You're So Bright In My Eyes - titanic_trash (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

Alastor sat in the corner of the smokey tavern, his fingers wrapped loosely around a mug of ale as he leaned back in his chair, away from the light of the oil lamps and into the shadows. He always operated best in the shadows, unnoticed and unobserved - two aspects that were crucial for his line of work.

The serving girl had last made her rounds to his table over an hour ago. It pleased him to think that she might have forgotten him. The girl was pretty, and drew the admiring gaze of the other patrons of the inn, their eyes following her as she flitted about the room with her serving tray. Such attention was not welcome in his corner.

He took a cursory sip of his ale every now and then as he observed the other patrons. It was good, but he dared not drink more than a few mouthfuls. He needed to stay vigilant, with one eye on the door, waiting for the envoy that would be arriving at any moment.

Sure enough, after another ten minutes of waiting and watching, the door to the tavern swung open and a small, fidgety man strode inside. His movements were quick and jerky as he scanned the room, his rat-like face nervous.

Alastor internally groaned when the man seemed to spot him and hurried his way over. Though no one seemed to be paying the rat man any mind, human eyes were oft drawn to quick movements, and he was scurrying through the tavern as if attempting to emulate the animal he so resembled.

He offered a quick, nervous grin when he reached Alastor’s table and plunked himself down uninvited, removing his hat and wiping his brow. Alastor’s nostrils flared, but he otherwise kept his expression fixed to his neutral smile. The little imbecile was not in the least bit subtle, was he?

“You have something for me?” Alastor drawled, causing the rat man to jump a little. He clicked his fingernails rhythmically against his tin mug, exuding impatience, though truly he was anything but. He could wait all night if needed: in fact, his profession often required it. The little man before him need not know that though.

“Yes, yes. I have it here,” the rat man whispered harshly, making Alastor internally roll his eyes.

No one would pay attention to their conversation when spoken in a normal tone with relaxed body language, and the tavern was far too noisy and boisterous to hear much of what they were saying anyway. The hunched way the rat man was leaning forward, however, and the way his voice was pitched to an exaggerated whisper - that was sure to draw attention.

“Sit up normally and raise your voice,” Alastor instructed calmly. “And give me what you came to deliver.”

The rat man winced but followed the instruction, sitting a little straighter in his chair. He reached into his filthy overcoat and drew out a piece of parchment, crinkled and dirty from being stuffed unceremoniously inside the jacket’s breast pocket. He practically threw the thing at Alastor, who took it with a wince of disgust.

Infernus Manor

Tomorrow. 5pm sharp.

Do not be late.

When Alastor was finished reading he crumpled the note, holding it tightly in his fist. “You may go,” he dismissed the rat man offhandedly, caring little and less for the man’s continued presence. The rat man didn’t say a word, simply scrambled from his seat and hurried towards the door.

Precisely five minutes after he exited, Alastor placed a coin for his mug of ale on the table and stood smoothly, his motions unhurried and unnoticed. He passed the hearth on his way towards the door, subtly dropping the note into the flames on his way by.

Not a single patron noticed him leave. In fact, the only person who remembered him at all was the pretty serving girl, who frowned when she noticed his mug of practically untouched ale sometime later.

Oh, well. She had better things to tend to than some bloke who paid good coin for his ale but couldn’t be bothered to drink it.

Chapter 2: Chapter One

Chapter Text

The next day, at exactly 5pm sharp, Alastor used the brass knocker at Infernus Manor to rap three times against the mahogany wood of the front door. The note had made no mention of him using a different entrance or even forgoing announcing his arrival altogether. He knew perfectly well who inhabited the vast and sprawling estate, and if the lady of the house did not want him to be seen, he was sure he would not be.

A few seconds later a butler opened the door, ushering Alastor in with an air of indifferent politeness.

The manor was gorgeous and posh, with polished marble floors and gleaming fixtures. Alastor made a cursory glance, keeping his expression schooled into one of begrudging admirement, but in reality he let his eyes wander, picking up on every inch of the grand foyer that he could. He had come to learn that any little detail could be important, no matter how miniscule it may seem in the moment.

“Ah, Mr Sinclair,” a musical voice called out his false name, causing Alastor to turn. “I am glad to see that someone in this city understands the concept of punctuality.”

“Your majesty,” Alastor said, bowing at the waist.

“You know who I am, then,” said the queen. Her voice was sharp and astute, her eyes glittering with intelligence.

I would be hard-pressed not to, Alastor thought, but didn’t dare say it aloud. Instead he offered an indulgent smile, allowing his own expression to take on the slightly soft look that he knew made people assume that he was simple-minded, or perhaps even a little crazy. Dropped on his head as an infant, mayhaps, it’s terrible, but these things do happen, you know.

The queen was standing in the entrance of what Alastor assumed was some sort of parlour. She was tall, almost as tall as he, with long golden hair that framed her beautiful face. Alastor could see a stringency there though, and more than a touch of haughtiness. This was a woman who was used to getting her way, and did not take kindly to hearing the word ‘no’.

Alastor had never met her before, of course, but had seen her from afar, and heard many and more rumours. She was intelligent, and ruthless, and seemed to have complete authority over her less-than-capable husband. All of Gehenna seemed to be held in her dainty, manicured palm.

Her power made her dangerous, but that was not what worried him. It was the cunning in those sharp blue eyes as they roved over his form that made him quickly understand that this woman would not be so easily manipulated as his usual clientele.

“My, aren’t I being rude! Do come in, please. I’ve had some tea prepared. Unless you would prefer something stronger?” the queen said, giving Alastor a radiant smile.

“Tea is fine, your majesty.”

In truth he preferred coffee, but something in him guessed that telling this woman his preferences (or anything about him at all, really) was not a wise idea.

He followed the queen as she strode into the parlour, where there was indeed a teapot, teacups, and an assortment of cakes and cookies sitting on an accent table between two plush sofas. Queen Lilith sat herself down with all the grace that befitted a woman of her station, gesturing for Alastor to take his place across from her.

He did slowly, allowing his eyes to purposefully widen into a look of surprised amazement as he gazed around the room. The queen tittered as he did so, waving her hand when he glanced back at her. “I often forget that such luxury comes as a surprise to so many. You’ve never seen anything like this before, have you, dear?”

“No, your majesty,” Alastor said, imbuing his voice with an appropriate amount of awe. While it was technically the truth, in all honesty such luxury did little to impress him. He very much wanted the queen to state her business so that he could leave as quickly as possible.

“Well, enjoy it, darling. Meena, are you going to pour the tea, or just stand there all day?”

A serving girl jumped from her place in the corner, hurrying over to pour the queen and her guest the tea. She offered Alastor sugar and cream, which he declined. The queen took a splash of cream and three heaping spoonfuls of sugar, which Alastor secretly thought was an absurd amount.

“Now, I imagine you’d like to discuss why you’re here, yes?” said Lilith. She blew gently over her steaming cup, her eyes once more roving over Alastor’s frame.

Alastor only nodded, fixing his wide, vacant smile to his face. The queen hummed gently, took a sip of tea, grimaced and added more sugar, then continued.

“Well, the word around Pentagram City’s underground is that you have acquired a certain… set of skills, that I am hoping to make use of.”

No sh*t, Alastor thought behind his smile. People only made a request for his presence for one thing, and it wasn’t because he was such a lively conversationalist.

“Well, Mr Sinclair, I will be frank, this matter is about my husband.”

Alastor didn’t have to fake his surprise as his brows rose in question. It was no secret that the king was an introvert, rarely leaving his chambers, let alone the palace, and had left most of the ruling of Gehenna to his wife. But the king was still the king, and if Lilith had sought Alastor’s help of all people, it meant that what they were about to discuss would likely be running afoul of treason.

Noticing Alastor’s expression, the queen quickly backpedaled. “Let me explain. You may have already heard, but in a few days time I will be taking a trip to visit the outer cities and towns of Gehenna, primarily Wrath and Envy. A sabbatical sort of thing, I’m sure you understand. This trip will take several months, if not a full year or even longer. While I am away, my dear husband will be left to rule this city and most of the rest of Gehenna alone. My poor darling is prone to bouts of… melancholy, shall we say. I am looking for someone to keep him entertained, and to keep myself updated of his activities in my absence. It would help to soothe my heart knowing that he is being cared for while I am away.”

“Your majesty…” Alastor said, his tone hesitant. “I do hope you weren’t misinformed about my profession. I do not know if I would be the person equipped for such a task.”

He left it at that, the unspoken implication of ‘I am an assassin, not a babysitter’ hanging heavy in the air.

The queen smiled, though it did not meet her sharp eyes. “I believe you are perfectly equipped for what I am asking, Mr Sinclair. From what I hear you are resourceful, discreet, and know how to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. Or have I been… misinformed?”

Alastor’s pulse quickened and he fought to keep his expression neutral. He was delving into something dangerous here, he could feel it… but with risk would certainly come reward, and Lilith was the second most powerful person in all Gehenna. If he managed to not get himself killed along the way, Alastor could be looking at a very hefty payout.

“What would be required of me, your majesty?”

The queen’s smile morphed from charming to predatory, clearly pleased. “I am asking you to keep tabs on my husband for me while I am gone. I want to know where he goes, what he is doing, and who with. I want to know everything.”

“And one of your personal staff could not do this for you?” Alastor asked quietly.

“Ah, no. Many of my staff are so fond of my dear husband - as they should be, of course! They would balk at the suggestion of spying on him, for lack of a better term, though you must understand it comes from my own concern over Luci’s wellbeing.”

Sure it does.

“There is also the matter of… familiarity. The type of information I am requesting of you would come from a personal level, something that my husband would not likely be inclined to share with the staff, if you understand my meaning, Mr Sinclair.”

Alastor’s stomach sank, incredulity filling him. “You mean you want me to…”

“I wish for you to be my husband’s concubine, yes,” Lilith said primly. “Or present yourself as such, in any case. You will be a gift from me, to placate his loneliness while I am absent. You will warm his bed, keep his company, suck his co*ck when he is bored, and elsewise entertain him however he requires. Lucifer can be so emotional, the poor dear, and you are exactly his type. Tall, handsome, debonair… yes, I imagine he will take a liking to you in no time at all.”

Alastor fought to keep his composure, though inside, he was mentally reeling. The queen wanted him to f*ck King Lucifer Morningstar? With her express permission? Just to… what? Make sure he was playing nice while she was away?

She’s scared of him, Alastor realized with a jolt. Or nervous, anyway. Nervous of what he will do when he is no longer beneath her heel. Of what he could accomplish in her absence.

“I am sure you are also wondering about payment,” Lilith hummed, interpreting his lack of response as a hold-out for his end of the bargain. “You of course may keep whatever Lucifer gifts you during your time with him. My husband expresses his emotions through gift giving, and I have no doubt a pretty thing like you will be showered in jewels and silks in no time. As for myself, I can offer you almost anything you desire, Mr Sinclair. Wealth, power, influence… I can make you rich beyond your wildest dreams, or make you an Overlord of whichever city you desire. You could have an estate of your own in the countryside, servants to tend to your every wish and whim. And when I return… well. I plan on making many changes when I get back from my little trip. You could have a hand in them, if you so wished.”

She laughed her tittering laugh, which made the hair at the nape of Alastor’s neck stand on end. He didn’t bother asking what kind of changes Lilith planned on making, for if he were to do this, he planned to be gone long before she could implement whatever scheme she was cooking up. The promise of money and power, though…

His profession as an assassin had gifted him with a cozy little sum of money in the Bank of Gehenna, enough to live on for the rest of his days, if he was frivolous. But it was not himself he was worried about.

His mother, bless her soul, had lost everything to his father’s gambling debts. When his father had died the brokers and loan sharks had come for their due, and she had been forced to sell everything she owned: her fine china, her mahogany dining table, her piano - even her books and her mother’s silver necklace - all of it, gone.

Alastor had still only been a boy when their lives had been ripped out from under them, and watched as his mother had been reduced to finding whatever work she could to keep them afloat. Nannying, seamstressing, and finally, a job as a washerwoman down in one of the worst neighbourhoods in all of Pentagram City. It had torn Alastor apart to watch his mother’s beautiful pianists fingers dry and crack from the lye and scalding water that she submerged them in every day. Her back now pained her terribly, and every time he visited, he could see the gaunt, hollow look in her lovely eyes.

He had been saving his money for years to get her out of that horrid place. He often imagined a small apartment somewhere in the nicer part of the city, where she would not have to worry about being mugged or beaten or raped on her way home from the store. Where she could exist peacefully, without ever having to work again.

Now he was being offered a chance to give his mother more than that. An estate in the countryside, where she would have servants waiting on her hand and foot. She could have her own garden; hell, her own orchard, if she wished it. He could buy her a new piano, a grand one, not just an upright - something elegant and refined, worthy of her talent. He could give her anything, everything. All he had to do was entertain the king for one measly year, and his mama would be free.

But.

The queen was asking him to be the king’s concubine. A paramour, a courtesan, a hetaera: no matter which way he sliced it, his purpose would be for the king’s sexual gratification. Something that Alastor was not just unfamiliar with, but openly regarded with contempt. He had no use for the messy vulgarity of sex, thank you very much, and the thought of being reduced to nothing but a boy toy for his king to play with when he was bored was enough to make his flesh crawl.

Oh, but the rewards…

“May I have the night to think on this, your majesty?” Alastor asked, giving the queen his best shy smile, false as it may be. “It is a lot to think about.”

“Of course, of course,” the queen said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I will send an envoy to the fountain at the city’s centre at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and you can give me your answer. Does that sound agreeable?”

“Perfectly agreeable, your majesty.”

“Good. You may send me your terms of payment tomorrow as well, if you wish to agree to this deal. Now, I trust you are carrying no venereal diseases?”

“I- of course, not,” Alastor said, his mask slipping only slightly in alarm.

“No missing teeth, no lice or skin conditions?”

“No, your majesty.”

“Excellent!” she said with a clap of her hands. “I want you to know that this is a very generous offer, Mr Sinclair. My husband has his… quirks, shall we say, but he is not in the least bit a bad or inattentive lover. If you choose to accept, you may find yourself in for quite an enjoyable year, and with the promise of vast rewards when I return. Think about it.”

She leaned back and sipped her tea, and Alastor was able to discern that he was being dismissed.

“I will, your majesty. Thank you.”

He stood and bowed, and was escorted from the room by the same butler that had let him through the front door. He was deposited on the front step, left to make his own way home with the thoughts of what had just occurred swirling through his mind.

•

The next morning, Alastor leaned against the large decorative fountain that marked the exact centre of Pentagram City. In his hand he held a note detailing his list of terms and conditions for his deal with the queen. He had a copy of it stashed at his mother’s home.

Why, he didn’t know. It was not like any lawyer in Gehenna would dare to stand against Lilith Morningstar if their deal did not end up going his way. He sincerely hoped that the queen would make good on their bargain, though. He had a lot riding on it. Definitely more than he was comfortable with.

Alastor had contemplated his exchange with the queen his entire walk home after leaving Infernus Manor the night before. He weighed the pros and cons over and over in his mind, driving himself crazy with them. Any rational man would have leaped at the opportunity being given to him, but Alastor was still stuck on the details of being Lucifer Morningstar’s concubine.

He had never had any real interest in sex. The only two kisses he had ever experienced in his life (the first with a girl, and the second with a boy, to see if gender had been the problem with his lack of interest the first time around) had been meaningless and unfulfilling. He had always imagined that one day he would eventually meet the right partner and settle down, but as his late twenties gave way to his early thirties and he was left single and with his virginity intact, he began to worry less and less about it. It seemed that lust was simply not part of his genetic makeup - a fact that he accepted with some relief, if he was being honest, as he went through his life watching what animals desire could turn people into.

The problem, then, was how he was supposed to… perform as the king’s courtesan if he had no interest in the act itself. Perhaps he could bend the king to his will, use his mouth and hands and the toys that he had heard about to make the king his without ever having to actually f*ck him.

And what if the king wants to f*ck you?part of his mind whispered as he walked through the city.

