Making fun of him being mad, are you! Alastor chuckled, summoning a pair of dainty scissors.
"Much easier to stay conscious and stitch up than it was when I was alive. A jug of whiskey helped."
He's been meticulous about it... but one can only go so far with a stubborn wound that wanted you dead SO BADLY. Alastor had been stubborn and refused to lay down for death.
It was the nature of the 'beast', really: Good and Evil always sought to crawl into each other, cancel each other out. Wounds from blessed weapons was like watching a smoldering ember slowly spread across kindling, eating and spreading until there was nothing left.
It was why there were always the terrible screams after every Purge, as Sinners suffered and felt themselves practically being eaten alive by their wounds.
But Lucifer, Fallen though he was, still had some measure as a holy being. He had authority.
The wound had gone on for so long, that he could practically be here for days without rest and likely stitch Alastor back together save for a particularly gnarly scar. But he'd be rather grumpy about being helped, because he was just 'a favorite'.
Fucking... rgh.
So when he lay a palm that pulsed with his own power, he would instead exert his. Sometimes during training, angelic power went awry and liked to move like a frenzy to seek Evil to cleanse. It needed to be directed. It needed to be suppressed, just like Evil did.
One must never suffer from extremes of either of the primordial powers.
Fucking hell's fire, that pain was overwhelming. All urges to quip stopped as Alastor clenched his teeth, fighting against falling unconscious.
Magics of all kinds swirled and agitated an already volatile wound, but the movement and pain was for a cause. As Lucifer focused on that end of things, Alastor refused to be idle... he started to snip at the stitches, letting them dissipate. Using magic for the threads during the initial treatment at least spared him needing to tug the stitches out manually.
His eyelids lowered in his focus, noting that there was just... so much here. The attack was made in haste, in rage.
You pissed Adam off big time.
Doesn't take much to rile him up, but Lucifer couldn't help but feel some pride in that.
But it was clear that this was rough. Rougher than intended. With a sigh his wings unfurled, eyes springing open. The eye in his bow tie narrowed, his apprehension.
He reached in somehow, a feathered touch of magic, and formed a connection. He drew in some level of that pain, took it upon himself. Lucifer grit his teeth and his breath caught.
Fuck. He had his pain tolerance, but his limit was a bit... shorter than most others. But he will endure, if it means it makes this process a little easier.
The pain is lessening... but the wound is still far from sealing. But here, now, the blessing was being pulled away somehow, wasn't it? Which meant that his own healing and his own magic could make more traction.
Leaving the stitching across the deepest part of the gash, Alastor dropped his arms and leaned back, forcing his breath to stay steady. Fuck.
Lucifer really was making a big difference, and it was getting gradually easier to inhale without the sharp, rueful burn of energy eating at him. The ache was dull... normal... or at least, closer.
Lucifer's brow... all of his eyes, rather, furrowed in concentration. All on him, just the way he liked. The man could be quite stunning at times like these.
"Showoff," he murmured, resting his hand on Lucifer's shoulder. "Beautiful."
How in the everliving FUCK did you walk around feeling all of this!? All Lucifer wanted to do was go to his bed and not move for a while. What the unholy Hell was Alastor made of?
Physical touch was required, and it didn't mean hands. When Alastor eased forward, Lucifer's arms moved to hold him steady instead.
"Oh, shut up," was his strained, whispered reply through the pain. He shouldn't say things he doesn't mean...
Held-- held close. It hurt, but the way Lucifer sounded flagged immediately to Alastor. Alastor wrapped his arms around Lucifer, his hand cradling the back of the man's head.
"Just the pain? I can handle the pain. Stop it. You'll not make it through a day without wincing or groaning and capturing Charlie's attention and fussing. You're not even holding your composure now."
"I'm just... out of practice, is all." It really had been a long, long time.
"Let's just say... I know what some pains feel like. Ha... haha..." Lily had migraines sometimes, and cramps? Hoogh. Lucifer understood cramps more than the world of cis men.
Labor pains? Horrifying. Thanks, curse. What a pal.
"Just... let me finish here. This bit's bad. Should help a lot once I get it done."
