divinetree | Mom says it's my turn with the Alastor

He could see why so many wild animals feasted like it was their last meal. There was a pleasure in it... and he understood perhaps a bit of what Alastor felt whenever he-

Lucifer hissed with the tap to the shoulder, a very reptilian affect. He was halfway through running his tongue over the weeping wound when he heard that word. What? ...What was-

It was like grabbing a line and being pulled from roiling, maddened boiling water. The King snapped away, short of breath, face flushed and blood dribbling from his chin. When he blinked, he seemed in a momentary daze. The word. He'd said the word. That meant stop.

You shouldn't have stopped.

Ugh, shut UP. Killing him would just be rude, even if he is an asshole.

"Huh? Wha-" Oh.

OH.

...Oh.

Alastor was a mess, and in every sense of the word. He'd be flushed if he weren't so pallid, his shirt and vest torn open at the shoulder and flesh slowly, barely knitting together even as he wept and bled all over the bed.

Lucifer was stunning like this... horns out, eyes fiery, and all of his pristine white skin and clothing absolutely stained by his filthy Sinner blood. Blood that the man indulged in with just as much rabid fervor as Alastor always was tempted to.

It all felt as good as the victory he just claimed.

"What... no kiss?" he croaked in amusement, smiling madly (albeit warmly).

...This man.

This man. RILED. On purpose. It's always on purpose. But he was having a low day, and- and- and he...!!

...Didn't... feel as low as before? Sure he'd had a hefty meal of pride, but this had to be the single, most ass-backwards way of getting him a breath of air and out of the funk for a bit.

Scowling, he folded his arms across his chest and eased in close, if only- surely- to narrow his eyes at him. His wings had receded to their normal size.

"You are a bastard. You know what you did. Perhaps I should bite your face instead." He snapped his teeth for good measure.

"I said what's true," Alastor smirked, gazing fondly at the furious king. He was still a bit lethargic as his body frantically tried to recover what it lost, but Alastor still teasingly rubbed a knee against Lucifer's side. "You took offense. As if I don't cherish your madness."

A soft, croaking laugh. "You look beautiful like this."

Edited 2024-07-23 04:12 (UTC)

It had been something that wasn't entirely admired before. It was his old rebellion, his determination to swing and protect what he dreamed of regardless of what others might have to say for it.

It was the spirit that, yes, cursed the world and set the roots of evil into Creation, but despite his fury, his smoldering fatigue over being undervalued over and over and over again, he was considered...

...

Lucifer could only control so much. So when his face took on a shade of marigold, there was nothing he could do for it despite the scowl deepening.

He reached back and seized the hair at the back of Alastor's head. "Hmph... You have a funny way of expressing how you cherish something."

Perhaps it was thanks for the compliment. Or, maybe, it was thanks for the meal. ...Or maybe it was just to shut him the fuck up that had him hold the Radio Demon steady as he abruptly shared a blood-tinged kiss.

Edited 2024-07-23 14:18 (UTC)

His own blood never tasted so good. Alastor looped his arms around Lucifer's shoulders, kissing clumsily as ever and eager to taste blood and feel the sharpness of Lucifer's teeth on his tongue. He felt like fainting... or swooning? This powerful man, the devil himself, was drawn to him and enjoyed him.

It filled Alastor with strange, foreign feelings again... though he was getting familiar with them. They always bubbled up around Lucifer these days. The devil was fiery hot and right now, Alastor was cold and craved the heat.

His claws were still sharp, his form still gangly, but he stayed as gentle as he could when running his claws up the back of the king's neck.

His own kiss was messy, hungry, almost like he was somehow seeking more of that red-hot Pride. Yet his tongue, slick and forked, stroked along the bottom of the other, made no effort to keep him from feeling those teeth.

...Especially not when he helped himself to a covetous graze against the Sinner's bottom lip.

Though so many of those seraphim's eyes narrowed, glowed with a hardly-suppressed anger, pride stroked the wrong way like fur brushed backward, there were a number that gazed with shameless dilated pupils, with a fascination and desire.