Alastor had snorted out loud, startling a young woman who had been holding the hand of her son on the sidewalk next to him. The notion was utterly absurd. If he was going to do this, he would be the one in control. The king may be… well, the king , but Alastor was not about to let any man have that kind of command over him.

Or so he told himself, anyway.

Besides, if the rumours and his own recent experience of Lilith’s domineering attitude were anything to go by, manipulating the king into complying with his wishes was likely going to be a piece of cake.

All of these thoughts had been interrupted as Alastor stopped, realizing that he had walked all the way into the slums of the city to his mother’s apartment instead of his own (his apartment happened to be in an even worse neighbourhood, where many of the citizens were reputed to be cannibals. Such a reputation did have the added benefit of guaranteed privacy, however, and his neighbour, Rosie, was an absolute doll).

Sighing, Alastor went up the steps and inside, knocking on his mother’s front door. His mama opened it, her face looking tired and weary. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun, the cocoa skin around her beautiful amber eyes wrinkled with laugh lines. When she caught sight of her son, her eyes lit up, a gorgeous smile overtaking her features.

“Ali, my darling!” she exclaimed, and pulled him into a hug, which he wholeheartedly returned. His mother smelled like lye soap and damp earth; like the herbs she grew in her windowsill basket, the hot peppers she loved to cook with, and the oil she used to braid her hair.

When she pulled away Alastor had taken her hands in his and observed how they were red and angry, her knuckles hard and swollen, her warm brown skin cracked and bleeding in some places.

It was then that he had made his decision. No matter what happened with Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar, Alastor was going to get his mama out of this.

Now he was standing at the fountain, watching a red haired man approach him with an air of nonchalance. Definitely better trained than the rat man had been, at least.

The man sidled up next to him, using the crowd as an excuse to press in close. He gazed up at the fountain, which was carved in the image of a huge apple tree. A snake was wrapped around its trunk, holding an apple in its fanged mouth. Rivulets of water streamed down from its eyes like tears.

If anyone were to glance at them it would look like Alastor was ignoring the man as he looked over at the merchant carts set up in the far side of the square, selling anything from jewelry to fruit to bolts of cloth. He watched the man lean towards him out of the corner of his eye. Their sides brushed, and then the man’s hand was in Alastor’s pocket, his body shielding the action from any passersby.

Alastor felt the man’s knuckles brush his and he released his hold on his paper. The man touched the parchment and withdrew it quickly before stepping away. His green eyes met Alastor’s for less than a second, and then he was gone, melted into the crowd.

Alastor counted to sixty in his head and then peeled himself away from the fountain, sauntering off into the crowd. He made his way home slowly, unhurried so as to not draw attention to himself. When he got to his apartment he gave Rosie a wave where she was watering the posies in her garden box, which she returned enthusiastically.

He went into his apartment and locked the door behind him. It was a small thing, just one room, with plain furniture and only a few books and trinkets to mark it as his. He sat at his small kitchen table and pulled out the parchment the red-haired man had dropped into his pocket, smoothing it on the table’s surface so that he could read what was written.

Dear Mr Sinclair,

I hope that you have had a chance to think about my offer. If you have chosen to decline, I do understand. Provided that you have chosen to accept, I have listed some instructions for you:

Meet me at I.M. at noon two days from now. You may bring any belongings you so choose, though I expect our mutual friend will be quick to outfit you with a new wardrobe to your taste. I will bring you to him later that day, so that you may get properly acquainted. I myself will be leaving shortly after. I do hope this isn’t a bother to you to be abandoned so soon, but I have my own schedule to keep that cannot be delayed.

If you have anyone within the city you wish to say goodbye to, I suggest you do so. Our mutual friend is fond of keeping his toys close, and I doubt there will be much opportunity for you to venture into the city for the next while once inside his abode.

If you have decided to take me up on my offer, I will see you at noon in two days. If not, I wish you all the best, Mr Sinclair.

The letter was not signed, but that hardly mattered. Alastor started a small fire in his hearth and burned it, the smell of Lilith’s perfume wafting through the room as the flames ate away at the parchment.

When there was nothing left but ash, Alastor stood and looked around the room that he had called home for nearly five years. Then he went to his bed and pulled out the battered trunk that lay beneath it.

He did not own much, but he was nothing if not pragmatic, and was careful to organize his belongings as he piled them into the trunk. He whistled a jaunty tune as he packed, and pondered what the best way would be to break the news to his mama.

Chapter 3: Chapter Two

Chapter Text

The carriage ride from Infernus Manor to the Morningstar’s palace was silent and awkward, despite Alastor being the only one occupying the space. He had been allowed the privilege of riding in his own carriage, because of course the queen would not debase herself as to ride with a lowly citizen.

He had arrived at Infernus Manor at the specified time, his trunk heavy with his clothes and personal items, his heart somewhat filled with trepidation of what was to come. He was good at taking things as they came and strategizing in the moment, he always had been, but being a concubine to a king when one had no sexual interest whatsoever was admittedly not in his repertoire of skills.

Saying his goodbyes to his mama that morning had hardened his resolve, however. She deserved a better life, and Alastor was determined to give it to her. The queen had agreed to his terms upon his arrival at the manor: a home in the countryside, fully staffed with several acres of land that had the opportunity to be cultivated, and enough money to allow a person to live comfortably for the rest of their days. He had requested that the queen add her personal signature to the agreement with a witness present, which had made her frown, but she agreed nonetheless.

Alastor was not in the least bit concerned of what he would get coming out of the bargain. He enjoyed his profession and was good at it, and expected that he would continue as a hitman when all of this was over. Besides, if what Lilith said was true and the king did happen to shower him in jewels and silks, he could sell them and put the money into his trust at the Bank of Gehenna.

He was also not concerned about the instructions that the queen had given him for her own part of the bargain. Write a report to her once a week, detailing the king’s activities and the company he kept. Deliver the note to the same red haired man that he had met at the fountain two days prior. Do whatever the king required of him in the meantime. Simple, easy to remember.

His concern remained solely in the fact that he hadn’t the faintest clue how he was going to please the king. He had heard his fair share of lewd jokes and scandalous stories, of course, but had taken such insipid conversation at face value. There was no doubt that the falsely affectionate filles de joie and their drunken johns at the inns and taverns Alastor was forced to drop into for his job greatly exaggerated the recounts of their sexual escapades, making any information gained from them next to useless.

Perhaps Alastor would simply get lucky and find that the king preferred his paramours inexperienced. From the way Lilith had gone about this whole affair, it seemed as if inviting outsiders into their marriage bed was not exactly an uncommon practice, and Alastor had heard that many people had a taste for innocence.

On the flip side, it seemed just as likely that the king would throw him out of his palace, leaving Alastor humiliated and bereft, at the first clumsy attempts of pleasure he tried to give him.

Alastor groaned, slumping against the carriage cushions and running his hands down his face. He was half-tempted to throw open the door and flee from this whole sordid affair, Lilith and her melancholic husband be damned.

But no, he had looked his mama in the eyes just that morning and promised that when he returned she would have a better life, free from the strife that plagued her. She had been worried, of course she had been, and while he did not tell her the details of where he was going or how long he would be gone, she had still sensed that he was in some sort of trouble. His mama was a smart woman though, and knew that no amount of pleading would make Alastor change his mind once it was stubbornly set on something. She had simply kissed his cheeks and told him to be careful, and sent him on his way.

He shoved the memory of his farewell to his mother aside as the carriage rounded another thatch of apple trees (seriously, did the Morningstars run a cider mill in their spare time or something?) and suddenly the palace was right there, its white marble walls almost too bright to look at in the mid-afternoon sun.

The carriage slowed as it rolled up to the front gates, the two horses pulling it wickering softly, the loose gravel of the drive crunching beneath their hooves. Ahead of him, the queen’s carriage came to a stop, and a moment later a footman was helping her from it, her rich purple cape trailing languidly behind her as she dropped its hood and shook out her hair.

The footman of Alastor’s carriage jumped down and opened his door as they rolled to a stop, bowing politely. Alastor took a deep breath and stepped out, squinting against the sun as he gazed up at the palace.

“Mr Sinclair, I hope the ride was not too tiresome for you?” Lilith called, her musical voice carrying as she strode over to him.

“Of course not, your majesty,” he humbly replied. It’s not as though it was only forty five minutes, or anything.

“Perfect! I will have our steward Husker arrange to transport your belongings to your private chambers. Not as opulent as the royal chambers, of course, but you will be comfortable. If you have any complaints, they can be directed to Husker, or to your personal page, Angel.”

“I’m quite sure I will have no complaints, your majesty.”

The queen smiled and looped her arm through Alastor’s, the unexpected move making the hairs on his arms stand on end. The only person he ever allowed to touch him without his express permission was his mother, and even then he had a tendency to become easily overwhelmed.

Knowing he had little choice in the matter and unwilling to displease the queen so early in their little entente, Alastor forced himself to swallow down his discomfort and allow the queen to guide him up the marble steps and to the vast entrance of the palace. She chattered on as the doors swung open with barely a whisper, describing the roles of the various staff with an air of a woman explaining a complicated math problem to a confused child: as if he had no idea how the intricacies of an aristocratic household operated.

He let her prattle on, allowing his eyes to become appropriately wide and amazed, while at the same time he subtly took in every detail of the palace that he could.

The castle itself was immaculate, clearly kept under tight control. Servants, pages, guards, maids, and other staff hurried to and fro, cleaning and carrying and chatting. No one paid the queen and the tall man at her arm any mind. In fact, their eyes seemed to purposely flit away when they approached the pair, their heads dropping and their postures folding inwards. Steps became hurried, cursory bows and curtsies completed as quickly as possible before the person darted away.

Hmm.

“Husker!” Lilith suddenly called, bringing Alastor’s attention back to her. A dark skinned man turned from his conversation with a short redheaded maid, bowing at the waist in acknowledgement to the queen.

“Your majesty,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling.

“I would like you to meet Mr Sinclair. He will be staying at the palace while I am away, as we discussed. Make sure he has everything he could possibly require. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your majesty,” the man - Husker - said, his dark eyes roving over Alastor with only mild curiosity.

“Excellent. Tell me, where is my husband?”

“His workshop, your majesty. He asked not to be disturbed, as usual.”

Alastor didn’t fail to notice that Lilith had addressed Lucifer as my husband rather than the king, which would have been the proper token of respect for addressing the man in public. The dynamic of this little state of affairs was getting curiouser and curiouser, it would seem.

The queen hummed in acknowledgement and turned on her heel, pulling Alastor along deeper into the palace. He glanced over his shoulder as they strode away, catching a glimpse of several staff members watching him and the queen with curious looks on their faces. They quickly continued with their business when they noticed him looking.

Ah. So it wasn’t that the staff was used to such behaviour from the royal family they served: it was only that they knew better than to show their reactions to it. Alastor had no doubt the rumours would begin to fly as soon as he and Lilith were out of earshot.

The couple strode through the halls leisurely, the queen pointing out various rooms as they made their way down the corridor and up a flight of stairs. The Great Hall, where she liked to entertain large parties; the Small Hall, where the family and their guests usually took their meals; the four different parlours (“one for tea, one for brandy, one for crumpets, and one to have handy,” the queen joyfully rhymed); the ballroom; the princess’s tutoring room - on and on it went, so many rooms and chambers and theaters, it was a wonder a person remembered it all. The Small Hall alone was large enough to fit three of Alastor’s apartments in it quite comfortably.

Finally, after what felt like miles (a likely accurate assumption), they came to a somewhat used-looking chamber door, with a bronze duck of all things embedded into the dark cherrywood.

“Here we are,” Lilith announced cheerily. She released Alastor’s arm and, without knocking, threw open the door.

“Lucifer, darling!” she singsonged as she strode inside. Alastor hesitated at the doorway, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Should he follow the queen, or wait to be summoned?

“Lili!” a masculine voice said excitedly. “Come see what I’ve been working on, it's a gift for Charlie, you see it-”

“Yes yes, very fascinating, my love,” the queen interrupted. “I have someone for you to meet, remember? Mr Sinclair, you can come in.”

Alastor slowly entered, peering around the room as he did. It was dark, almost shockingly so compared to the warm light of the corridor, which was pockmarked here and there with huge glass windows. Alastor could see that heavy drapes had been drawn across the windows inside the chamber, making the only lightsource a cluster of candles that glowed on a desk littered with bits and bobs of all sorts.

There were piles of random objects scattered throughout the room, which Alastor carefully stepped around as he entered. He kept his arms folded respectfully behind his back, his eyes cast downwards as he made his way to the middle of the room.

“Oh, you can’t see him with how dark it is,” the queen tittered, though her voice was laced with annoyance. Alastor heard the rustle of fabric and suddenly light flooded the room, making him blink as his pupils contracted. He held his ground, his gaze pointedly fixed on his shoes as he awaited the king’s verdict.

“This is him, huh?” the king said, his voice flat. Alastor inwardly winced. It was clear that his royal highness was not enthused.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, my darling, you haven’t even gotten a proper look at him. Lift your head, Mr Sinclair. Let my husband see you.”

Alastor did as he was bid, lifting his chin and allowing his eyes to flicker upwards, meeting the king’s for the first time, and… oh.

Lucifer Morningstar stood next to his wife, his eyebrow co*cked and his gaze appraising. He was significantly shorter than the queen, only coming up to about her shoulder, and normally Alastor would have found that sight hilarious, if only it wasn’t quite so… endearing.

The man was pale, his porcelain skin entirely unblemished, save for two rosie patches of colour at the apples of his cheeks. His hair was a deeper gold than Lilith’s cornsilk blonde, and his eyes - oh, his eyes.

They were not the same charming shade of sapphire as his wife’s: no, they were deeper, darker - the same soulful shade of blue that graces the horizon just before dawn breaks. A promise of a new day; light heralding the end of darkness.

Morningstar, indeed.

Those twilight eyes roved up and down Alastor’s form, assessing him with only the barest hint of interest.

“Sinclair, is it?” he asked, his gaze flitting back up to Alastor’s. Alastor felt himself blush inexplicably, and fought the urge to squirm on his feet.

“You may call me Alastor,” he said softly.

“I may,” the king snorted, rolling his eyes. “You hear that, Lili? I may call the f*cktoy by his name.”

Alastor bristled, any sort of burgeoning conceptions he had towards the king immediately flying out the window. How dare he say such a thing! Alastor was an assassin, the most skilled of his kind. He could kill the little king in a dozen different ways, only using what was in this very room! That pompous little-

“ Lucifer!” Lilith trilled, her voice high and severe. The king immediately shrank back from her, wincing. If he had a tail, Alastor was sure it would have tucked between his legs. “How can you say such a thing to our guest! You agreed to this, don’t you forget.”

“Sorry, Lili,” the king mumbled, his cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. “It’s just… must you leave?”

The queen sighed with all the exasperation of a mother telling her child for the dozenth time why they cannot have a cookie before dinner. “Yes, my love, we’ve been through this. The kingdom will keep while I am away, I promise you, and I’ve hired Mr Sinclair here to keep you company while I’m gone. He’s very handsome, don’t you agree? I’m sure he’ll be a fine companion for you. You can play with him however you wish.”

The queen’s voice turned sultry as she tucked a lock of golden hair behind her husband’s ear. “I want you to have fun and enjoy yourself, darling. I’m sure Mr Sinclair will be more than accommodating, won’t you, sir?”

“Y-yes, your majesty,” Alastor said, as he watched the entire exchange with rapt attention. It was well known that Lilith kept her husband on a tight leash, but hearing it on the streets and seeing it in person were two things entirely apart. It made him feel almost embarrassed for the king. Did the man truly not realize how he was being cajoled by his own wife?

“See? Nothing to fret over. Now, I have to leave soon, my darling, and I wish to tell Charlie goodbye.”

“But-”

“ Behave, Lucifer,” she said sharply, and any protests the king might have had died in his throat.

