomfort-free as possible.
He refreshed the towel once or twice without much of a word. He had in front of him a project, a challenge, and was encouraged by the pleasant hum. Tidied up spots were given a gentle trace, and each discovered knot was given a rub. Shoo now, naughty bunched muscle. You stop being trouble, now...
But what fascinated him were the scars. He'd tussled with his fair share of Sinners and Overlords. Lucifer couldn't help but run a finger over a few of them. ...Did he have stories for each of them...?
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Some scars, though, were deeper and... different. Some spots looked like flesh had been torn off, some were clear outlines of bites, they were all the most vicious looking scars and not a single one had been sutured.
"Getting curious, are we?"
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"It's always a story, and that story is something you're made to always carry with you. I guess... it makes me think of my own. But there's no wondering about them. The story of how I'd gotten mine had been told by so many people so many times."
He moved his hands elsewhere, and circled back to a particularly snarly mat. He traced over it, stroking against this section, gently teasing it loose from the tip and working inward.
"And... how I 'deserved it', and 'had it coming'. But seeing others kind of... helps me accept mine a bit? I guess? I dunno. It's a weird feeling I can't explain all that well."
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After a thought, he shrugged. "Many on my arms are from the desperate clawing of those trying to cling to life. Never quite required a suture for those - I would sever any arms with claws sharp enough to leave me something more serious. This one," he paused to point to a slash on his hip, "came from hunting down one of the voices for my Radio Show. She was quite displeased to be cornered. Her fishy meat was very delicious, though, and made for a fine blackened dish."
There were so many more - should he keep going?
"The scar near that mat-- dear old Vox hadn't told me about his new doll friend, she'd gotten quite sneaky when I thought I'd dealt with him and his whorish partner and gotten in a good stab. Good aim on that girl," he chuckled, praising his enemy. He wasn't even mad that they'd been so treacherous, just mad that he'd had to flee without finishing all three of them off to regenerate.
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Wait-
"Oh, this one? ...I guess I wouldn't put it past Violet to get stabby. Those Vees... if they weren't such deeply-entrenched pains in my ass, I'd have done something about them ages ago."
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"Hold on- I'd never heard this one! You were going to be a Vee? Or whatever they went by before the moniker spread like a virus."
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Alastor spun on his stool, crossing one knee over another coquettishly to keep gossiping. His absolute favorite passtime. "We were pals, once upon a time. He was entertaining! Fell to Hell with some newfangled technology, the cathode tube television that picked up broadcasted footage on the radio waves! Why, could you blame a guy for getting intrigued? It was a whole new medium for expression, for performance!"
With an over-dramatic roll of his eyes, Alastor tutted. "And then! He filled his airwaves with the lowest common denominator of entertainment. Appeasement of the masses, no class, no flair, just ratings! Oh, what a disappointment, I tried pulling him back in focus. Surely, one showman to another, he would understand. Oh, but no, he'd found his ambitious new pimp friend and he wanted to take over things. Ridiculous!"
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But such technology as television needed more time to grow, to change, while radio had stability on its side. Other factors included the cost- TVs were twice as pricey as radios- and many homes didn't even have electricity yet.
"So it wasn't really the medium, it was the core of the content. He had visual and wanted to keep those eyes glued..." He rubbed his chin.
1/2
Shaking his head!!
"How he wanted that same power that the old Overlords once held. How desperately he wanted that land, that prestige, that wealth, that control... tut, tut."
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"...Even so. The man is wonderful at dancing, so quick to learn. He was the one who twisted arms and greased palms to get me the first generation of alligators that now live in my little realm. We would go drinking, cause a little chaos on the town, share our fondness for music and dramas.
"But I couldn't give that man what he wanted from me."
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Lucifer came to understand that, because he felt the same way. He had his eras he loved, saw the pros and cons of them, but did some a lot of modern things a little distasteful, things that lost their way somehow. Call him old-fashioned, but... there was a heart missing sometimes.
The king nodded, but smiled a bit. So that's where the gators came from... he wondered how many generations it'd been.
But where he left off had Lucifer leaning a bit by the end, attention rapt.
"He definitely comes off as a man who always asks for too much. His power, it... colored that considerably, I think."
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Alastor was still so, so angry at the man. So angry and frustrated and he'll tear him apart the next chance he gets. Maybe that'll ease the ache.