All eyes on him, and he was splayed out - and splayed open - for Lucifer to enjoy. The bloodletting had him delirious, hungrily kissing Lucifer back and holding onto him with the only arm that had any strength to it. Closer... give him all of your anger, all of your passion, all of your interest.

In the moment it felt perfectly normal to let himself be plucked and nibbled and stared at. It felt right. He always knew he was a sick, broken man - where's the fun in trying to deny it? His king's insanity perfectly slotted into his own.

So big and gangly... his size didn't matter. With wings like his that would settle and touch along Alastor's back, he could do all the shifting he wanted.

"...I'm still angry with you, though," he muttered, despite a pause to brush a crook of a hand against his own mouth, clean himself up but not leave anything to waste with his most subtle dab of the stained knuckle against his lips to clear it.

His eyes continued to burn like embers as he took hold of this large, ridiculous form and moved it aside, gave him a shove back onto the bed proper. He weighed like nothing. Or did he...?

The devil was on the move and straddled him, gripped his vest and shirt, and wrenched them open. They were very nice... very lovely on him, but... Hm. Sorry, he supposed.

A hand smoothed down his bared chest and stomach, but the other set tight against Alastor's unmarked shoulder.

"My mind runs with so many ideas of a punishment for you, little Sinner... why, I've got so many tools to call upon when needed, many that I haven't used in far too long. But I think I've got juuust the thing..."

Not-- not his chest...!

Alastor flinched, not at the loss of his new clothes but at the exposing of his torso. He didn't enjoy the sight of his body on the best of days, the fluffy and wiry fur animalistic and marred with a constellation of mutilating scars. But this wasn't the best of days, still - his chest was still bound, still stitched from the wound from Adam, and that was...

...humiliating.

The injury to his pride was potent - he'd been hiding that slowly healing wound for over a month now, nearly two months - getting caught with it was more distressing than the idea of Lucifer gutting him, or tearing him apart, or anything like that.

Fuck.

Some of the eyes flickered, focused on the binding. Their lids lowered, a sympathy- Adam sure had a way of making sure his slovenly ass was remembered- but aside from those peepers, Lucifer hadn't even seemed to focus on the bindings.

Instead, the burning gaze remained cool. He let his damaged wings beat and lift him off, landing on his boots upon the floor just off the foot of the bed.

"...I think the gumbo does need to simmer for a little longer. And I have phone calls to make." He dusted off his lapel. Playing it cool.

"Let today be a lesson."

Despite his lethargy, Alastor sat himself up, snapping his fingers to summon a replacement shirt. He shed his torn clothes and replaced them with the unshorn cloth, even if the cloth bloodied - what mattered is that the bleeding wounds weren't the wound left behind by Adam, but were the wounds that Alastor had instigated, ones that he was not at all ashamed of having.

"A lesson in what, exactly?" Alastor scoffed, rubbing at his neck where flesh still worked to knit together, "I know well my king's madness and pride. I'm not shaken, sha. Make your calls to reschedule our date."

Reschedule, not cancel.

Not... not cancelled completely...?

...

Lucifer quickly wound his tail around a leg to keep it absolutely still. Have some dignity.

He rubbed the heel of a hand against his forehead, ease the ache of horns that had torn through the skin. It let him focus anywhere but at him.

Not shaken, he said. Yet he could hear and feel so much earlier that he could easily call on that bullshit.

Instead, he'll let himself sail on it.

"...Right. I'll be checking in on that bite later, you understand?" He turned and waved a hand, as many fallen feathers began to swirl and vanish themselves.

But he'd been... 'messy' with a few. Left some behind.

"A good artist never lets their work sit after a first draft, after all... chér." He hadn't looked back. He was already off to his promised task.

Once Lucifer properly left, Alastor's expression properly soured - not with a dropped smile, never that, but with his ears pinned back and his brows furrowed, he sat on the bed until he'd regained enough strength and coordination to stand.