“Now then,” the queen continued, turning to face Alastor with a sunny grin, as if she hadn’t just trounced the most powerful man in all of Gehenna as easily as one might command a puppy. “I can direct you to your apartments, Mr Sinclair, I’m sure the journey here has been rather taxing on you. Shall we?”

She offered her arm, which Alastor took. She didn’t even spare a second glance for her husband, who was standing dejectedly next to his work table, his eyes downcast. Alastor felt a pang in his gut at the sight, an emotion that felt absurdly like pity sparking through him.

He shook himself from that ludicrous thought immediately. He should be rejoicing! The king was clearly pathetic and weak. Alastor could not have asked for someone so malleable and easily manipulated if he tried.

So why did he feel something like guilt clawing at the back of his mind?

•

Several hours later, Alastor lay sprawled on the crimson sheets of his new bed, staring up at the canopy above him.

He had watched from his balcony as the queen had left with her retinue of attendees, waving farewell to her husband and a tall blonde girl that Alastor assumed was their daughter. When the queen’s carriage had rounded the bend and disappeared from sight, he went back inside and studiously unpacked his things, hanging them in the wardrobe provided, though there was truly no need. The wardrobe and dresser had been packed with every garment he could ever require: silk, satin, cotton and fabrics he couldn’t even name all flowing beneath his fingers as he ran them through the hanging clothes.

There were tunics, trousers, corset vests, nightclothes, even dresses, though he doubted he would have much use for those. When he left the wardrobe and curiously opened the first drawer of the dresser, he was greeted with an assortment of stockings and smallclothes. He opened the second drawer only to promptly slam it shut with a blush, the half-second glance he had gotten revealing an array of racy lingerie that he never wished to see again.

The room that had been bestowed to him was lavish and huge, larger than his and his mama’s two apartments combined. The bed alone could have slept four people comfortably, its rich feather mattress and silk sheets more comfortable than anything he had ever slept on. He had been given his own bookcase along with the wardrobe and dresser, as well as a full length mirror, a large copper tub, and a huge hearth with a loveseat and an armchair posed in front of it.

When he had finished exploring his new lodgings he had slumped onto the bed, weary from the day despite not having technically done much. He could admit to himself that the king’s less-than-enthusiastic greeting was troubling.

Not that he had expected Lucifer Morningstar to bend him over a table the very second of his arrival, of course (or bend himself over a table - Alastor was still unsure of which way the king swung in that regard), but still, he had thought that the king had wholeheartedly agreed to this little dalliance. The queen had certainly made it seem so, but judging from the interaction he had witnessed earlier in the day, it wouldn’t be unfair to assume that the king had only accepted the arrangement to please his wife rather than for his own interests, which could spell trouble for Alastor if he didn’t tread carefully.

He was startled from his thoughts by a sudden knock at the door. He quickly got up and crossed the room, opening the door cautiously, his body posed behind it. One could never be too careful.

He was greeted by a tall, rather effeminate fellow with curly blond hair, blue eyes, and an easy smile. He had a smattering of freckles sprinkled across his cheeks, giving him an innocent air, though the mischievous glint in his eye rather ruined the effect.

“Hi there,” the stranger purred, leaning against the door suggestively.

“Hello?” Alastor said, confused. Wasn’t he supposed to be the courtesan here? Why would Lilith give him his own paramour, if the intention was solely for him to please the king?

“I’m your new page, Angel,” the young man explained with a wink. “And this here is Niffty. She’ll be your maid.”

He gestured next to him to a short redheaded woman that Alastor hadn’t noticed. At closer glance he recognized her as the maid that Husker had been speaking to earlier. She offered him a smile, her dark eyes just as mischievous as Angel’s.

“A pleasure,” he said politely, though inside he squirmed at the thought of being so carefully attended to. He had been a solitary man his entire life, and the thought of being waited on hand and foot by these two curious servants made him uncomfortable.

“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, dollface. Husk told me to come get ya for dinner, so here we are.”

“Of course.”

“You’re not going dressed like that, are you?” the maid asked, her expression one of surprise.

“Yes?” Alastor said, a little offended. He had worn his best outfit today - a dark burgundy vest over a white dress shirt, tight black slacks, and his deep red overcoat that his mother had ironed for him at her workplace.

“No no, that won’t do,” Niffty insisted, and before Alastor could react, the shorter woman was shoving him back through his bedroom door and scrambling over to the wardrobe. She dug through it with vigour, mumbling to herself and tossing clothes all across the room.

“Is she always like this?” Alastor asked as Angel sidled up to him.

“Yup. Best to just let her do her thing,” said Angel with a laugh.

After several moments Niffty finally emerged, holding a black dress shirt and a red-and-black corset vest aloft triumphantly. “Ta da!”

“I really don’t think-”

“Don’t think, babe. Just do,” Angel suggested, and Alastor sighed. Was this truly to be his life now?

“May I at least keep my slacks?”

“Yes of course, they make your ass look great!” Niffty announced cheerily as she handed him his clothes.

Angel made an aborted move forward, probably to assist Alastor in some way, but Alastor shrank back and shot him a glare hot enough to melt iron.

“I would prefer not to be touched, thank you,” he said stiffly.

Angel simply rolled his eyes, not put off in the slightest by Alastor’s less-than-friendly attitude. “Whatever ya say, Smiles, but don’t come cryin’ to me when you can’t get the laces done up proper. Come on, Nift, we’ll wait outside.”

•

In the end Alastor did need assistance with the corset laces, much to his annoyance. For all his bluster Angel had done them up quickly and effectively, not touching Alastor any more than he absolutely had to, for which Alastor was begrudgingly grateful.

The young man and the maid had led him down to the Small Hall, pointing out his seat and then leaving him to his own devices. Alastor sat, frowning when the blasted corset vest forced his already impeccable posture even straighter. How the peerage could stand to wear the damnable things every day, he would never know.

After several long minutes of waiting, his gut churning with apprehension at whatever was about to occur, the doors opened once more and the tall young woman he had seen waving goodbye to the queen bounced into the room.

With only a glance, there was no doubt in Alastor’s mind that she was Princess Charlotte Morningstar. The girl possessed the same rich honey-coloured hair as her father, as well as the high spots of colour in her cheeks, though the sapphire of her eyes and her height was clearly all her mother. She was wearing a simple lavender gown, her hair tied over her shoulder with a matching silk ribbon.

“Hello there!” she said brightly, plunking herself down in the seat directly across from Alastor and sticking out her hand. Alastor raised his brow and tentatively took it, giving it a shake. “My name is Charlotte, but you can call me Charlie. You’re Mr Sinclair, right?”

“Yes,” Alastor said. It would take some time to get used to everyone calling him by his fake name, but it was a way to protect himself and his mama if this all went sideways, and he wouldn’t give it up.

The princess squealed, her eyes alight with excitement. “Mother said you’re an ambassador from Wrath, is that true? Is it as hot there as everyone says it is? I hear the deserts there are gorgeous! I like the heat, myself, and I’ve always wanted to go visit, it all seems so interesting! I begged Mother to let me come on her trip with her but she said no, so now I’m stuck here, as always-”

The princess continued to prattle on as Alastor observed her bemusedly. Ambassador from Wrath, was it? Clearly the staff all knew Alastor’s true purpose here, but everyone had decided that the chipper princess was too young or too innocent for the truth.

He had never actually been to Wrath, but considering Charlie hadn’t either, it wasn’t likely that she would know whatever falsehoods he came up with about the place. In all honesty, the way she was carrying on, he wouldn’t even have to tell her any falsehoods anyway - she managed to carry an entire ten minute “conversation” all on her own.

The girl came up for air only when dinner was served. It was a modest affair: a joint of beef, served rare (which pleased Alastor, for rare meat was always his preference), roasted new potatoes, root vegetables, crusty bread, and some sort of pudding for dessert.

“Will his majesty not be joining us?” Alastor asked as he carefully sliced his beef.

“Um, no, Father doesn’t usually come to dinner. He’s so busy, you see, and he usually takes his meals in his rooms,” Charlie explained.

“I see.”

They ate in silence for a while, the quietness of the room surprisingly comfortable. For all her cheeriness, Alastor decided that he liked the Morningstar princess. She seemed naive, and perhaps a little ditzy, but she also seemed the type to be loyal and trusting. Two traits Alastor may need to make use of during his time at the palace.

“So, Mr Sinclair, how do you like Pentagram City so far?” Charlie asked after a while, her eyes bright and avid.

“Please, call me Alastor, your highness,” he said with a wave of his fork.

“Well, if I can call you Alastor, you can call me Charlie,” the princess said shyly, a blush gracing her cheeks.

“Charlie, then. The city is certainly… populated,” said Alastor, struggling to find something good to say about the reeking, garbage-strewn streets that he had grown up in. “The fountain at the city’s centre is quite beautiful, however.”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard that it is!”

“You’ve never seen it?”

“Aha, um, no,” Charlie said, blushing harder. “My mother doesn’t exactly… let me get out much. She says it’s ‘cause I’m their only child and the heir, so they have to keep me safe.”

He could see the wisdom in that, Alastor supposed, but for the princess to never leave the palace, not even once? How odd.

“How old are you?” he blurted, immediately wincing at his own rudeness. Charlie seemed unbothered, however, and before he could apologize she was saying “sixteen!” with a wide smile.

They carried on with idle chitchat for the remainder of dinner and dessert, Charlie abundantly oversharing about all the subjects her tutor was teaching her, the garden she was starting in the greenhouse, and her two pet kittens, Razzle and Dazzle.

Eventually the food and crockery was cleared away, and Alastor jumped a little in his seat when there came a light brush at his elbow. He looked up just as Husker stepped away, placing a polite distance between them.

“Forgive me, sir, but the king requests your presence in his private chambers,” the steward said softly.

Alastor’s heart plummeted, his stomach going ice cold. In the pleasant hour and a half he had spent with the princess, he had almost forgotten why he was even here.

“Everything okay, Alastor?” Charlie asked, her brows furrowed. She clearly hadn’t heard Husker’s remark, and was looking between the two of them curiously.

“Everything is fine, princess,” Alastor said cheerily. He got up, willing his knees not to buckle as he pushed in his chair and made his way to the door. “This was a lovely meal, I hope we can do it again sometime.”

Charlie’s face lit up, practically glowing at the suggestion. “Of course! I eat almost every meal here, you can join me whenever you want!”

“Will do,” Alastor murmured, and with one last wave followed Husker out into the hall.

The steward was silent as he led Alastor through the dimly lit corridors, the echoing of their footsteps being the only sounds in the otherwise eerily quiet night. The lack of conversation made Alastor’s trepidation grow, his stomach twisting as his dinner threatened to make a reappearance. He resisted the urge to wipe his suddenly slick palms on his pant legs, wishing that Husker would say something, anything to break the suddenly unbearable silence.

As they came to a stop outside of a set of large mahogany doors, Alastor was suddenly struck by how woefully unprepared he was for what was about to happen. His heart thumped hard in his chest, his knees trembling as his body urged him to turn and flee.

Husker must have seen how pale his face had become, because before Alastor could react the man dropped a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ll be fine,” the man said lowly, his voice gruff. “He won’t hurt you.”

Alastor shrugged the hand off his shoulder, his anxiety turning to anger. “I bloody well know that. Now announce me, or shall I do it myself?”

Husker’s face turned carefully blank once more, any hint of sympathy or understanding there melting away as he knocked on the door, calling out: “Mr Sinclair for you, your majesty,” before turning on his heel and leaving Alastor alone.

“Come in,” the king called out from within. Alastor took a deep breath and let it out slowly, bringing his mama’s face to the forefront of his mind to remind himself why he was doing this.

Once he was… well, not calm, but less likely to vomit all over the expensive rug carpeting the corridor, he carefully opened the door, stepping inside and shutting it quietly.

The king’s private chamber was surprisingly not all that larger than the one that Alastor had been given. The furniture was much the same: a bookshelf, crammed with books and little trinkets, a wardrobe and dresser, a loveseat and two armchairs by the hearth. There was a golden fiddle mounted on one wall, its matching bow poised next to it. The walls were covered in portraits of the Morningstar family - mainly Charlotte and Lilith, though Lucifer’s visage was sprinkled here and there.

Then, of course, there was the bed. Larger than the one Alastor had been given, with soft gold-and-white sheets and drapes. Unbidden, an image of those sheets stained red with blood rose to Alastor’s mind, and he quickly shoved it away for the sake of his own sanity.

The king himself stood next to the hearth, staring into the flames with a tumbler of dark amber liquid in his hand. He was wearing high waisted black trousers and black leather boots, as well as a plain white cotton tunic. The tunic’s sleeves were rolled to the king’s elbows and it’s top laces were undone, showing off a fair view of his delicate looking collarbones and the swoop of his neck. Alastor immediately dropped his eyes to the ornate rug decorating the floor, a blush heating his cheeks. It was one thing to see a king in all his finery, but quite another to see him like this, casual and calm in his private chambers, clearly expectant for what was to come.

“So, Alastor, was it?” the king spoke, breaking the silence suddenly.

“Yes, your majesty. I apologize for my earlier outburst. I didn’t mean to assume-”

Lucifer waved away his apology, taking a sip of his drink as he continued to stare into the fire. “Whiskey?” he offered.

“Please,” Alastor said, trying to keep the relief from his voice. Perhaps if he was inebriated, this night may go easier.

The king hummed noncommittally and poured a finger of whiskey into another tumbler. He set the crystal decanter back on the hearth’s mantle and turned, holding out the drink but making no move to approach Alastor.

Alastor swallowed, his throat clicking drily. He slowly made his way forward, taking the tumbler from the king’s hand with a murmured “thank you” before stepping back to put a polite distance between them once more.

The fire was warm on his flank, serving to drive the anxious chill from him, though it did not dampen his apprehension entirely. The whiskey was even better, the first sip sliding smoothly down his throat and warming him from the inside out.

“This is very good,” he admitted, casting a glance at the king.

“Did you expect it to not be?”

“I- I apologize, I didn’t-”

“Gods, enough. Don’t go working yourself into a tizzy over some whiskey,” Lucifer said with a roll of his eyes.

Alastor snapped his mouth shut, his gaze once more falling to the glass in his hands. He didn’t know how to proceed from here. Should he offer himself to the king? Fall to his knees and begin unlacing the king’s trousers? Remove his own clothes and make his way over to the bed?

He fought to control his breathing, his throat feeling tight as his hands trembled slightly. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain his usual smile, and with a sickening jolt he realized that he was completely out of his depth, more unsure now than he ever had been in his entire life. The feeling was both terrifying and aggravating. He had maintained steady control of all things in his life since he was a very young boy, but now that control was about to be ripped away, smothered in the wake of the king’s desire.

Think of your mama. You can do this for her, he chanted in his mind as Lucifer set down his own glass and began to slowly approach him.

Alastor couldn’t quite hold back his flinch as the king reached out his hand, plucking Alastor’s glass from between his trembling fingers.

“Skittish little thing, aren’t you? Though Lili was right, you are quite handsome,” Lucifer hummed as he walked around Alastor, assessing him from all angles like one might assess a horse they’re looking to purchase. “You seem nervous. Have you not done this before? Or is it just me?”

“Both,” Alastor blurted, immediately cursing himself for his own admission. He did not want to seem weak in front of this man, but there was nothing to be done for the palpable nervousness rolling off of him in waves.

“Well, sweet thing, I’ll be sure to take good care of you,” the king chuckled, and then all of a sudden his fingers were at the small of Alastor’s back, tugging at the laces of his corset.

Alastor sucked in a sharp breath at the unexpected move, his spine going rigid as the king loosened the ties and danced his fingers upwards. Involuntary goosebumps raced up Alastor’s back in the wake of the king’s fingers, and he fought hard against the urge to shiver.

When the corset vest was loosened the king pushed it forwards, encouraging Alastor to undo the clasps at the front. He did so with shaking hands, letting the expensive garment fall to the floor, forgotten.

Without warning the king suddenly grasped a handful of Alastor’s ass, giving it an appreciative squeeze. “Mm, how sweet,” he purred when Alastor startled. “Take off your shirt for me, little doe. Let me see you.”