"I could not... be the partner he so wanted me to be. I hardly understand how you settled, but I suppose you drew from me more than I thought I could give."
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What Lucifer suspected seemed to be the case when it came to another facet of the rift between Vox and Alastor. It was an ah moment. Vox can't take 'no' very well, but very few could take a refusal on the chin when opening one's heart and inviting another in. Sinners dropped into Pride for a reason... and to be so vulnerable, only to be harmed at one's most open moment hurt far more than any living being realized.
"Well, it wasn't settling, that's for sure," he said immediately. Lucifer paused, then reached for a hand. His gaze was earnest.
"I realized what it was I was feeling when I'm around you, something I didn't think I could feel again. I thought that part was ripped out of me.
"I never want for you to try to be anyone else. I fell for you as yourself, you... big, cryptid asshole." He smiled lopsidedly.
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"You're prideful, fiery, insufferable - such a fun creature to lock horns and sharpen wit with. Stunning, terrifying, and the perfect dance partner," Alastor praised, adding the insults to not be too kind even as he tilted up Lucifer's chin. "You've caught me. Do you want my soul?"
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...And he never wished to.
But the question remained: Did he want this soul?
Lucifer closed his eyes, and granted himself a moment to answer properly: With eyes of burning ruby, curved dark horns and embers at the tip of his tongue, the answer was simple.
"Your very soul? Mon Cher..." he began at a growl, a hand sliding into place to wrap around his wrist. The other made a deliberate run of claws over the other demon's chest, as if prepared to snatch it now. His tail was a very long, black and spiny thing that slowly slithered against the ground akin to a serpent.
"I would treat such a gift as a work of art."
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"And if I told you to chain it to your soul?" he purred. Glue himself to the strongest creature in Hell, possibly beyond. The stunning, terrifying, beautiful demon he's creating a child with in defiance of EVERYTHING. "To bind us, eternally?"
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The grin widened with the question. "Oho~ You would give such a precious thing- willingly- to the Devil himself...? There are none that stand above me in authority, you know..."
This isn't something to be taken lightly. No jokes? No tomfoolery?
no subject
With a little flourish of his free hand, a little spark of green as he summoned a few items into his closed palm, Alastor's smirk broadened, the veves and stitching glowing around him.
"Do we have a Deal?"
Alastor asked, leaning even closer as he opened his palm - upon them rested a pair of black rings, each with a vivid ruby line going straight through the middle of them, shadows still dancing off of them from where Alastor had kept them tucked away in his little void.
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But this was... different. Rather than simply shake hands and have an accord, when those long fingers opened to reveal a pair of rings, he was reminded of when he finally let go of that gold band he hung on to.
Momentarily, the Devil had to blink. Was... was Alastor...?
But his eyes narrowed, blazed as he reached into that hand and took one of them. The time for questions was later. Hesitating only looked worse.
He took that left hand of his, however, and the grin widened. His power lifted, like any other Deal, and it coiled like a serpent. "Hahah... You surprise me every day, Alastor. ...Deal."
He'd done this just once before, of course. But he wouldn't forget how to slide a ring upon the last finger of the other's hand, at a pace that was without hesitation, but nothing so quick as to get it over with. Once it was on, he traced a thumb over the back of that hand. He let that coiling power curl, brush like so many of his own pearly scales, invite his partner's to join in.
no subject
Having a ring slid onto his finger... another ritual that Alastor never expected to experience. And yet he didn't find himself doubting or even considering working through a back door escape - he... wanted this.
Love is such a scary thing, if that's what this really is, and it must be because Alastor has never felt so simultaneously insane and clear-headed. To love is to have a new vulnerability, an emotion that can be exploited and not hidden away with a mysterious smile. Still... only this king can use it against him; no one would dare step to Lucifer in order to get at Alastor. He was safe.
With equal reverence, Alastor took Lucifer's left hand and held it between slender fingers. First, he raised it to kiss the knuckles of his silly, terrifying little king, reverence not for his title or power but for that act of devotion in creating life with him. Whether or not it took root, Lucifer stayed. Alastor was a broken, twisted man... but if that's what Lucifer wanted and was happy with, then he would give it. In a steady motion, the Demon slid the matching ring onto the matching finger of the Devil himself.
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