A snap of his fingers swirled all of the remaining feathers into his hand, from down to flight feather, and with them in his grasp he melted away and returned to his room, locking the door tightly to keep Charlie out. She did not need to be nosy and catch wind of any of this, thank you very much.

He'll settle for his two projects, instead - crafting a magnificent quill from the flight feather, giving it a light oil coating to protect it and enhance its sheen, and sewing together a voodoo doll of Lucifer stuffed with the downy feathers as the heart of the doll to make it all the more potent.

The man had his demons (hah) to battle, and he'd need to make the effort on his own... but if nothing else, he could dress and commune for this poppet for Lucifer, some semblance of promoting prosperity and protection. Hah. To think anyone would bother trying to protect the literal devil, and yet... it only made sense, now that Alastor was saying 'sha' whilst Lucifer was saying 'chér'. The project for tonight could occupy his time, occupy his mind as his body gobbled up his magicks to gradually build itself back up in every wound except his angelic wound.

The phone calls took all of ten minutes.

A quick check-in with Charlie was about twenty, before she was tagged in for a debate between Husk and Angel Dust, the latter of which needed some back-up. They headed off to animated conversation.

This left the King of Hell wandering without a word, aimlessly, for what felt like days. Because he looked for all the world like he was definitely on his way to something or was deep in thought, nobody saw fit to bother him.

On days like these, he preferred it.

But a man could also drive himself insane with boredom.

You're sick. Sick. Like. Me.

...Fucking Alastor. He scowled. HE wasn't sick. Everything just sucks, and some days sucked worse. By all accounts, he should give the fella a piece of his mind!

But he recalled the wound. It'd been... a month and a half? Two? And it still looked like that. It was clear that Adam had used a blessed weapon, and probably something dearest to him.

That stupid guitar. His 'panty-dropper'.

His own frustration happily blended with concern. Alastor was, by all accounts, a citizen in his realm, and lived under this roof. Shouldn't he do something to help? He could heal, he could...

Without realizing, he'd passed the turn to head down the stairs. He'd been making a beeline...

The king stopped, puffed his cheeks, and zipped back to the turn toward the staircase. He pressed himself against the wall.

Wait. He can't come off as desperate. As much as grabbing an arm and kissing up the length of it was soundly his style, there's-

Well-

It's-

Was it too soo-

The walk to Alastor's room was still as usual, empty halls with empty rooms leading to the one that was warped, that had antlers hung on the door marking it as his.

Jazz was buzzing over the radio even through the door, a small semblance of comfort for himself as he worked. In a steady loop, Alastor was needling the doll's eyes repetitively, securing the eye with layer after layer of black thread. Pins held in place makeshift clothing, meant to evoke the man's visage more strongly, give the spirits something more to work off of. So they knew who to assist, who to protect.

"You don't actually give a shit about this tacky place, do ya?"

Alastor's lip curled, and his hands paused. In his hands was the doll he was working on. Glancing up, in his work cabinet, was a small collection of previous dolls made... Charlie, Vaggie, Niffty, Mimzy, Rosie, Husk.

...Even Sir Pentious. It'd been quite a hoot to pluck a scale off of the man and terrify him, and he'd never shown the doll he'd made save for one glimpse to terrify one of the egg minions, to cause a little chaos and spread a little paranoia. The doll still had veves pinned to it... the same ones that had been added to the others before the Extermination day, as well.

...It was useless, now.

"C'mon! I know you. You heartless. Son. of. a. bitch."

Alastor glared at the doll in his hand, feeling... sickened. Perhaps foul moods were contagious. He had been having a strange sort of fun being torn apart, being exposed and splayed out, but... what was he doing?

"Oh, FUCK you, Alastor! All you do is stand there, smiling, while you watch US struggle and fail! ...I don't know how you can enjoy all this suffering so much."

Yes, yes. He was the one that enjoyed seeing people fail, see their despair, see them fail over and over again. He joined the fight because he wanted to see more of it, to see the project continue, to see more people show up and fall into their vices over and over in a futile effort.