Alastor was unsure of how he felt about being called such a peculiar pet name. The implied femininity honestly did not bother him nearly as much as the insinuation of him being viewed as prey did. Regardless, he remained silent as he reached up to undo the topmost buttons of his dress shirt, his palms slick and his fingers fumbling as the king continued to grope his ass and the backs of his thighs, huffing out appreciative little hums here and there.

When the shirt was half unbuttoned the king suddenly stepped forward, pressing the length of his body to Alastor’s much taller one. He reached around to Alastor’s chest and gave the sparse pectorals there a squeeze, flicking his thumbs across Alastor’s nipples and nuzzling his face between his shoulder blades.

Alastor’s eyes squeezed tightly shut as Lucifer rolled his hips, pressing his prominent erection insistently to the back of his thigh. His stomach rolled as the king pinched his nipple, urging it into a hard little bud beneath his fingers.

As the king played Alastor began to notice tiny details in the way only truly panicked people could: the sweat that was beading on his forehead, the damp breath of the king on his back, the crawling sensation of his flesh as he was toyed with in a way that was entirely unfamiliar and unwelcome to him.

Before he even knew he was about to speak his mouth dropped open, unbidden. “Please, I-” he started, then promptly sealed his lips shut, horror wending its way up his spine at how truly pathetic his own voice had sounded.

“Eager, are we?” the king hummed, misinterpreting the plea as one for more.

No, Alastor screamed in his mind, but he kept his mouth firmly sealed, determined not to let out any more embarrassing utterances. He could do this. He could.

The king slid his hands down beneath Alastor’s half-buttoned shirt, then promptly swung them outwards, tearing open the garment from within. Buttons flew, making Alastor wince as they pinged off the wooden floor.

“That’s better,” the king whispered as he teasingly slid his hand downwards, until it was resting just over the waistline of Alastor’s trousers. “Gonna undo these for me, sweet thing?”

“Y-yes, your majesty,” Alastor said, his voice coming out strangled. He sincerely hoped that the king took it for a sign of eagerness rather than the fear and disgust it truly was. He quickly did as he was bid, unlacing his trousers and gasping as Lucifer immediately shoved his hand inside, seeking out Alastor’s co*ck. He made a questioning sound when he found it, squeezing the soft flesh in his hand gently.

“Sometimes it- it takes me a moment,” said Alastor desperately, trying to come up with an excuse, any excuse for his lack of an erection. “I’m sure that if we continue, I’ll…”

“No need to explain,” said the king, softer than Alastor thought possible. “Just makes it all the more of a challenge for me, hm?” He gave Alastor’s soft prick a playful squeeze then released him, the action sending a dizzying wave of relief through Alastor’s chest. It was short lived, however, as Lucifer’s next words made his heart plummet once more.

“Get on the bed, little doe.”

Swallowing around the gag building at the back of his throat, Alastor slowly turned towards the bed. The crisp white drapings reminded him of a sacrificial altar, beckoning him towards his fate.

The king fully stepped away as Alastor moved to the bed, his head swimming and his ears ringing. For one sickening moment he thought he was about to faint, but no: he was completely awake, completely aware as he crawled onto the bed, removing his glasses and placing them on the bedside table before pressing his chest to the sheets and keeping his ass in the air, awaiting the king’s next move.

He heard the soft footfalls of Lucifer approaching the bed, and he jumped when the king rested his hand on the dip of his back.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, tracing his hand from Alastor’s back down to his clothed ass. “I’ll take such good care of you, lovely. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

There came the rustling of clothes, which Alastor took for the king stripping. He couldn’t help his trembling when a few moments later he felt the bed dip below the other man’s weight. Lucifer crawled towards him until he was right there, his hands loosely grasping Alastor’s hips and his crotch pressed to Alastor’s ass. He ground forward lightly, letting Alastor feel the imposing length of his co*ck, before pulling away to yank at Alastor’s trousers.

Alastor stiffened, his heart hammering in his throat as his slacks were worked down to his knees. He felt entirely too exposed, his ass up in the air and his face pressed to the bed, everything he had to offer on display for the king.

From the corner of his eye he watched as Lucifer leaned over and opened the bedside drawer, pulling out a small bottle of oil. The sight made Alastor’s stomach lurch, and he was quick to grab one of the bed’s many pillows, pressing it to his face so he could hide away in the downy softness.

There came the quiet yet unmistakable sound of a cork popping, and then the king’s fingers were pressed to Alastor’s hole, circling the tight ring of muscle lightly as he spread the oil.

Alastor bit down on the pillow pressed against his face, his pulse thundering so hard he could feel it in the roots of his teeth. He let out a tiny, involuntary sound as the king pressed forward, dipping into his hole before pulling away to only circle it once more. He repeated the motion a few times, until Alastor was nearly ready to scream at him to hurry it along and be done with it, the sick anticipation burning through his sanity like an ember through straw.

Before he had the chance the king was pressing forward, easing his finger into the tightness of Alastor’s virginal ass in one swift plunge.

“Ah!” Alastor cried out, the move expected yet somehow entirely surprising. He immediately bore down, his body protesting the intrusion.

“Shh,” the king hushed, stroking down Alastor’s side in what was likely meant to be a soothing gesture. “You can take it, pretty boy, I know you can.”

Alastor was entirely certain he couldn’t , but he remained silent, grinding his teeth into the pillow while the king gently pumped his finger in and out before adding a second. The stretch made Alastor’s eyes water, his lungs heaving as he gasped for air that he couldn’t seem to find.

After a few moments the king finally, blessedly removed his fingers. Alastor’s rigid posture slumped a little, the muscles in his back and thighs making their discomfort known from being held in a strained position for so long.

He had only just started to relax when he heard the peculiar sound of something… slick rising in the air, then all of a sudden one of the king’s hands was at his hip, and there was something hot and impossibly large pressing insistently at his hole.

Alastor’s whole body went tense, alarm bells blaring in his head as that blunt something he rather not name pressed to his ass trailed up and down, smearing oil all over his backside. The rigidity of his limbs gave way to harsh trembling as the king notched the tip of his co*ck against Alastor’s hole and began to press inside.

The last of Alastor’s control snapped as he shrieked and scrambled away from the intrusive pain, crawling on all fours up the bed until his back was pressed to the headboard, his eyes wild and his heart racing. He drew his knees to his chest, sparing himself some semblance of modesty as the king stared at him in slack-jawed surprise.

Lucifer was left on his own in the centre of the bed, looking rather ridiculous with his hard co*ck in hand and his mouth dropped in shock. Alastor felt a hysterical peal of laughter clawing its way up his throat and fought to shove it down, knowing that if he were to let it loose the night would surely end with a beheading on his part.

The two stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking and both still in shock over Alastor’s quick escape. Alastor was the first to recover, humiliation and anxiety building up in the oppressive silence until it simply bubbled over.

“I- I’m sorry, your majesty. I don’t know what came over me,” he whispered, his cheeks burning as he dropped his gaze to stare down at the too-white duvet.

“You don’t want this,” Lucifer said, and the sheer emotionlessness of his voice made Alastor look up in surprise. The king had finally released his now-flaccid co*ck and was sitting back on his haunches, watching Alastor with an unreadable expression.

“I do, I just-”

“Spare me,” said the king, holding up a hand and looking away. He crawled to the edge of the bed and swung his legs off in one fluid motion, then crossed the room to retrieve a robe that had been draped over the back of one of the chairs by the fire.

Alastor was left curled against the headboard, his veins turning to ice as he contemplated all of the possible ways he was about to be punished for this.

The king must have noticed his expression as he turned back around because he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I am not in the habit of forcing myself upon those who do not enjoy my advances. This was Lilith’s idea, anyhow, and I never should have agreed to it. You can go, Alastor.”

“Go, as in… you want me to leave the palace?” Alastor asked, dejected. He cursed himself internally, knowing that he had just f*cked up his only chance to save his mama from a life of poverty. Not to mention it was well past sundown, and he would be traversing miles of countryside alone, with gods-know how many bandits and wild animals and other unsavoury sorts out there in the dark.

“No. Lilith promised you safe lodgings until she returned, and I am not about to dishonour her wishes. You can stay within the palace as long as you wish, but please, leave my chambers. I want to be alone.”

Lucifer turned away from him, striding back to the hearth and snagging his glass of whiskey off of the mantle. He threw it back and poured himself another, then glanced back at Alastor over his shoulder.

“What are you still doing here? I told you to leave,” he said, his face twisting in annoyance.

Alastor was snapped from his frozen state at the harsh words. He quickly scrambled from the bed, yanking up his trousers as he did so. He was aware of his face burning with humiliation, and absurdly, tears were pricking the corners of his eyes. He refused to allow that particular weakness to be revealed before the king, however, as he hurriedly did up his laces and snatched his glasses from the table.

His shirt and corset vest were lying at the king’s feet by the hearth, but he didn’t dare ask if he could retrieve them. Instead he quietly fled, his feet carrying him to the door as fast as possible without actually running. He jerked it open and stepped out into the corridor, stopping just long enough to close the door respectfully instead of slamming it shut, before he bolted for his room.

Chapter 4: Chapter Three

Chapter Text

Alastor slammed into his room, his heart pounding and sweat pouring down his temples.

He barely had time to register the fact that Angel was already there, seemingly waiting for him with his long body splayed across Alastor’s bed as he flipped through a book. He looked up and co*cked a brow at Alastor’s disheveled, shirtless state.

“So,” the lanky page purred. “How’d it go?”

Alastor rushed forward, his knees striking the ground hard as he fell to the floor next to his bed. He scrambled for the chamber pot that lay tucked beneath it, just managing to get the thing angled beneath his face before he was heaving up his dinner.

“Not well, then,” the other man sighed. Alastor heard the rustle of the bed shifting as he retched, vomiting up the rare roast and new potatoes he had consumed earlier in the evening.

There came the click of Angel’s heeled boots as he crossed the room, then the sounds of splashing water. All of this was distant and muddled beneath the ringing in Alastor’s ears as he heaved, his back aching and his belly straining as he gagged up bile and saliva.

When it was finally over he slumped to the floor, pressing his cheek to the blessedly cool flagstones. He felt more than heard Angel approach him, and jumped a little when the young man laid a cold, soothing cloth across his brow.

“Gonna tell me what happened, Smiles?” the page asked as he hopped back up onto the bed, crossing his legs primly as he looked down at Alastor’s pathetic form curled on the floor.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Alastor groaned as he rolled onto his back, shoving his glasses up to his hair and pressing the cloth over his eyes. He felt an ache brewing above his left brow, where he was prone to bouts of tension and stress headaches.

“That bad, huh? And here I thought our king was more the benevolent type.”

“It wasn’t him,” Alastor snapped.

“Ah. You embarrass yourself in there, babycakes? I gotta admit, I kinda guessed that you were… er, inexperienced, but I took you for a fast learner. What’ya do? Take his dick too deep when you tried to suck it or somethin’? Gods, don’t tell me ya puked on his co*ck!”

“No,” Alastor threw his cloth at Angel, and immediately regretted it when the light of the candles burned his eyes. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets, wishing that this long, miserable day could be over with already.

“Did ya get scared?” Angel whispered, and Alastor had a sudden urge to strangle the young page.

“Get out,” he snarled, moving his hands so he could glare at the other man where he was perched on the bed. “I mean it, Angel. Leave.”

“Fine, fine, don’t tell me then!” Angel rolled his eyes as he daintily stepped over Alastor’s supine form, his hips swaying as he made his way to the door. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, Smiles. Hopefully by then you’ll be in a better mood!”

With that he stepped out, slamming the door shut pointedly behind him. Alastor winced as the sound reverberated through the room, doing absolutely nothing to improve his burgeoning headache.

The f*ck was he supposed to do now?

•

The next week passed in a haze of embarrassment on Alastor’s part. He could barely stand to look Angel in the eye after his humiliating display, and expected that the entire palace would know of that particular bout of weakness by the next morning.

Shockingly, the young page seemed to keep the information to himself. Alastor saw no pitying glimpses or mocking stares as he wandered the corridors and grounds, only the usual curiosity: and, after the first few days, even that too had faded.

He was mostly left to his own devices, an arrangement that suited him perfectly well. He still broke his fast and shared his final meal of the day with the princess, who was a lively conversationalist, though it was painfully obvious how lonely she was. The young woman had latched on to Alastor like a leech, using their time spent together to suck as much information of the outside world from him as she could.

Alastor, to his own surprise, found that he didn’t despise the princess’s company. She was kind, polite, and quick-witted, if a little ditzy and overly sanguine at times. That could likely be chalked up to her upbringing, however: Alastor shuddered to think of a life spent locked away in a gilded cage, never to be allowed off the grounds where one was born. He enjoyed his freedom, thank you very much, and would not wish to trade places with the princess for all the gold and glory her position offered her.

The only other people he regularly interacted with were Angel, Niffty, and occasionally, Husker. He developed a tentative relationship with the page and the maid charged with serving him - Angel was bold as brass and could be annoyingly astute, but he was also funny, in his own brash way, and was honest, a quality that Alastor admired.

He also enjoyed Niffty’s company, though he had his suspicions that the maid was possibly (or perhaps the better phrasing was very likely) half mad. She selected his outfits and cleaned his rooms with all the unwavering concentration and often frantic mania of someone who was tiptoeing the tightrope of sanity, and just barely clinging to the side of realism.

She too was brazenly honest, however, and never failed to let Alastor know if his decorum, dress, or manners were unsuitable for palace life. She also made shockingly shameless quips and comments about his ass and waist whenever she got the chance, which was at least twice a day, considering she was the one who selected his outfits for him.

Alastor had not seen the king since the humiliating night that they had shared, which also suited him just fine. He was not ready in body, spirit or mind to face the monarch, and viewed it as a blessing that the king rarely left his rooms, even for meals. The ruling of the realm seemed to be well in the hands of Husker and the various other advisors, stewards and secretaries that roamed the castle.

On the morning of his seventh day at the palace, Alastor sat at the small desk he had requested be brought up to his room, holding a quill in hand and staring at the blank piece of parchment before him. His letter to the queen was due today, to be deposited in the redheaded man’s hand at noon in the gardens.

He had absolutely no idea what to write.

The queen was clear on her instructions. She wanted to know where her husband went, what he did, and who with. It was left unspoken that she would likely want to hear about how their first night together had gone, and if the king had been pleased by Alastor’s performance.

Alastor briefly considered lying. He wouldn’t have to go into explicit details about the encounter; he could simply say that it went well (a lie) and that to his knowledge, the king had not left his chambers or workshop since (the truth).

But what if Lilith was also in contact with Lucifer? What if she wrote him a letter, asking how their night had gone, and the king wrote back how horrible the evening had been, and all the ways in which Alastor was lacking? If the queen were to find out he was lying, he could kiss the estate and hopeful future he had for his mama goodbye.

Sighing, Alastor finally brought his quill to the paper, scratching out a quick, concise note.

The first evening spent with his majesty was not much to remark on. He seems indifferent.

No other occurrences since. His majesty does not leave his private chambers or workshop, not even to attend meals.

It was clearly lacking depth, but it was the best Alastor could do. He was not about to lay out the exact details of his night with the king: not even the promise of the countryside estate could draw that confession from him, particularly when he knew that the red-haired man and gods knew how many other people would be reading this note before it even landed in the hands of the queen.

Sighing once more, he got up from his little desk and carefully folded up the note, tucking it into the front pocket of his fitted waistcoat. The material was a deep, rich blue, embroidered with golden thread that Niffty had insisted went perfectly with the amber highlights in his hazel eyes.

Blue had never been Alastor’s colour of choice, but even he could admit that Niffty had impeccable taste. Paired with dark charcoal-coloured trousers and a white tunic, Alastor felt as if he actually looked like he belonged in such an opulent palace.

He glanced at the small clock on his desk and saw that he had fifteen minutes to make his way to the gardens and find the red-haired man. Knowing how vast the gardens and accompanying orchards were, he quickly shrugged on his jacket and left his room, making his way to the ground floor where a servant was ready to escort him out onto the veranda. He thanked the man and waved him off, not wanting to be followed as he descended the stairs and made his way into the lush greenery.