"If you are quite done with addressing the blessing on the wound then stop," Alastor growled, claws gripping Lucifer's hair, though without any force. He just... didn't really like the idea of any of it. Accepting help, somehow admitting defeat to Adam, and... yes, even seeing Lucifer in pain. And needlessly, when he was enduring it with grace all this time.
"I can endure pain better than you can, Lucifer. You don't need to take the burden from me."
It was like stretching as far as he could, a fingertip just brushing his goal. Lucifer pushed just a tiny bit further, and quickly grabbed what he could, seized it tight before he started to pull himself back.
He eased out a shuddering breath as he proceeded apace with severing the connection. To snap it shut too quickly could be too much of a shock, even for someone who could endure greater pain.
The seraph pulled away a fine, golden ball and balanced it in his hands.
"...Even the pain of primordial Good... that's either complete insanity or a testament to your tolerance levels. Maybe both." His eyes burned red as he turned to look upon this ball, curled his fingers inward.
His magic poured inward from the palm like serpents, hungrily snapping and binding, swallowing that remnant. When he crushed it all within his fingers, let the wisps of smoke billow, he couldn't help his own hiss between his teeth.
Alastor was talented with controlling his expressions, even those of pain - but this was horrid. The injury had hurt when he'd received it, but he'd had the strength to speak and sing without waver.
The feeling of the blessing being pulled out of him made Alastor realize how much the damned energy had taken root. It felt like his nerves were grabbed by the handful and pulled out like a clot of string, and the last rational thing he could manage was to drop his hands to the arms of the chair so his claws slashed through fabric instead of the man helping him. White hot agony, so intense it stole his breath and his voice, stole his sight and hearing - all for that split second before relief.
It still hurt. But the drop in intensity made the open gash feel almost breezy instead, light like he'd had a lead weight stuck in his sternum. Alastor slacked against the back of his chair, his breath finally escaping in a faintly groaning exhale. His body, his magic, all were thrumming - he could sense it now, that the injury was already hastily healing itself, free of its heavenly burden.
Certainly... he'd have to find a way to thank Lucifer, in a way. Give him a moment - he'll harass the man to make sure he wasn't still harboring any lingering effects of the injury. He never asked for Lucifer to suffer in his place, damn him.
By all accounts, he should have kept his cool. But once he was free of the eradication of another foul remnant of the First Man- surely there would be more somewhere in Hell, and it was clear he needed to find and cleanse them- it was...
...Alarming to see Alastor like this. He'd disappeared a while after the fight, popped up with a smile like nothing happened. To see him like this was... humbling, he supposed, but there was a frosty little knot in his stomach.
Worry. He worried, and he'd bet his bottom dollar that Al would hate knowing that.
Rather than open his big mouth, he opted for wisdom in silence. Instead he watched, eyes scanning his face. So many more along his wings slid closed, perhaps relieved they could truly See nothing more of that curse that needed extracting.
Soon his expression was faltering a bit. Call him a softie all you wanted, but as his own breaths shallowed in a little panic, he realized he was going past worried.
Through it all, like his face was carved permanently in a grin, Alastor's smile never dropped. He would never allow it. Or perhaps, he couldn't stop it. Who could say?
After a few moments of silence, Alastor's haggard breathing slowly smoothed out, growing steady. There was still pain, but it was hardly of note - he'd been singing and dancing with far, far worse just moments ago, after all. This really was nothing.
"Showoff," Alastor repeated once he got his wind back, once his tongue had wit again. The demon pulled his claws free from the chair's upholstery, shaking off the stuffing before patting around for the scissors to start snipping at the rest of the stitching. "You aren't still hurting?"
The way his breathing evened helped settle his racing heart, albeit slowly. But it was the first word that had his shoulders relax from how tightly they'd held, the smallest incredulous huff leaving him, an attempt as a laugh.
Ass.
But he sought the scissors and eased them into his hand.
"No, it's... it's all on you again. But if you ever nee- want it, just..." He kept his hands to himself, but his fingers fidgeted with the rosary, absently.
"I just need to be in the vicinity, and I can keep it going."