Yes... that had to be why. He was the Radio Demon. And the Radio Demon could have a bit of fun, dallying around with the devil himself, but that ring made it clear enough that it was a flight of fancy. Why was he bothering with this?

...Despite himself, despite his mood plummeting, he kept sewing. Taking out pins as they were no longer needed, too absorbed in his own itching healing and his own thoughts to feel the presence coming closer to the door's seal. Not that it was a seal that would keep anyone out sincerely.

...Oh, who was he kidding!? He wanted to check in, and if Alastor didn't want to be bothered he could just say so. They were adults, for fuck's sake.

Lucifer straightened up and conjured his cane. He'll just keep it casual, quietly moving down the hall while peering over his shoulder in case of any peepers.

Just a little visit, if Al is in. Just a teeny-tiny, itty-bitty, eensy-weensy visit between two old chums who'vemadeoutafewtimes...

But first let's... hesitate at the door, give it a little touch. Why? He didn't know. Maybe it'd shock him or something.

Okay, asshole, why would it shock you?

DEEP BREATH. Let's try the door!

There was a little fizzle on the door, and the touch made Alastor jolt a bit out of his thoughts.

Ah... Lucifer at the door already. Why so soon? His wound wasn't that severe for a non-holy wound. Perhaps he was coming around to dig in the insult of a 'lesson'. Or worse... apologizing.

Eugh.

Taking a moment to recollect himself, Alastor relaxed his scowl, unclenched his shoulders. Maybe a little distraction would do him good, a bit of verbal sparring would be nice.

With a flick of the wrist without standing up from his chair, Alastor dismissed the barrier and called through the door.

"You're welcome in, Lucifer, if Charlie's not with you~"

Oh! His name! That-

Well, alright then!

"Whoopsie~ Charlie, sweetie, better climb in my pocket real quick. Ssh, ssh! He'll never know."

And he nudged the door open, stepped on in. Closed it behind him and patted his coat pocket.

"Ahem- ah... Hi."

...Great start.

"I made those phone calls. I think this next weekend should be fine... for... the date."

His eyelids fluttered. Pieces clicked together. Then he leaned against the door and hugged his arms around his chest, tucked both hands in tight, running his thumb over the gold band. He hadn't been... dating... in a while. A long, long while.

Alastor's eyes flickered to the fidgeting, to the band, before looking at Lucifer's awkward face and softening his gaze. And fluttering his eyelashes, just a bit playfully.

"Oh, don't even think to apologize now, it's unbecoming," Alastor teased, leaning back and crossing his legs. "A week should be just fine to rest up," he added, clearly pointing it at Lucifer even if he was the one physically on the mend. His demon-inflicted wounds would be sealed up soon enough.

He quirked a brow. "...It'd rude not to apologize for a scheduling hold-up, y'know. I saw that you dressed up and all."

A pause. Then, with a little grin, he preened his own chin. "You looked beautiful, Bambi."

His own eyelash flutter followed.

"Oh, you must be feeling guilty, to be throwing that word around to describe me," Alastor teased, though it was easy enough to sense that his pride was fluffed by the compliment.

"Nothing to feel guilt for. You have our dear Rosie to thank for selecting the vest - she's got more of the textile used so another can be made, since the first was destroyed in such a fun way."

He pushed away from the door. "She's a Hell of a lady! We really ought'a do lunch again sometime."

He'll just. Remember not to swallow the god-damned finger whole this time. Or stir with it.

But the king did a double-take. Then he frowned. "...Yeah, I figured you did that whole thing to rile me up! You're a cad! Also, I'm a builder, m'kay? If something's broken, I can put it back together, y'know."

"Hoh hoh! Trust me, it was a pleasant surprise just how enjoyable being devoured was. I see why you crave it so from me," Alastor giggled, amused as anything. See? Sick.

"Subject to your unholy fury and yet I am such a special pet, you'd never kill - hoh! What a thrill!"

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