The gardens were actually one of Alastor’s favourite places at the Morningstar palace. Huge and verdant and beautiful, they sprawled for nearly four acres on their own - not to mention the orchards, which spread as far as the eye could see behind the palace. Apples, pears, plums, pomegranates, and a plethora of other fruits all grew, providing a steady income for the Morningstars as the fruit was exported throughout Gehenna.

It was easy to get lost in the gardens, but after a week of visiting for a few hours every day, Alastor was slowly starting to master them. As he strode through the tall bushes and vibrant flowers, he figured that the red-haired man must have picked some sort of landmark, likely near the middle of the maze of hedges, trees, and flower beds. His only option then would be a large marble fountain that sat as the centrepiece to the grounds.

He made his way there in short order, grateful for his long legs allowing him to move fast while at the same time maintaining the illusion of looking unhurried. He wouldn’t want for some servant or gardener to follow him, wondering where he was off to in such a rush.

As predicted, Alastor found the red-haired man standing a few yards away from the fountain, intently examining a blooming hydrangea bush. He didn’t even offer Alastor a glance, and Alastor said nothing as he walked by, keeping his gaze forward and his stride unbroken as if he was merely passing through this section of garden and into another. As he walked behind the redhead, he subtly dropped his note into the grass.

He didn’t dare glance back to see if the man had gotten the message. Instead he kept his gaze forward, a calm, curious expression fixed to his face as he rounded a corner and continued onwards. After a few more corners and perhaps another half-mile of walking, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax, breathing deeply and inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine and thyme.

He didn’t rejoice over his first successful note delivery. He had done much harder things in his profession, things that had required duping, trickery, and subtlety in much higher degrees. If all of the note deliveries were to be as easy as that, why, this whole year would be a piece of-

He was abruptly disrupted from his thoughts as he rounded a corner and slammed into a short, warm body. His hands immediately flew out, grasping the shoulders of the person he had run into and nearly knocked over, an apology on his lips for the woman, because of course it was a woman, they were so short and slight, they-

Oh.

Oh.

Lucifer Morningstar regained his balance in Alastor’s grip, his twilight eyes wide and surprised. “I’m so sorry!” he apologized as he righted himself, brushing a hand down his striped waistcoat. “I didn’t see- oh. It’s you.”

Alastor immediately released the king’s shoulders as if he had touched a scalding pan rather than sun-warmed clothing and flesh. He took a hasty step back, putting as much distance between himself and the monarch as possible without being noticeably rude.

“Your majesty,” he said. To his embarrassment, he could feel his cheeks beginning to burn with a bright blush.

The king seemed to be getting over his shock as he drew himself up to his full height, his blond brow co*cked and his stance taking on an air of contempt. “Alastor. What are you still doing here? I had expected that you would leave the castle at the first opportunity.”

“Was I… meant to?” Alastor said, his stomach sinking. Lucifer had told him he could stay within the palace so long as Lilith was gone… hadn’t he?

“I won’t disrespect Lilith’s wishes, but you are not a prisoner here. You are free to leave whenever you wish. In fact, I thought you would have been long gone, after… well. Clearly, your presence is not a requirement. Though I imagine it would be difficult for one in a position such as yours to give up such luxury,” the king brought his hand up and checked his nails, his tone dismissive.

Alastor felt another flush heat his cheeks, though this time it was one of rage rather than humiliation. Lucifer knew nothing about him or his reasons for being here. How dare that uppity little prick make assumptions about him, when he was the one who chose to lock himself away, useless, careless, and forgotten, while his queen and his servants did all the ruling for him? The man was not worthy of the throne on which he sat.

“Ah, yes,” Alastor said, his upper lip curling over his teeth in a mocking sneer. “It would be rather difficult for one in my position to leave such an enchanting place. After all, it is easy enough to overlook the garish decor, lack of sufficient entertainment, and the completely boorish and incompetent host when one is presented with such an outlandish display of wealth. Although I must say, at least the food is rather good!”

The king’s eyes flew to Alastor's, his hand dropping to his side as his mouth opened into a little ‘O’ of shock. Clearly, no one had ever spoken to him in such a way, and Alastor felt a bright, nearly overwhelming bolt of satisfaction strike through him despite the voice in the back of his mind screaming that he was about to be short a head for his discretions.

“You- you dare,” Lucifer sputtered, his expression still one of shock rather than anger.

“I’ve dared a great many things, sire, and I will not stand here and be treated like this, not by you, or anyone else,” Alastor said, and though his tone was calm and confident, his heart was beginning to race. Oh gods, he’d really gotten himself into it now, hadn’t he?

For a long moment the king said nothing, leaving the pair to stand there facing off silently in the gardens, the only sounds heard being the buzzing of the bees and a distant cry of a cicada. Then, without warning, Lucifer began to laugh.

It wasn’t a chuckle or a scoff: no, it was a full-on belly laugh, one that caused him to bend nearly double and slap his knees, his shoulders shaking as he fought for air.

Alastor was completely bewildered. Where the f*ck had this come from? Not a moment ago he thought he was going to be dragged away by a pair of guards, left to rot in some dank dungeon until the executioner came for his head, but now…

He truly is mad,he thought with wonder as he watched the king fight to get control of himself, sighing as he stood upright once more and wiped a tear from his eye.

“Golly, I haven’t had a laugh like that in ages,” the monarch announced, a sh*t-eating grin still playing on his lips. “Where was all this brashness the other night? You could have used it, trembling little thing that you were.”

“I- I beg your pardon?” Alastor asked, still completely confused, and feeling more than a little peevish.

“No one in all of Gehenna has ever dared to speak to me that way. It’s actually quite refreshing,” Lucifer said, folding his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. “You’re full of surprises, I’ll admit. I took you for a whor* the first time I set eyes on you, and then a whimpering prude the night we spent together. But you’re something else entirely, aren’t you? Lilith was right. I think I will come to enjoy your company.”

“I’m not some yapping dog that will fetch for your amusem*nt,” Alastor snapped, his annoyance returning full force.

“Oh, I didn’t say you were. I only meant that I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Alastor. On second thought, I think I’d like to start fresh, and put that whole mess from a few days ago behind us. What do you say?”

The king stuck out his hand, his eyes twinkling with mischief and amusem*nt. His joyful expression was entirely too suspicious, and Alastor didn’t trust it, not one bit. He was sorely tempted to refuse the king’s offer and go marching straight back to his rooms.

On the other hand, he had come within a hair of having his head neatly snipped at the neck, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that the king was not exactly, er… emotionally stable. He may have found Alastor’s little outburst amusing, but how much would he really tolerate when it came to the hitman’s sass?

Deciding he would rather not find out, Alastor reluctantly offered his hand, flinching when Lucifer took it in his own and gave it a hearty shake.

“There. Now that that’s been sorted, I’m starving. What about you? I’m sure someone around here could rustle something up for us,” the king said cheerily as he turned away, marching off into the gardens.

Alastor barely resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his jacket, despite the fact that both he and the king were wearing gloves. As Lucifer shouted for a servant, Alastor had time to wonder once again, for perhaps the hundredth time in less than seven days, how he had managed to find himself in such a deplorable situation.

This had better be a large countryside estate, he thought as the king turned back to him, his smile wide on his face. With plenty of servants. And a f*cking orchard.

•

It didn’t take long at all for several servants to set up a small picnic for the pair, laying out an array of sliced fruits, cheeses, fresh bread, butter, honey, and a jug each of cider and sweet summer wine.

When the meal was finished being laid out the king offered Alastor a seat at the small table set that had been lugged into the gardens. Alastor sat, apprehension and suspicion filling him as he watched the king cheerily fill a plate and begin digging in.

“You can eat, you know,” Lucifer said a moment later, startling Alastor from his thoughts. “I’m not one of those kings that will have you whipped through the streets for even daring to look at me. Though you’ve probably surmised that already on your own.”

“Indeed,” said Alastor simply. He filled his own plate and nibbled delicately at a bit of melon, completely unsure of what to do or say. This would usually be where a regular courtesan would flirt and tease, would it not? He imagined himself seductively running the toe of his boot up the king’s calf while he batted his eyelashes and sucked honey from his fingers, and immediately shoved the thought aside. He would likely only be making a fool of himself. Besides, was he even truly the king’s courtesan now? After their disastrous evening, he could imagine that the man wanted nothing to do with him in that regard. So then why had he invited him to lunch?

“You’re thinking awfully hard over there,” Lucifer hummed, and Alastor’s gaze immediately snapped to his, blushing when he realized that he had been staring at his slice of melon like an imbecile for the better part of a few minutes.

“My apologies, your majesty. I did not mean to be so rude,” he muttered as he placed the sugary fruit back on his plate and wiped the residue from his fingers with a cloth napkin.

“I meant what I said earlier. You do not have to live in fear of me. I will not punish you for simply existing,” the king said, and something about the softness of his tone made Alastor bristle.

“Forgive me for wanting to exercise caution in the face of a man who could have my head removed at any moment he wished,” Alastor snapped. “I will refrain from doing so in the future, and from now on will be so abhorrently blunt you will have no choice but to lock me away in fear of what I may say next.”

“Ha! There’s that snappy attitude. Is that what you’re so worried about, then? That I may execute you at any moment? Well, fear not, I have no intention of taking your head. I rather find the whole thing disgusting, if I’m being honest. Why, when my father was alive I was forced to watch an execution, and I swear the severed head blinked after it had been removed. Can you imagine! I couldn’t sleep for a week.”

The king’s voice was cheery as he waved about his fork and popped a bit of cheese into his mouth.

Alastor meanwhile was left reeling. The monarch spoke as if they were friends, or at the very least good acquaintances, engaged in nothing more than a regular afternoon in the gardens. He barely even knew the man!

Yet you know what his co*ck looks like, his traitorous mind supplied, and he had to resist the urge to throw his goblet of wine across the garden out of sheer frustration.

The king was still nattering on about this and that, and Alastor was suddenly reminded of how Charlie often looked during their time together. Lucifer and his daughter shared the same anxious glint in their eyes that revealed the fact that they knew they were talking too much, but couldn’t seem to find a way to stop.

Were they both really so unsocialized that conversation poured from them like a broken dam whenever the opportunity arose? Or perhaps it wasn’t a lack of conversation itself, but rather a lack of someone who was actually interested in what they had to say?

A funny little twinge went through Alastor’s chest, right beneath his sternum. It felt shockingly like the one he had experienced while he had watched Lilith scold her husband.

Pull yourself together. He was a man who had assassinated thirteen different people: he had watched them bleed and cry and beg for his mercy, and not once had he ever felt this tiny twinge behind his ribs, something like guilt or pity muddled into a ball and tucked away in his chest. It was equal parts uncomfortable and unwelcome.

Lucifer finally took a pause as he snatched up his goblet, frowning when he found it empty. He clicked his fingers impatiently and a servant rushed forward, filling the chalice with cider from the jug that sat less than six inches away from the king’s plate. The man then quickly retreated back to his position a few feet away as Lucifer hummed and took a sip.

“Now, where was I?”

“Are you so incapable that you cannot pour yourself your own cider?” Alastor said, and from behind him he heard a small gasp from one of the other servants.

“What?” Lucifer asked, blinking at him in surprise.

“The jug is right there, sire. Surely you are strong enough to lift it?”

“Yes, well, I-” the king sputtered. He looked down at the goblet in his hand as if he had never seen such a thing before. “I mean, that’s what they’re here for?”

He gestured vaguely at the half-dozen servants silently surrounding them, most huddled near shrubs or bushes to remain as unseen as possible. His sentence was phrased as a question, as if he himself was uncertain about the servants’ true purpose.

“Yes, alright, but you could at least have the decency to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’,” Alastor said as he crossed his arms over his chest, a frown marring his features. His mama had always taught him that manners and politeness were one of the most important parts of a conversation. A few swats to the hand after he had forgotten his pleases or his thank yous had been enough to instill this fact in him.

He didn’t even know why he was so bothered, but something about the callous rudeness of the king irked him. No one deserved to have fingers clicked at them like they were a dog, no matter how low on the societal food chain they may be.

“Why do you care?” asked the king. His tone was neither malicious nor rude, only curious.

“I suppose it’s because I know what it feels like to be treated like nothing,” Alastor said as he fiddled with his own goblet. In all truth he was thinking of his mother more than himself, and how he hated to watch her being treated like dirt for no other reason than the misfortune of her circ*mstances. “They serve you, I know, but your kindness would likely mean a great deal to them.”

Lucifer hummed contemplatively, leaning back in his seat. “How do you know what it feels like to be treated like that? Are you of similar birth?”

Alastor looked up sharply at the question, but again, it was not aimed as an insult. The king’s expression was open and curious, with not an ounce of hostility.

“Yes,” he begrudgingly admitted. “I come from next to nothing, as my parents and grandparents did before me. I have had to make my own way in the world.”

“Really? I had thought you might be the son of some petty lord or merchant. You certainly look the part.”

Alastor sniffed and looked away, unwilling to admit that his current aesthetic was almost entirely Niffty’s doing. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t have good taste - he did - it was just that he usually did not have the means to afford the clothing he preferred to wear.

“Does my social status offend your delicate sensibilities, sire?” he asked, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.

To his surprise, Lucifer only laughed. “Of course not. I have had a very pleasant afternoon here with you, Alastor. Your social status has nothing to do with that whatsoever. Besides, if I’m not mistaken, your position as my paramour elevates you to one of the highest ranks our society has to offer, does it not?”

Alastor physically jumped at those words, his eyes wide and cheeks flaming as his gaze once more met the king’s. The other man was smiling around the goblet pressed to his lips, his brow raised and his twilight eyes sparkling mischievously.

“But I- you are- I’m not-” Alastor sputtered, cursing the embarrassment that intercepted his words.

“Oh, calm yourself,” said the king with a wave of his hand as he set aside his goblet, a sh*t-eating grin plastered to his face. “I’m only teasing. You of course can enjoy all of the little benefits that being the king’s courtesan has to offer, as that is what everyone assumes you are here for. It is no skin off my back to allow you to enjoy yourself.”

“Th-thank you,” said Alastor, his blush still hot on his cheeks. He was acutely aware of the servants surrounding them, listening in to every word of their conversation. While he did not want to see them abused or mistreated, he also held no illusions that these people would feel any loyalty to him, and therefore knew he must weigh his words carefully. “You are most generous, sire.”

Lucifer hummed noncommittally as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, then stood from the table. Alastor immediately stood with him, observing proper decorum as he bowed at the waist.

“I find myself having a very pleasant time in your company, Alastor,” the king admitted, seeming almost amazed at the prospect. “If you are amicable to it, I would like to invite you to lunch again. The gardens are such a beautiful place for it, are they not?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Alastor replied automatically. The king wanted to do this again? With him?

“Tomorrow, then, if you are not otherwise engaged.”

“Tomorrow,” Alastor repeated faintly. Before he could react the king was suddenly stepping forward and taking his hand. He flinched, but Lucifer was only pressing a kiss to the back of it, his lips feather-light and barely brushing the glove cloaking his knuckles. The action sent goosebumps racing up Alastor’s arms.

“Tomorrow,” the king whispered against his skin, and then he was dropping Alastor’s hand and turning on his heel to venture back into the maze of shrubbery, his attendants trailing after him.

•

To Alastor’s immense shock, for the next two weeks he found himself in the gardens every day at noon, taking lunch with the king. The even bigger surprise was that he didn’t actually hate it.

Sure, the man was egotistical (as was expected for a king), fanatic, and usually forgot his manners, but he was also funny in a queer sort of way, and didn’t seem to hold any high expectations of Alastor. In fact, the only demand he made of Alastor at all was that they continue to meet every day.

At first Alastor was suspicious. Surely the king was only trying to butter him up before he started making ludicrous or obscene demands of him. Alastor may be inexperienced, but he was far from innocent, and knew of the kind of things the monarch might demand once he deemed the hitman sufficiently malleable.