"Good," Alastor started, petting Lucifer's hair gently but a little tauntingly. Good boy. "But I don't intend to receive another angelic wound. And any other wound won't cause enough pain to buckle me."
Such a little worrywart... Alastor could fret about his life or death on his own time, and it didn't need to be on anyone else's shoulders.
"You're a surprisingly sensitive sort. Cute. I'll have to explore that later," Alastor added, letting his voice trail off lowly - let the devil catch those implications, he'd earned them.
He started, clutching the beads as he sent Alastor a look.
Oh. Okay. So he was well enough to be a cad again. Good to know. The funny thing about blood, however, is that it sort of did whatever it wanted, including raising the color in his face despite the look.
...You know what? Two can play that game.
"I see. You sure about that...? Your body lit up with these ones..." A scant brush against the edge of the bandage he'd placed at the neck. Surely he didn't mean all angelic wounds...
You're no angel, Lucifer, and honestly thank everything for that. The devil himself, the fallen angel - those bites had hurt, but it had been such a pleasant and blissful hurt. Not comparable in the slightest, especially since there was never a second that Alastor would have enjoyed feeling torn open and exposed to anyone besides Lucifer. Certainly not Adam.
...Vox's time had long passed.
Though Alastor had restrained any sign of his body trying to shudder, any blink or flinch of delight, his skin betrayed him by raising goosebumps as it tingled under that touch.
"You enjoy gentle as much as a little nibble, don't you. I can understand, it must feel pleasant to be treated like a precious gem," he teased fondly back, letting his fingers gently trace down Lucifer's scalp, petting him.
Was he making fun? What's wrong with gentle!? Oh, he had to show him. ...After he's better.
"When I get going, Bambi, you're sure tooooooghmmm..." Oh no. Not the head massages. Mercy. Have mercy...
"Youuuu're pretty and your voice is a good brandy..." We're sorry. Lucifer.exe has encountered an illegal operation and must shut down to prevent further deterioration.
Ooh, his voice, hmm? Pride swelled - Alastor was quite pleased with how his voice was, how it always got compliments both in life and afterlife. 'Pretty' was a harder sell, but the more Lucifer insists, it must be some sort of true.
"Good as brandy, hmm...? Have you wanted to hear my voice whispering sweet nothings to you, Cher? To say your name, my morning star?" he purred into Lucifer's ear, the soft popping of the radio filter warming his already warm voice as he continued to gently stroke that soft duck-tail hair. "I can whisper things just for you, Cher... things you can play on repeat whenever you want."
It was something that hung in him sometimes during idle conversation or overhearing bits and pieces. Lucifer found Alastor's voice pleasant, with and without the filter. But there were moments when it dipped into something, dropped the upper volume of bravado and felt rather... personal. Private.
He guessed he had a thing for crooners.
Hell with it all... though he had a brief and embarrassing catch in his breath, his attempt to shove the Radio Demon's head away from his ear was feeble, more coquettish than anything. You call him things like that, and he'll have so much trouble maintaining any level of composure.
Things just for him? Oh no... Oh, no...
"Fffffuck, you fight dirty, don't you...?" Give him time, and he'll melt into an awful puddle.
The push moved Alastor's face away, playing along - forceful men were such brutes and he had such a disdain for them. Instead Alastor chuckled, cupping marigold-tinged cheeks in his hands. Warm...
"You've got the sweet tooth of the two of us. You're too sweet for me," he murmured fondly, before humming a bit - that's right, that's the lyric of a song. He'll have to save that to sing to Lucifer later.
"A shining light in Hell's skies. Our sun. And you're all mine, tonight."
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sugaronthecream) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
divinetree2024-04-01 08:17 am
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"Much easier to stay conscious and stitch up than it was when I was alive. A jug of whiskey helped."
He's been meticulous about it... but one can only go so far with a stubborn wound that wanted you dead SO BADLY. Alastor had been stubborn and refused to lay down for death.
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It was the nature of the 'beast', really: Good and Evil always sought to crawl into each other, cancel each other out. Wounds from blessed weapons was like watching a smoldering ember slowly spread across kindling, eating and spreading until there was nothing left.
