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Alastor sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, his back resting lightly against the edge of the ornate couch where Lucifer lounged in quiet repose. The room was steeped in a comfortable, dim glow—light from a low-burning hearth casting flickering patterns on the walls. Alastor’s crimson eyes, usually alight with sharp wit and boundless energy, shimmered faintly, subdued and introspective. The usual tension of his perpetual grin had eased into something softer, almost wistful.
Lucifer observed him in silence for a while, leaning lazily against the armrest. His piercing gaze, a mix of curiosity and concern, lingered on the unusually quiet Radio Demon. Alastor’s lack of chatter was uncharacteristic, and the air between them carried an unspoken weight that demanded acknowledgment.
“You’ve been wound up all day,” Lucifer finally said, his voice cutting through the stillness like a warm knife. His tone was gentle, devoid of his usual teasing edge, as he reached down and threaded his fingers lightly through Alastor’s neatly combed hair. “What’s on your mind?”
Alastor stiffened under the touch but didn’t pull away, his hands tightening briefly around the hem of his jacket. “Oh, it’s nothing, truly,” he replied, his voice calm but lacking its usual spark. “I suppose I’ve just been... reflective.”
Lucifer chuckled softly, the sound low and soothing, like a distant rumble of thunder. “Reflective? That’s a fancy way of saying something’s bothering you. Would you care to share with me? You’re usually more forthcoming, Alastor. Should I be worried?”
Alastor hesitated, his fingers absently toying with the hem of his jacket. He avoided Lucifer’s gaze, letting his focus drift to the faint patterns woven into the carpet. “It’s hardly worth troubling you over,” he said after a moment, his voice measured but subdued. “I’ve just been... considering certain things. About myself. About... what’s expected of me.” His words faltered, as though unsure they should even be spoken aloud. “Sometimes I feel... out of step with the world. Like I don’t belong, even here in Hell.”
Lucifer tilted his head, his hand stilling in Alastor’s hair. His voice, edged with sincerity, cut through the hesitation. “Expected of you? By whom? Surely, not by me.”
Alastor glanced up, his crimson eyes meeting Lucifer’s golden ones, searching them briefly before looking away again. “By everyone. Or, rather, by no one in particular,” he admitted, his tone quieter now, as though afraid to give the thoughts too much weight. “Everyone seems to share these... expectations about relationships, intimacy. It’s all so baffling to me—the way others approach it, with such passion and drive. I can’t help but feel... out of place. Like I’m missing something essential.”
Lucifer’s expression softened, his fingers resuming their slow, soothing motion through Alastor’s hair. “You’re not missing anything,” he said, his voice calm and resolute, carrying the weight of certainty. “You’re different, yes, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”
Alastor hesitated, his gaze dropping once more. “It’s just... I’ve never felt the pull others describe. The desire for closeness. Physical connection,” he admitted, his voice dipping into a rare note of vulnerability. “I’ve always known I’m different in that regard, but being here, surrounded by beings who thrive on indulgence and excess, it’s... isolating.”
Lucifer leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest as his thoughtful gaze remained steady on Alastor. “I see,” he said after a moment of quiet reflection. “And have you considered that you’re not alone in feeling this way?”
Alastor’s brows furrowed in mild confusion. “Not alone? What do you mean?”
Lucifer’s gaze drifted briefly to the flames dancing in the hearth before returning to Alastor. “I mean that I understand—perhaps more than you realize. Intimacy, in the way you’re describing, has never been a part of my experience either.”
Alastor blinked, surprise mingling with curiosity. “You? The King of Hell? That seems... unlikely.”
Lucifer let out a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, Alastor, you give me far too much credit. I was created long before such notions existed. Angels—my kind—were beings of purpose, not desire. We existed to serve, to create, to preserve. The concept of physical intimacy was as alien to us as the stars themselves.” His gaze shifted to the window, his thoughts momentarily adrift beyond the confines of the room. “Sexual attraction is... an abstract concept to me. Something I understand through observation and study, but not through experience.”
Alastor tilted his head, a spark of intrigue lighting his expression. “So, you’ve never...?”
Lucifer shook his head, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. “Never,” he replied simply. “And it’s not for lack of opportunity. I just don’t feel the pull—not in that way.” His hands rested in his lap, his fingers idly toying with the rings adorning them. “Take Charlie, for instance. She wasn’t born in the human sense. She was created—brought into existence from the remnants of my angelic essence. For me, intimacy isn’t tied to the physical. It’s... transcendent. Something that exists beyond the tangible.”
Alastor’s lips curved into a wry smile, followed by a soft chuckle. “Well, I’ll be damned. Here I was, fretting that my... lack of interest might be a deal-breaker.”
Lucifer’s hand returned to Alastor’s hair, his touch deliberate and grounding. “Understanding oneself takes time,” he said softly. “And you don’t have to navigate it alone. I’m here—whether you need someone to listen or just to sit with you in silence.”
For a moment, Alastor hesitated, then his expression shifted into something rare and unguarded. He looked at Lucifer with a tenderness the fallen king wasn’t accustomed to seeing. “Thanks, I guess,” Alastor muttered, his cheeks warming as he caught Lucifer’s gaze lingering too long, golden eyes unwavering and intense.
Lucifer smiled gently before pulling Alastor closer, guiding him onto his lap with surprising care. The Radio Demon, so composed and untouchable in most moments, allowed himself to relax in the embrace, his usual guarded demeanor softening. Settling against the plush velvet of the couch, Lucifer held Alastor securely, cradling him like a treasure that demanded reverence.
With quiet grace, Lucifer leaned in, his face nuzzling into the crook of Alastor’s neck. The faint, electric scent of static clung to the demon, mingling with the sweet aroma of baked apples that always seemed to accompany Lucifer. His breath was warm against Alastor’s skin, punctuated by tender, fleeting kisses.
Time seemed to stretch, the tension between them dissolving into something rare and fragile. Alastor stiffened at first, his hands twitching as though torn between pushing Lucifer away and pulling him closer. Slowly, he relented, his frame easing into the embrace as a tentative sigh escaped his lips.
Lucifer’s arms tightened around him, his hand tracing slow, calming patterns along Alastor’s back. The quiet crackle of the hearth filled the room, its warmth mirrored in their unspoken connection.
After a time, Alastor broke the silence, his tone lighter, almost teasing. “Well, it’s a relief to know I’m not the only odd one in this relationship.”
Lucifer laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained, echoing through the room like a melody. “Odd? Alastor, we are the epitome of oddities. That’s what makes this so delightful.”
Alastor’s smirk returned, his confidence flickering back to life. “I suppose you’re right, my dear Lucifer. And I must admit, you have an uncanny talent for making a fellow feel understood.”
Lucifer’s gaze softened further, his golden eyes glowing with quiet affection. “And you, darling, have a remarkable talent for simply being yourself. That’s all I could ever want from you.”
The warmth between them lingered, filling the room with an unspoken understanding. In that quiet solace, Alastor felt a peace he hadn’t known in lifetimes, and Lucifer, too, found an unexpected harmony in their shared stillness. Words became unnecessary as they sat together, lost in the delicate balance of their companionship, where nothing else mattered but the quiet comfort of being seen and accepted.