The other option Alastor considered was that perhaps this was all only some sort of twisted game to get his guard down, and then, when he least expected it, there would be a group of guards to cart him off to the dungeons after all.

None of that happened, however. No matter how freely Alastor spoke his mind, or how callously he corrected the king on his behaviour towards his servants, Lucifer never called for his sentries. In fact, he seemed to rather enjoy Alastor’s attitude and dry witticisms.

The king had also not laid a hand on him aside from the brief, barely-there kiss he would press to the back of Alastor’s hand upon their departure. He had never made any untoward comments or jokes, or asked Alastor for anything that might make him uncomfortable. In all, he was acting the proper gentleman, something that paradoxically annoyed and pleased the hitman.

Of course he was grateful that the king was not forcing himself on him. They were both well aware that Lucifer could, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing that Alastor or anyone else could do to stop him. It seemed that in light of that shared knowledge, Lucifer was going above and beyond to show that he was an upstanding gentleman.

He would pull out Alastor’s chair for him as they sat at lunch. Offer Alastor choice cuts of meat or fruit before serving himself. Compliment Alastor’s appearance or garb, offer him flowers, ask for the chance to hold the small bundles of seed that Alastor sometimes brought to the gardens with him to feed the birds.

In all, he was essentially treating Alastor as if he was some blushing little debutante, and it was infuriating. But no matter how many times Alastor snapped at him or told him to bugger off, the king would always wander back like a lost puppy, eager to show him a pretty stone or perfectly ripe fruit straight from the orchard.

“I am not a woman,” Alastor had snapped one day, when Lucifer had offered to place a daisy in his hair.

The king blinked, taken aback. Then, as usual, he laughed. “Well, I know that,” he said, wiggling his brow suggestively. Alastor had scoffed and marched away, fuming and embarrassed.

His only way to express his frustrations was to vent them to Angel and Niffty at the end of the day. From the way the page and maid would glance at each other, he knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t help himself. He had never been the subject of someone’s… affections before (if these little tête-à-têtes could even be called that), and had no idea what to do or how to respond.

His uncertainty incensed him to no end. He had always been so sure of himself and confident, even as a boy, and now the king was stripping all that away, leaving him bereft of his usual armour, save for his quick wit. It was equal parts confusing and distressing (and also, to his vast annoyance, somewhat thrilling).

Angel and Niffty were next to no help at all. They both encouraged Alastor to simply “go for it” and become the king’s concubine in truth as well as title, the pair eager for juicy gossip and sordid details. The thought alone was enough to make his gut twist, anxiousness clawing up his spine as he imagined the king doing… well, anything to him, really.

No, he told himself firmly, he did not want anything to do with Lucifer Morningstar’s sexual habits. Even if he did find himself wondering about it once or twice. On occasion. Alright, increasingly, but that had everything to do with the man’s proximity, and nothing at all to do with Alastor wanting any part in what the king had to offer. He merely found it curious that the man could be so cowed and submissive to his wife, yet brash and domineering towards others.

It was the paradoxicality of the king that interested him and nothing more, he assured Angel and Niffty over and over. From the way they looked at each other, he could tell that they didn’t believe him.

Oh, well. They were sexual deviants, the both of them, and could choose to believe whatever they bloody well wanted. Even if they were wrong.

The one person Alastor had truly found solace in during all the confused madness had surprisingly been the princess.

Of course he couldn’t actually tell her what was going on. Instead, he simply danced around the subject, making vague mention of someone in the city which served as his scapegoat for the weird little interactions he found himself having with the king.

Charlie was clearly thrilled to be playing the part of “matchmaker”. Alastor had told her time and time again that this was absolutely not his intention, and that he only wanted help deciphering the complicated ways in which the king chose to communicate, but the princess had gotten it into her head that Alastor and his mystery man from the city were destined to be together.

Despite her frivolous views, the princess did try to take everything at face value and offer Alastor genuine advice. Some of it was clearly taken from her fairytales, but some of it was actually rather helpful, and he found himself in the company of the girl more and more, swapping stories and tidbits of palace gossip.

Which is how he had found himself in the gardens, brushing the heiresses’ long golden hair as he explained his latest problems with the ki- er, mystery man.

“And then he offered to carry the basket, as if it was weighted with stones rather than flowers. Honestly, does he think me that incapable?” Alastor snapped as he ran the brush through the princess’s locks, carefully working his way around a tangle. “I am not some insipid child! I can carry a basket.”

“It’s actually kind of sweet, when you think about it,” Charlie hummed. She picked a dandelion and blew away the soft white tufts, sighing as they caught in the breeze. “Kind of romantic, you know.”

Alastor scoffed. “You are delving too far into your story books, your highness. This is not some romantic fiction, this is real life. The man has wealth, power, and influence - not that he chooses to do anything with it, mind you. He could have anyone, yet he chooses to spend his time with me. To what end, I ask you? What can he possibly hope to gain?”

“Perhaps it's not about gaining anything. Perhaps he only wants you.”

Alastor scoffed again, rolling his eyes despite the fact that she could not see him. “My dear, one day you will learn that this world is harsh and cruel. People only measure you by what they can take from you. This man is seemingly showering me with affection, yet has asked for nothing in return. I can only imagine that it is so when he does inevitably demand something of me, it will be something worth his while.”

“Oh Alastor, you’re so cynical,” Charlie said as she tilted her head, offering him better access to her hair. “I think that maybe you should give him a chance. You won’t know until you know, right? I’m not saying you shouldn’t protect yourself, of course, but why give up a chance at happiness and a relationship over mere suspicion?”

“I don’t want a relationship, I want to know his motives,” Alastor snapped.

“And if there aren’t any? If he is only doing kind things just to be, well, kind?”

“Impossible.”

Charlie giggled, pulling away so she could shuffled and turn around to face him, her legs crossed. “You’re such a downer, Alastor. I’m sure it will all work out in the end, though.”

Alastor opened his mouth to retort when there came the sudden, abrasive sound of someone clearing their throat.

He and the princess both whipped their heads towards the sound, and were shocked to find the king standing a few feet away, his hands tucked behind his back and his expression sheepish.

Alastor immediately recoiled, his thoughts flying to what the king might have overheard between him and Charlie. How long had he been standing there? Did he hear everything, or nothing?

It took him a moment to realize that Lucifer’s eyes were not even on him, but rather, on Charlie. His expression was soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners lightly. The love for his daughter was shining and clear on his face, obvious to anyone who looked at him.

“I brought you some flowers, Char,” he said, and held out a small bouquet of buttercups and tulips.

“Oh, thank you!” Charlie said as she got to her feet. Her smile was completely dazzling and overjoyed as she bounded over to her father, accepting the bouquet and pressing it to her face to take a sniff. “They’re beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them, kiddo,” Lucifer smiled. His eyes slid from his daughter to Alastor, who sat watching the whole exchange from his place in the grass.

The expression of unadulterated adoration he was met with made Alastor’s breath hitch. It seemed to take years off of Lucifer’s face - not that the king was particularly old, mind you, but the weariness that seemed to plague him was melted away in the wake of his daughter, leaving behind only pure, angelic happiness.

He’s beautiful.

The thought rose unbidden to Alastor’s mind, and he immediately shoved it aside, his cheeks heating. Of course he was beautiful - all of the Morningstars were. It was only to be expected, considering the breeding stock that Lucifer was descended from.

The king seemed to notice his blush and co*cked his brow, a tiny smile playing on his lips. Alastor sniffed and looked away, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

“Mr Sinclair,” the king called out, his voice light and lilting. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Likewise, your majesty,” said Alastor stiffly.

“I thought I’d take some air, then saw these lovely flowers and knew I had to bring them to Charlie. Beautiful day for it, is it not?”

“Yes. Quite beautiful,” Alastor muttered, refusing to meet the king’s eye. He had never interacted with both Lucifer and his daughter at once before, and was finding the experience profoundly surreal. They were so alike and yet so different in many ways, and it was very clear from the way they stood awkwardly together that they didn’t often interact.

The silence stretched between the three of them, awkward and heavy. Charlie fidgeted with her bouquet, Lucifer scuffed his toe into the grass, and Alastor simply watched them from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge the strange atmosphere.

“So…” the king started, his voice cracking. He cleared it with an awkward laugh, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “What are you two up to?”

“Mr Sinclair was helping to braid my hair,” Charlie explained. “He had just brushed it before you brought me the flowers.”

“You can braid hair?” the king asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Alastor gritted out. “I often helped my mother braid hers when I was a child.”

“Well, by all means, don’t let me interrupt.”

Lucifer waved his hand between them and Charlie grinned, bouncing over to seat herself before Alastor once more. Alastor sighed but did as he was bid, picking up the brush and starting to separate the princess’s hair into five sections.

He went about his work quickly, keenly aware of the king’s eyes on him as he worked Charlie’s hair into a five-strand braid, careful to keep from tugging too harshly or tangling the strands in his fingers. As he worked Lucifer crept closer, until he was practically right over Alastor’s shoulder, his naturally sweet scent wafting on the breeze and making the small hairs on the back of Alastor’s neck stand on end.

When he was finished he scooted back, giving the king some room to assess his work. Lucifer leaned forward, his expression curious as he took in the simple but elegant looking plait. Bent at the waist as he was, his chest was nearly brushing Alastor’s shoulder, his face a mere foot away. Alastor swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. He refused to look directly at the king, but the vision of him in his peripheral was more than enough to suffice, and suddenly that sweet, tart scent was becoming overwhelming: he smelled of apples and cinnamon and cloves, reminding Alastor of cold nights around a bonfire with a mug of warm apple cider in hand.

He hardly dared to breathe as the king leaned even closer, now very nearly touching him. He desperately wanted to get up, to tell the king to step away, to do anything, but he was trapped, Lucifer at his back and side and the princess at his front. He couldn’t move without drawing immediate suspicion so he sat there, sweat beginning to bead on his brow as the king’s cloying scent filled his senses, making his head feel muddled and his nerves feel scraped and raw.

Finally, after a moment that felt like it lasted hours but was very likely not more than twenty seconds, the king leaned away with a sharp clap of his hands. The sound made Alastor jump, his heart leaping to his throat. As soon as Lucifer straightened up Alastor scooted away, grateful for the ability to breathe air that was not laced with that woodsy apple scent.

“It looks lovely. Where did you learn to braid like that?” the king asked, his expression vivid and delighted.

“My- my mama,” Alastor said, cursing himself when his voice came out slightly strangled. He cleared his throat and tried again. “She has always braided her hair into such beautiful, intricate patterns. As I got older she taught me, so that I could help her.”

“Well, she certainly is the talented lady, if she taught you this,” Lucifer announced, gesturing to the back of Charlie’s head. The princess giggled and drew her braid over her shoulder, getting a look at the interwoven pattern.

“Oh, it’s so pretty! Thank you, Alastor!” she exclaimed.

“You’re very welcome, your highness,” Alastor said. He quickly got to his feet, brushing himself off. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s something I must tend to.”

“Of course,” Lucifer said, his expression unreadable but his eyes shining with something akin to mirth - or perhaps it was admiration. Either way, Alastor was eager to escape that scrutinizing gaze, his legs tangling as he hurriedly turned away and made his way down a garden path.

“I’ll see you at dinner!” Charlie called cheerily, but Alastor was already halfway down the path, nearly out of sight.

Chapter 5: Chapter Four

Chapter Text

Alastor woke at an indiscernible time, his thoughts muddled and vision blurry without his glasses. It was still dark, and judging by the silent stillness, it was likely very early morning, perhaps only an hour or two before the sun would begin to crest the horizon.

He didn’t know exactly what had woken him. His dreams were pulling away from his mind like threads of spider silk in a breeze, memories lost to him forever. The only thing we could remember was the sensation of a warm caress, a hot, whispered word in the shell of his ear, and one colour: blue. Deep, rich, mesmerizing blue, like the depths of a twilit ocean.

He shuddered, wincing when he realized that his co*ck was standing proudly at attention. He often woke up to early morning erections, like any man he supposed, but it was exceedingly rare that they were accompanied with this feeling - his heart beating a thick staccato in his chest and inner wrists, sweat beading on his brow, the flesh of his groin and inner thighs aching and shivery; his arousal demanding to be satiated rather than ignored.

With a soft exhale he slipped his hand beneath the sheets, pressing his palm flat to his erection where it strained in his sleep pants. The sensation sent a bolt of arousal through his lower abdomen, just below his navel. He bit his lip and pressed with an ounce more of force, his hips raising to meet his hand, trapping his co*ck against his own palm.

“f*ck,” he whispered into the darkness, the word little more than a shaky exhale. He didn’t often do this - in fact, he had nearly stopped altogether, now that the annoyingly insistent vestiges of his youth were left behind him. Only once in a blue moon would he indulge his own pleasure, giving in to carnal sensations and animalistic desire.

But oh, how he wanted to give in now. His body yearned for it, arousal pooling at the crux between his thighs, filling his belly with heat.

His thighs spread on their own accord as his hips bucked upwards, chasing the pleasant friction his hand and the silk of his pyjama pants brought him. The tip of his co*ck was already wet, creating a smooth glide across the silk as he gripped himself through it, sliding the fabric along his shaft and groaning under his breath at the feeling.

His eyes slipped closed and his head tilted back, his breath coming in sharp inhales and tremulous exhales. He was somewhat surprised when his mind’s eye conjured the image of himself in the garden, doing this exact thing while spread in the soft, pillowy grass, shadows flitting across his face as the wind rustled the trees above him.

“O-oh,” he whispered, his hand subconsciously moving from his co*ck to shove itself inside his pants, taking hold of bare flesh and giving himself a sharp squeeze. Behind his eyelids he imagined himself splayed in the grass, working his co*ck slowly as he was doing now, feeling the weight of it in his palm as he smeared the precum from the slit across his shaft.

“My, what have we here?” a voice said, and Alastor jumped, his eyes snapping to the side.

The king was leaning against a tree, his arms crossed and his deep ocean eyes appraising as they roved over Alastor’s form, a co*cksure smile tugging at his lips. “How deliciously naughty of you, darling. Playing with yourself in the gardens for all the world to see.”

Alastor whined, his hips bucking upwards, forcing his co*ck through the tight squeeze of his fist.

“Your majesty,” he whispered, humiliation and arousal warring within him, making his head feel fuzzy. He shivered as Lucifer’s gaze trailed over him, the attention of those twilight eyes nearly palpable, spreading fire across his already heated skin.

He removed his hand from his co*ck, his cheeks flaming, but froze when the king clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Did I tell you to stop, little doe?”

“Oh,” Alastor moaned, his head tilting back and his thighs spreading as he brought his shaking hand back to his prick, pumping it slowly.

“There you go. Give me a show, pretty boy.”

“Lucifer,” he gasped out, unable to stifle his small cry of the king’s name.

“I love it when you say my name,” the king said as he sauntered over, his hips swaying enticingly. “Say it again.”

“Lucifer!” Alastor cried out, his back bowing sharply as he f*cked his fist with vigour.

“That’s exactly right, sweet thing. You gonna come for me, right here in the gardens? Put on a show for anyone who happens to walk by?”

“N-no,” Alastor shook his head vehemently. “You, only for you.”

The king’s grin turned predatory, his eyes gleaming like two dark pools, shrouded by shadow and lit only by moonlight. “That’s right,” he whispered, before squatting down and cradling Alastor’s jaw in his palm. “My sweet little fawn. Come for me.”

Alastor cried out, his fist flying over his co*ck as he came, thick ropes of cum painting the inside of his pyjama bottoms and running over his knuckles. “Oh f*ck, oh f*ck,” he heard himself whine, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Eventually his hand slowed, milking the last of his spend before flopping out of his pants into the cool air of the bedchamber.