It was why there were always the terrible screams after every Purge, as Sinners suffered and felt themselves practically being eaten alive by their wounds.
But Lucifer, Fallen though he was, still had some measure as a holy being. He had authority.
The wound had gone on for so long, that he could practically be here for days without rest and likely stitch Alastor back together save for a particularly gnarly scar. But he'd be rather grumpy about being helped, because he was just 'a favorite'.
Fucking... rgh.
So when he lay a palm that pulsed with his own power, he would instead exert his. Sometimes during training, angelic power went awry and liked to move like a frenzy to seek Evil to cleanse. It needed to be directed. It needed to be suppressed, just like Evil did.
One must never suffer from extremes of either of the primordial powers.
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Magics of all kinds swirled and agitated an already volatile wound, but the movement and pain was for a cause. As Lucifer focused on that end of things, Alastor refused to be idle... he started to snip at the stitches, letting them dissipate. Using magic for the threads during the initial treatment at least spared him needing to tug the stitches out manually.
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You pissed Adam off big time.
Doesn't take much to rile him up, but Lucifer couldn't help but feel some pride in that.
But it was clear that this was rough. Rougher than intended. With a sigh his wings unfurled, eyes springing open. The eye in his bow tie narrowed, his apprehension.
He reached in somehow, a feathered touch of magic, and formed a connection. He drew in some level of that pain, took it upon himself. Lucifer grit his teeth and his breath caught.
Fuck. He had his pain tolerance, but his limit was a bit... shorter than most others. But he will endure, if it means it makes this process a little easier.
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Leaving the stitching across the deepest part of the gash, Alastor dropped his arms and leaned back, forcing his breath to stay steady. Fuck.
Lucifer really was making a big difference, and it was getting gradually easier to inhale without the sharp, rueful burn of energy eating at him. The ache was dull... normal... or at least, closer.
Lucifer's brow... all of his eyes, rather, furrowed in concentration. All on him, just the way he liked. The man could be quite stunning at times like these.
"Showoff," he murmured, resting his hand on Lucifer's shoulder. "Beautiful."
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Physical touch was required, and it didn't mean hands. When Alastor eased forward, Lucifer's arms moved to hold him steady instead.
"Oh, shut up," was his strained, whispered reply through the pain. He shouldn't say things he doesn't mean...
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"What are you doing."
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This was difficult. Not impossible, but good god, there's so much damage. It's been two months...!
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He took a breath.
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"Let's just say... I know what some pains feel like. Ha... haha..." Lily had migraines sometimes, and cramps? Hoogh. Lucifer understood cramps more than the world of cis men.
Labor pains? Horrifying. Thanks, curse. What a pal.
"Just... let me finish here. This bit's bad. Should help a lot once I get it done."
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"I can endure pain better than you can, Lucifer. You don't need to take the burden from me."
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He eased out a shuddering breath as he proceeded apace with severing the connection. To snap it shut too quickly could be too much of a shock, even for someone who could endure greater pain.
The seraph pulled away a fine, golden ball and balanced it in his hands.
"...Even the pain of primordial Good... that's either complete insanity or a testament to your tolerance levels. Maybe both." His eyes burned red as he turned to look upon this ball, curled his fingers inward.
His magic poured inward from the palm like serpents, hungrily snapping and binding, swallowing that remnant. When he crushed it all within his fingers, let the wisps of smoke billow, he couldn't help his own hiss between his teeth.
Bother him no longer. Begone, Adam.
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The feeling of the blessing being pulled out of him made Alastor realize how much the damned energy had taken root. It felt like his nerves were grabbed by the handful and pulled out like a clot of string, and the last rational thing he could manage was to drop his hands to the arms of the chair so his claws slashed through fabric instead of the man helping him. White hot agony, so intense it stole his breath and his voice, stole his sight and hearing - all for that split second before relief.
It still hurt. But the drop in intensity made the open gash feel almost breezy instead, light like he'd had a lead weight stuck in his sternum. Alastor slacked against the back of his chair, his breath finally escaping in a faintly groaning exhale. His body, his magic, all were thrumming - he could sense it now, that the injury was already hastily healing itself, free of its heavenly burden.
Certainly... he'd have to find a way to thank Lucifer, in a way. Give him a moment - he'll harass the man to make sure he wasn't still harboring any lingering effects of the injury. He never asked for Lucifer to suffer in his place, damn him.
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...Alarming to see Alastor like this. He'd disappeared a while after the fight, popped up with a smile like nothing happened. To see him like this was... humbling, he supposed, but there was a frosty little knot in his stomach.
Worry. He worried, and he'd bet his bottom dollar that Al would hate knowing that.
Rather than open his big mouth, he opted for wisdom in silence. Instead he watched, eyes scanning his face. So many more along his wings slid closed, perhaps relieved they could truly See nothing more of that curse that needed extracting.
Soon his expression was faltering a bit. Call him a softie all you wanted, but as his own breaths shallowed in a little panic, he realized he was going past worried.
Seeing him like this scared him.
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After a few moments of silence, Alastor's haggard breathing slowly smoothed out, growing steady. There was still pain, but it was hardly of note - he'd been singing and dancing with far, far worse just moments ago, after all. This really was nothing.
"Showoff," Alastor repeated once he got his wind back, once his tongue had wit again. The demon pulled his claws free from the chair's upholstery, shaking off the stuffing before patting around for the scissors to start snipping at the rest of the stitching. "You aren't still hurting?"
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Ass.
But he sought the scissors and eased them into his hand.
"No, it's... it's all on you again. But if you ever nee- want it, just..." He kept his hands to himself, but his fingers fidgeted with the rosary, absently.
"I just need to be in the vicinity, and I can keep it going."
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Such a little worrywart... Alastor could fret about his life or death on his own time, and it didn't need to be on anyone else's shoulders.
"You're a surprisingly sensitive sort. Cute. I'll have to explore that later," Alastor added, letting his voice trail off lowly - let the devil catch those implications, he'd earned them.
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Oh. Okay. So he was well enough to be a cad again. Good to know. The funny thing about blood, however, is that it sort of did whatever it wanted, including raising the color in his face despite the look.
...You know what? Two can play that game.
"I see. You sure about that...? Your body lit up with these ones..." A scant brush against the edge of the bandage he'd placed at the neck. Surely he didn't mean all angelic wounds...
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...Vox's time had long passed.
Though Alastor had restrained any sign of his body trying to shudder, any blink or flinch of delight, his skin betrayed him by raising goosebumps as it tingled under that touch.
"You enjoy gentle as much as a little nibble, don't you. I can understand, it must feel pleasant to be treated like a precious gem," he teased fondly back, letting his fingers gently trace down Lucifer's scalp, petting him.
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"When I get going, Bambi, you're sure tooooooghmmm..." Oh no. Not the head massages. Mercy. Have mercy...
"Youuuu're pretty and your voice is a good brandy..." We're sorry. Lucifer.exe has encountered an illegal operation and must shut down to prevent further deterioration.
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"Good as brandy, hmm...? Have you wanted to hear my voice whispering sweet nothings to you, Cher? To say your name, my morning star?" he purred into Lucifer's ear, the soft popping of the radio filter warming his already warm voice as he continued to gently stroke that soft duck-tail hair. "I can whisper things just for you, Cher... things you can play on repeat whenever you want."
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He guessed he had a thing for crooners.
Hell with it all... though he had a brief and embarrassing catch in his breath, his attempt to shove the Radio Demon's head away from his ear was feeble, more coquettish than anything. You call him things like that, and he'll have so much trouble maintaining any level of composure.
Things just for him? Oh no... Oh, no...
"Fffffuck, you fight dirty, don't you...?" Give him time, and he'll melt into an awful puddle.
"Oh, but I burn for sweet nothings..."
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"You've got the sweet tooth of the two of us. You're too sweet for me," he murmured fondly, before humming a bit - that's right, that's the lyric of a song. He'll have to save that to sing to Lucifer later.
"A shining light in Hell's skies. Our sun. And you're all mine, tonight."
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