He lay panting for several moments, aftershocks zinging their way up his spine and down his thighs. When at last his heart rate began to slow and the endorphins faded from his blood, shame immediately welled, seizing his lungs and leaving him cold.

f*ck, what was he doing? He had just fantasized about the king: gods, he had just pleasured himself to those fantasies, like some sort of inept schoolboy, too overruled by his hormones and animal urges to think of little else besides rutting between a pair of thighs.

Smooth, alabaster thighs, unblemished and perfect.

Shut up!

He pressed his unsullied hand to his face, thumping his head back against the pillows in an attempt to silence his traitorous mind. Gods, he was such a fool. A weak fool, no less: the ultimate sin, in his mind.

He abhorred other people and their lack of control, and yet here he was, the inside of his pyjamas coated with a thick layer of cooling cum, disgust crawling through his gut as he forced the thought of his garden fantasy from his mind.

He would need to stop seeing Lucifer. There was nothing for it, really. The lunches in the garden would have to end, at least until Alastor managed to bring himself back under some semblance of control. He could not afford to walk around with this… this distraction clinging to him. Even if pleasing the king was technically one of the only two purposes for being here, Lucifer’s pleasure did not equate to his own pleasure, and nor could he let it.

Besides, it had become abundantly clear that Lucifer had no intention of using Alastor as a concubine. Alastor had been here for just over a month, and the king had not so much as hinted at wanting to be sexually intimate with him after the disastrous night they shared together.

Why did that thought send a small pang of regret through him?

He snatched a pillow and pressed it to his face, screaming into the goosefeathers. Why must this all be so complicated? He had come here with a purpose, a goal, a f*cking vision, damnit, and now Lucifer Morningstar, with all his wit and charm and affection, yet his seemingly complete lack of sexual desire for him, was worming his way into Alastor’s thoughts, filling his brain with an insistent buzz and making his own body and mind betray him in ways he had never experienced before.

A sudden, sharp bolt of fear cracked clean through the anger and frustration building in his chest. He lowered the pillow from his face, his eyes wide and unseeing as they stared up at the canopy above him.

He was scared. Scared of the ways in which the king was infecting him. Scared of the ways in which he was reacting to that infection. His body should be burning through it, trying to purge it from his blood, but instead it was accepting it, welcoming it, allowing this foreign feeling to root inside of him and fester.

No. That cannot happen. It will not.

He tossed the pillow aside and clambered from the bed, peeling his soiled pants down his legs with a wince of disgust. He would call for a bath in the morning, but for now the best he could do was dab at his crotch with a towel dampened by the water in his basin. He roughly cleaned his traitorous co*ck, wincing as the cloth dragged harshly across his still-sensitive flesh.

When he was finished he pulled on a pair of fresh pyjamas and crawled back into bed. He folded his hands behind his head and stared hard at the ceiling, his blurry vision detecting traces of light spreading across the rafters. It was nearly dawn.

He sighed and rolled onto his side, determination filling him as his eyes slipped closed and he began to plummet once more towards sleep.

The king would not win this game. Alastor would come out on top, as he always did. He was going to nip this weakness in the bud, quell any unreasonable desires that may be rising within him, and focus on his goal of seeing his mama safe and cared for.

With that thought firmly in his mind, he drifted back to sleep.

•

Alastor was resolute in his refusal to visit Lucifer. He stayed away for over a week, busying himself with catching up on his letters to the queen, gossiping with Angel and Niffty, and teaching Charlie how to play chess. He was not hiding,per se: more waiting out his own grievous misconceptions until he was sure that there would not be a repeat of his bout of weakness the other morning.

As he sealed his letter to the queen, he couldn’t help but find it odd that he had yet to receive a single letter in return from her. He figured that she would not exactly be pleased to hear that he and the king had yet to consummate their little arrangement, yet he was met with nothing but abject silence from his regal penpal (which was unnerving, to say the least).

Sighing, he packed away his quill and ink and stowed his letter away in the false bottom of his desk drawer. It was his fifth one, marking the start of his sixth week in the palace. He found that fact almost dizzying. Six weeks ago he signed a deal that would make him consort to the most powerful man in Gehenna. Six weeks ago that same man snubbed him the night of his arrival. How odd life was, that it should move forward so quickly, with not a thought for those it left behind.

Alastor was snapped from his musings by an insistent knock on his door. He got up and crossed his room, wondering who it could be. Angel and Niffty never knocked nowadays, and Charlie and Lucifer had never once visited his private chambers.

He pulled the door open and peeked out, surprised to see Husk standing on the other side. The steward gave Alastor a short, sharp bow as he opened the door wider.

“Forgive me the intrusion, sir. The king requests your presence on the battlements right away.”

Alastor felt his face blanch. He had always known it was only a matter of time before Lucifer sought him out after ending their little lunches together without a word, but he had genuinely never expected that it would be so soon. A week was hardly any time at all for a man that was supposedly running Gehenna: but then again, it wasn’t like the king did any of the actual ruling. Overseeing the taxes, creating laws, directing the trade flow, keeping track of cattle and grain stores, keeping the nobility and serfs alike happy, fed and under control: all of it fell to the stewards and advisors - and, of course, the queen.

His heart rate quickened as he stepped out of his room and carefully shut the door behind him. Surely the king would be angry. He had indulged in Alastor’s little quips and sarcastic remarks for the better part of four weeks, but being outright ignored… well. Alastor should have known better.

He steeled himself as he followed Husk across the palace, out the southern gate and up the rickety wooden stairs that led to the parapets. Servants and guards scurrying by didn’t offer him a single glance as they passed, their curiosity from a few weeks ago seemingly subsided. The closer they got to where the king was waiting, the easier it was for Alastor to imagine Niffty and the other maids scrubbing his blood from the flagstones below.

Finally, after what felt like ages of walking along the rampart, a familiar silhouette came into view. The king was leaning against the parapet wall with his arms crossed, gazing out into the orchards. Though the garden itself was protected by high stone walls, the orchards were not, and the vast sprawl of fruiting trees spread for miles beneath the hot sun. Alastor could see the tiny figures of men and women weaving between the trees, collecting the ripe fruit that was shaken to the ground by the children that climbed them.

“Your majesty,” Husk bowed, then turned on his heel, leaving Alastor and the king to their business.

Alastor said nothing for a long moment, waiting for the king’s wrath to rain down on him. Lucifer stood motionless, staring out into the fields with unseeing eyes, his posture rigid and expression stormy.

Just when Alastor began to open his mouth to break the oppressive silence, the king finally spoke.

“Look out into the orchards,” he commanded, his voice low. “Tell me what you see.”

“Servants, tending to the trees,” Alastor said, bewildered. Was this some sort of power play? Was the king simply going to dance around the subject before he called for his guards?

Lucifer sighed. “Yes. Now tell me what you do not see.”

“Your majesty, I-”

“Please, Alastor. Indulge me.”

Alastor sighed inwardly and turned towards the orchards, squinting against the harsh afternoon light. “What I do not see?” he asked, slightly irritated.

A small smile played across Lucifer’s lips, but he didn’t answer.

Alastor tried to focus on the task given. The king wanted to know what he didn’t see. How exasperating. He saw miles and miles of trees. He saw the people tending to them. He saw birds flitting across the canopies, vying for the succulent fruit, only to be swatted away by the children that perched in the highest branches. Closer to the castle, he could see the verdant green of the gardens - the bees buzzing amongst the blooms, people strolling along the winding paths, the various fountains and statues dotted here and there. And between the two, he could see the protective outer wall of the castle.

“A wall,” Alastor said, realization dawning on him. “There is a wall to protect the gardens, but not the orchards.”

Lucifer hummed in approval, shifting his weight where he leaned against the parapet. “Precisely. There is a wall protecting this castle and the people within it, and another surrounding the gardens, but the orchards stand apart, entirely defenseless. Husk has informed me that we get raided near-daily by bandits. The people working out there are in constant danger. I’ve sent guards, of course, but they cannot be everywhere at once. We’ve lost nearly six percent of our income for this year’s harvest.”

“The orchards are too vast to build around, your majesty,” Alastor pointed out. “It would take years, not to mention millions of dollars in labour and supply costs.”

“And our stone quarries around Pentagram City are already running dry,” Lucifer finished. He sighed wearily, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I’ve asked my Captain of Guards to look into it, but Vaggie is so busy, and I’ll admit, it’s a rather impossible challenge.”

“Difficult, not impossible,” Alastor corrected offhandedly, staring hard out into the fields. Perhaps… but were the trees themselves strong enough? Hmm.

“What are you thinking?” Lucifer asked curiously, turning to face Alastor for the first time since the assassin had arrived.

“It’s… not exactly my place to say, is it, sire?” Alastor asked. “I have no military experience, no strategic value to offer.”

“Even so, I would hear your idea. Your king commands it,” Lucifer said haughtily, though a teasing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Well… I was simply thinking that you could call on the archers of the realm. Offer them a fair wage in exchange for setting up blinds within the trees, rotating at random day-to-day so that their locations cannot be tracked. It would serve to catch the bandits off-guard, and the unpatterned assault would likely dissuade the thieving.”

“You’d have me kill them?”

Alastor hesitated. “It would likely be distressing for the children to see. Perhaps aim for their feet? Send them from orchards with their tails between their legs, but leave them generally unharmed unless absolutely necessary. Accidents are bound to happen, of course, but if you select fine archers who can actually aim worth a damn, mishaps could be kept to a minimum.”

“Children?” Lucifer asked, his brow furrowing. “What children?”

“The children that work in the trees?” Alastor said blankly. “They weigh so little that they can climb to the highest branches to pick the ripest fruit, or shake it to the ground for the adults to collect. Many of the serfs begin work as young as six or seven years old. Did you truly not know?”

“Well, I- I knew that some of the servants of the castle have children that help them attend to their duties, but I did not think… I can’t imagine that the work is that laborious, is it?” the king’s brow was furrowed worriedly.

“Sire…” Alastor said, unsure of how to go about what he was going to say. Was Lucifer truly this naive? “There are children working in the mines. All over this country they toil with their parents to provide income for their families. Surely this cannot be new information to you?”

“Well, when my father ruled I knew that it was happening, but when I came into the throne it was one of the first practices that Lili and I disbanded. Why would the lords and overseers of the realm ignore my command? It is treason to do so,” Lucifer frowned hard, his arms crossing defensively over his chest.

Alastor licked his lips, his heart racing. He knew he was already on thin ice concerning his failure to make an appearance for their regular lunches for the last week, but this…

“Was it you that gave the command, or did you trust the queen to do it for you?” he asked, his tone hesitant. He did not want to lose his head for suggesting such a thing, but he needed to know.

The king looked at him sharply, his eyes assessing as they roved over Alastor’s form, searching for any malice or slight behind his words. For a long moment Alastor was sure that he was done for: he had never once brought up Lilith in front of her husband, and the very first time he did, it sounded as if he was suggesting that she was sleuthing around behind his back.

Finally, the tension broke when Lucifer sighed long and loud, slumping back against the parapet once more.

“I was never meant to rule, you know,” he quietly admitted. “That was what Michael was raised for. I was simply the spare.”

“Oh?” Alastor asked curiously. He was vaguely aware that Lucifer had once had a brother, but he had died many years ago.

The king hummed contemplatively, his gaze distant. “Yes, I had a brother. He was ten years older than I - fit, strong, handsome: everything a country desires in a king. He was my father’s pride and joy. As was I, until - well. Until Lilith,” Lucifer rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, his already rosy cheeks darkening with a blush.

“I was young, naive, and in love. Lilith was twenty when we met, four years my elder and already married to a man she hated. I found her hiding behind an apple tree one day, bawling her eyes out like a lost lamb, and I- I fell in love with her. Father and Michael didn’t approve, of course they didn’t, but what did it matter? Michael was to be king, not me. Youngest sons are notorious for disappointing their fathers, and why should I be any different?”

Lucifer sighed wearily, his shoulders slumping. “Lilith left her husband and we got married in secret, right beneath my father’s nose. He was furious, but by then it was too late: the deed was done. He threatened to disown me, but Lili and I already made plans to run away together, so it hardly mattered. We laughed in his face, like the lovestruck fools that we were. We thought that once we left, the world would be ours for the taking, with no one to stand in the way of our love, and no one who could ruin our future.

Then Michael died. He loved to hunt, you see, but he also loved his wine, and it’s well known that the two don’t mix. Suddenly I was next in line for the throne, a shock and a blow for my father. I believe that’s what may have killed him: not only the heartbreak of losing Michael, but the despair of knowing that I would take his place.”

Lucifer’s voice had turned bitter, his eyes cold. “You see, I was never born to rule. I ignored the lessons my father and Michael tried to instill in me. I did what I pleased, and didn’t care about the consequences. That’s why when Lili and I came into the throne, it was so much easier to let her do what needed to be done. It was like she was born for this. She makes it look so easy, the commanding and the organizing and the- well. All of that,” he flapped his hand dismissively.

“Look, I know that I’m an abysmal king, okay? But I really… I really do want to get better. I want to teach Charlie what it means to be a good queen. Lili is, of course, but she’s been getting more distantly lately, and I- I want to be there. I’m tired of hiding in my workshop while my kingdom moves on without me. For f*ck sakes, Al, I didn’t even know that we condone child labour in my own orchards. How could I let this happen?”

The king ran his hands through his hair brusquely, his eyes wide and helpless. Alastor felt a stab of pity for the man. Yes, he had hidden away and allowed his wife and queen to rule his kingdom for him; yes, he had neglected his duties not only as a king but also as a father; yes, he made for a rather pathetic, self-pitying sight. But Alastor still could not help but feel a pang in his chest as the king confessed that he wanted to be… well, better.

“Perhaps…” he said, his voice hesitant. “Perhaps you should ask Charlie what you just asked me. About defending the orchards, I mean. You want to teach her to rule, so why not allow her to do so? Not an entire kingdom, of course, but a select group of people. Let her solve this bandit issue herself. She is a smart young woman. Give her your guidance, and I’m positive that she will flourish.”

Lucifer glanced up at him and smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “You’re right. It’s about time Char stepped into her role anyway. Lili insists on putting it off, but she’s not a child anymore. She’ll be queen herself soon enough, and she should learn how to rule like one. I’ll ask her tonight, and give her the night to think on it. Tomorrow I can see what she says.”

“I’m glad you’ve found a positive resolution to your predicament, sire.”

Lucifer shot Alastor a small smirk and stepped away from the wall and towards the taller man. On instinct Alastor took a step back, his heart rate quickening as the king closed the distance between them, until they were nearly touching.

“Don’t think that I forget that you’ve been ignoring me for a week either, Alastor,” Lucifer said. His tone was stern but his eyes were curious, without malice or hostility. “May I ask why?”

“I…” Alastor said, his voice trailing away. Gods be good, he couldn’t exactly admit the real reason why he had been avoiding him. Lucifer was so close to him, the scent of apples and honeysuckle wafting up to Alastor’s nose and making his head swim. If the king could just step away and give him a moment to think -

“Well?” Lucifer asked, his brow raising. “I’m waiting.”

“I was ill,” Alastor blurted. “I did not wish to get anyone sick by roaming the castle.”

“Uh huh. Are you feeling better now?” Lucifer asked, looking dubious.

“Yes, sire, I’m very much recovered.”

“Good. You can help me tutor Charlie in the art of ruling tomorrow, then.”

“I- what?”

“It was your idea, after all,” the king said as he brushed past Alastor and sauntered off down the rampart. “You’re surprisingly insightful. I wish for you to be there tomorrow. And no, I will not accept the excuse of an illness again.”

Alastor’s cheeks heated as he was called out on his lie. Shockingly, Lucifer seemed unbothered about the fact that his courtesan had lied to his face as he waved goodbye and walked away, whistling to himself as he went.

What an oddity, Alastor thought to himself as he watched the king descend the wooden steps back to the courtyard below.

•

Alastor waited outside the doors to Charlie’s tutoring room for Lucifer to arrive. The king was already ten minutes late, and Alastor was beginning to have his doubts that the man would show up at all.

Just when he was about to give up and leave, Lucifer came bounding down the corridor, his hair mussed and his tunic stained, the garment only half-tucked into his trousers.

“Sorry I’m late!” he panted as he skidded to a halt next to Alastor. “Long night. Too long, if I’m being honest,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Alastor’s heart sank, his usual smile withering on his face.

The disheveledness, the half-undone tunic, the messy hair and far-too-cheery disposition for one rising so late in the morning… had the king been… entertaining someone last night? The notion wasn’t entirely absurd: Lucifer was an attractive man, and a king besides. He could have anyone he wanted in all of Gehenna, and it was very clear that neither he nor Lilith cared much for restraining themselves to the confines of their marriage bed. Alastor himself had failed miserably at his duties as a concubine, and therefore it was only to be expected that Lucifer would seek release elsewhere. It was a normal thing for any king to do. A normal thing for any man to do.

So why was Alastor’s blood turning to ice in his veins, and why was his stomach sinking?

“I’m glad you managed to find yourself sufficient entertainment for the evening, sire,” he said between gritted teeth, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

“Well, not exactly the word I would use, but sure. Is Charlie inside?” Lucifer asked distractedly.

“Yes. We were waiting for you for nearly fifteen minutes.”

The king ignored him as he pushed into Charlie’s tutoring room, exclaiming a bright, happy good morning to his daughter. Alastor sighed in resignation and followed, attempting to mentally pull himself back from the shock of realizing that Lucifer was sleeping with someone else, and the subsequent upset that he felt about it.

He had no right to be angry with the king. Lucifer could do what he wanted, and besides, how many times had Alastor had told himself during the last week that he needed to stop himself from getting so close, so… involved? This little incident had only made it all the more clear that it was useless to hold any affection towards the king (if what Alastor was feeling could even be called that). In fact, Alastor could spin it to his advantage, using any hurt he felt over the whole ordeal to trump any lingering weakness within him. He was a man on a mission, and if Lucifer Morningstar wanted to f*ck painted whor*s or innocent serving girls that was his business. It only made it all the more clear that he had no interest in Alastor, and that Alastor should have no interest in him.

He steeled himself, forcibly shutting his emotions into a teeny tiny box at the back of his mind. Whatever he may feel for Lucifer besides, he was here to help Charlie, and he would not let her down.

As Alastor fully entered the room he was greeted with the sight of the princess and her father standing at one of the desks, poring over several lengths of parchment. There were already many balls of the stuff that had been crumpled up and tossed to the side, the small wastebasket sitting next to the desk nearly overflowing with them.

“Alastor!” Charlie greeted, smiling brightly as she looked up. “Come over and take a look at what I’ve been planning. I was up all night!”

Alastor smiled indulgently and meandered over, admittedly curious to see what the princess had come up with. When he reached them he stood next to her, looking down at the various pieces of parchment that were covered with scribbled, nearly illegible writing, an obvious sign of Charlie’s excitement.

“Okay, so dad explained your solution with the archers in the trees. I didn’t like it at first, but I know that the workers out there need to be protected, and if the archers are commanded to keep their aim low to just scare the bandits rather than kill them, I guess that could work. But! I was thinking, why not try to solve the underlying cause? I mean, these people are stealing for a reason, right?”

Alastor shrugged. “I know it pains you to admit it, my dear, but sometimes people are just, well, bad people. You cannot fix everyone, or blame the world for everyone’s problems. Sometimes people end up where they are because they want to be there.”

Charlie looked up at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “But that also means that some people out there are stealing because they have no other choice, right? If not everyone is a good person, then not everyone is a bad person, either.”

Alastor hummed noncommittally. For all her naivety, he supposed she had a point.

“So what’s your plan, Char?” Lucifer prompted from her other side. He was gazing at his daughter intently, pride and love clear on his face. The expression sent a rush of warmth down Alastor’s spine. He straightened, irritably trying to shake off the feeling.

“Well, the bandits are stealing food. They don’t attempt to break into our coffers or armory, nor terrorize the merchant wagons coming in and out of the castle. What if we set up some sort of food program to supply people with free produce and bread? It doesn’t have to be our highest quality stock, of course: simply the fruit that is already ripe and wouldn't last through the shipment process to the other cities. Grain that can’t be stored. Leftovers from the castle. Husk gave me the reports of how much food waste goes out of this place per month, and I’m sure that it could be put to better use than feeding the pigs.”

“The High Priest already provides charitable meals for the poorly, if I am not mistaken,” Alastor said mildly.

“Well, that’s what I thought too! But here’s the thing, Husk says that those places haven’t been open in months, and when they are they only serve moldy bread and water, not enough for anyone to live off of. There are children in those breadlines, Al. I can’t just let them starve,” Charlie said, her voice filled with righteous indignation.

“And what about the cost? Yes, the castle produces a large amount of food waste, but it is surely not enough to feed everyone who needs it. You will need to subsidize donated food, which will incur a monetary toll.”

“The fruit from the orchards…” Charlie trailed off, her brow furrowed as she looked past Alastor to a spot on the wall, deep in thought.

“Are not enough,” he finished for her. “There are many hungry souls in this city, my dear, and when they hear that you are handing out free food they will flock to the gates. Not to mention the cutthroats and other unsavoury types that will attempt to capitalize on your generosity for their own gain, likely by stealing the food and then attempting to sell it.”

Charlie frowned, looking troubled. Her expression made Alastor sigh. He placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze of reassurance. “You don’t need to solve all of these problems today, Charlie. As queen you will have a flock of advisors and counselors around you, people who have experience with these sorts of matters. Trust in them, but also trust in yourself. Be resolute with your decisions, no matter the outcome.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “You’re good at this, you know. I guess it’s only to be expected, with you being an ambassador and all.”

“I- yes. Of course,” Alastor said, blinking in surprise. He saw Lucifer co*ck his brow from over Charlie’s shoulder but refused to acknowledge him. “One must be… well informed when they do work such as I.”

It wasn’t a complete lie - assassins did have to be well informed to perform their jobs - but even still, it made his stomach twist uncomfortably to say it. For some reason, the thought of lying so directly to Charlie made him extremely uncomfortable.

Charlie hummed and turned back to the pages spread across the desk. “Anything to add, dad?” she asked after a moment.

Lucifer jumped a little, looking startled that he was actually being addressed. He cleared his throat and glanced at the parchments offhandedly. “Guards can be used to keep order while the rations are being distributed,” he mused. “Or perhaps the faith themselves can be revitalized and reminded of their jobs. If the castle moves through the faith, it will be less work for us, and therefore we won’t end up with anyone starting riots at the palace gates. We can present it as a joint partnership: we provide the food, and the faith provides the organization and protection.”

Charlie nodded enthusiastically. “That could work! That way we’ll both receive credit, and we won’t need to hire any additional guards or other staff to organize and distribute.”

“You will need to keep a careful eye to ensure that your endeavors are not corrupted,” Alastor cautioned. “Even members of the faith are not immune to greed.”

“Of course. I’ll visit myself!”

“Ah, perhaps that would not be wise, princess,” Alastor said gently. “If there is any true corruption, they would likely put on a facade for you while you are there, then return to sleuthing as soon as you turn your back. Better to send a face they do not know, a person whom you trust implicitly, when they least expect it.”

“Clever,” Lucifer murmured under his breath, and Alastor felt heat rise to his cheeks. Yes, it was clever, and he knew it. The king telling him so seemed to be another matter entirely, however.

Charlie clapped her hands excitedly, startling him from his thoughts. “Thank you so much!” she gushed, her eyes shining. “You were both such amazing help. I’m going to take this back to my rooms and start working out a letter to the High Priest right away!”

“Ah, Charlie, there is a little more preparation required than-” Alastor started, but the girl had already snatched up her various rolls of parchment and was headed for the door.

“Thank you again!” she called, before excitedly stepping into the hall and slamming it shut. Alastor rolled his eyes in fond exacerbation. The princess had a kind heart but much to learn in the ways of ruling.

“So…” Lucifer said once Charlie’s footsteps had retreated down the corridor. “Ambassador, huh? Your little excuse for being here, I take it?”

“Ah, no. That would be the queen’s idea, your majesty,” Alastor said sheepishly. “Although I imagine that you do not want Charlotte to know the exact reason for my being here?”

“Ha, you got me there. Which city are you supposedly an envoy from?”

“Wrath.”

“I see. A prickly place full of prickly people. Hot climate, cunning politicians, ruthless, intelligent inhabitants. You’d fit in there.”

“I… is that supposed to be a compliment?” Alastor asked, not knowing whether to be offended or not.

Lucifer inclined his head, smiling as he looked at Alastor from beneath his lashes. The move made Alastor’s tongue and throat suddenly feel very dry, like all the saliva in his mouth had evaporated at once.

“Would you believe me if I told you yes?” the king asked as he took a step towards the assassin. Alastor took a step back himself, and suddenly found the edge of the desk pressed right to his hip, halting his movements.

“I-”

“You did well today, Alastor,” Lucifer interrupted, his voice a low purr. “I don’t know what I was expecting from you, but it certainly wasn’t that. You were an asset to Charlie’s endeavor, and for that I thank you. I’m almost tempted to grant you a seat on my own council, though I know they would hardly appreciate being outwitted by a commoner.”

“I thought my social status did not matter to you,” Alastor said, vying for some sort of control over the conversation. He didn’t know what the f*ck was going on, but the king was still looking at him in that way: his eyes dark and playful, a small smirk gracing his lips. His tunic was still untucked and half-unlaced, revealing the shadow of his collarbone and several inches of the white, flawless skin of his chest.

The whole ordeal was making Alastor feel simultaneously hot and cold - his cheeks were burning, his heart hammering, but his hands were clammy and cool. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and as the king slowly moved closer, he surprisingly found he was not opposed to the proximity.

“Oh, it doesn’t, but not everyone on my council is as lenient as I. Most of them are uptight pricks, in fact, but I have no doubt that you’d show them all up. It’d be glorious to watch them squirm while you put them in their place.”

“Oh,” Alastor breathed, his eyes wide.

Yes, he wanted that. He wanted a chance to stick it to those vainglorious pricks; to show that despite his birth, he was cleverer and far more capable than all of them. But more than that, some deep, secret part of his soul wanted Lucifer to be impressed by his cunning and resourcefulness. He wanted to be worthy of standing at the king’s side, and not just as a paramour, but as an equal.

Lucifer was suddenly right in front of him, and his breath caught as their chests nearly brushed. He had to look down at the king, but no one could mistake the power imbalance between them: Lucifer practically exuded calm, flirtatious co*ckiness, while Alastor thought he himself probably looked like a trembling schoolboy. He certainly felt like one; he suddenly found that his knees were weak, and he had to place a hand on the desk pressed into the back of his thighs just to remain stable.

“Mm. Clever and beautiful. Lucky me,” the king purred. He reached up and cupped Alastor’s chin, pressing his thumb to the assassin’s lower lip, pushing down firmly to test the give of the plump flesh. Alastor swallowed hard, finding that he was suddenly unable to catch his breath.

“As beautiful as your other paramour?” he asked.

As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them. He winced, his eyes widening. Why had he asked that? What was wrong with him?

Lucifer blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he asked, seeming to be completely bewildered.

“I- your paramour, from last night,” Alastor said, squirming in discomfort. The low, sultry mood was rapidly receding from the room, and he was shocked to find that he missed it.

Lucifer looked even more confused for a brief moment, then suddenly his expression cleared. He threw back his head and laughed, his hand still cupped gently over Alastor’s jaw.

“Oh, you silly darling,” the king smiled when he was finished. “I was up all night working on my projects, not f*cking someone. Why, were you jealous?”

“No!” Alastor said, even as relief flooded through him. “Of course not. You are the king. It is your right to lay with whom you please.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you say,” Lucifer teased. He began to stroke his thumb affectionately over Alastor’s bottom lip, an action that made warm tingles dance up Alastor’s spine. “But just for the record, I have not been with anyone since the night we shared together.”

Alastor nodded dumbly, unsure of what to say. Luckily, Lucifer didn’t seem to want to tease him further. Instead he pressed himself fully to Alastor’s front, slotting his leg between Alastor’s much longer ones. “Is this alright? I’m not frightening you, am I?”

Alastor felt his already overheated cheeks darken with a renewed blush at the reminder of his humiliation the first night that they had met, and how he had reacted in fear. Part of him wanted to shove the king away for the accidental slight; another, larger part of him wanted more of whatever this dizzying, all-consuming feeling was. He felt as if he had drunk an entire tankard full of the palace’s signature alcoholic cider - his head was spinning, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he was sure that Lucifer could feel it. And he wanted more.

“You aren’t frightening me,” Alastor whispered, his voice cracking lightly. “I- I seem to find that I- that I want-”

“Hush,” Lucifer shushed him with a smile. “You are allowed to enjoy yourself, no explanations necessary. Now, would you like me to touch you?”

Alastor’s ears rang at the implication. He vaguely realized he was nodding his head, his mouth dropping open as Lucifer tugged on his bottom lip with his thumb. The king then slowly slid his digit forward, bumping it across Alastor’s bottom teeth before stroking it ever-so-gently along his tongue.

Alastor moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he got his first taste of Lucifer’s skin. Without even fully realizing what he was doing he suckled Lucifer’s thumb further into his mouth, running his tongue along the bottom of it to catch more of the slightly salty flavour. The king tasted divine, and through the haze in his mind Alastor vaguely wondered if he tasted just as good everywhere.

“Good boy,” Lucifer whispered, hot in Alastor’s ear, and completely unbidden a loud, whimpery whine fell from between Alastor’s lips.

His eyes immediately flew open in shocked horror, his hand flying up to seize Lucifer’s wrist and wrench his thumb from his mouth. By all the gods, what was he doing ?!

“I- I’m sorry your majesty, I-” he stuttered as he fought for composure, his cheeks flaming with utter humiliation. “I never meant to-”

“Relax, Alastor,” Lucifer commanded firmly. “You did nothing wrong.”

“But I-”

“It is not a crime to express your pleasure,” the king said, his tone and expression gentling. “In fact, I would rather like to hear more, if you’d let me.”

Alastor knew he shouldn’t. It was foolish to allow himself to be so vulnerable, so weak . But oh, what temptation. Lucifer was singularly gorgeous, with his tousled golden hair and his wide twilit eyes. He was offering every pleasure Alastor had never desired before now, and all the assassin had to do was say yes.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice tumultuous. “Okay.”

Alastor expected Lucifer to grab him, perhaps place his thumb back in his mouth. Instead, the king completely surprised him by gently cupping his face, his small palms cradling either side of Alastor’s jaw. He leaned forward, boosting himself on his tiptoes to bring their faces together. Alastor allowed his eyes to slip closed as Lucifer placed a soft, tender kiss on his lips.

His stomach swooped as their lips met, an entirely different feeling from the two other kisses he had ever participated in. Lucifer’s lips were full and slightly chapped, a sign that he often worried them between his teeth. His breath was warm as it fanned across Alastor’s cheek, their noses brushing gently as he turned his head, offering Alastor different angles and pressures as he separated and re-acquainted their lips over and over again.

Alastor breathed out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as he hesitantly brought his hands to the king’s waist, not gripping or pulling but simply placing them there. Lucifer hummed in approval as he changed the angle and depth of his kisses once more, the new position making Alastor’s head swim. He was finally beginning to understand what all poets blabbered on about; what all the simpering maidens giggled over to their bedmates; what all the groomsmen and knights vied for. Kissing Lucifer was bliss, and he never wanted to stop.

After another few moments Lucifer parted his lips, letting his tongue slip from between them to gently flick across the seam of Alastor’s mouth. Alastor made a startled, intrigued sound at the action, curious to see what Lucifer was up to. To his immense disappointment the king pulled away, his eyes soft as Alastor made a protesting noise in the back of his throat.

“When I do that, it means that I want you to open your mouth for me, okay?” Lucifer whispered into the tiny space between them.

Alastor nodded, eager to get the king’s lips back on his. He felt like he would agree with Lucifer even if the king said that the sky was pink and Charlie was secretly a sixty-year-old man, if only it meant being rewarded with more of those delightful kisses.

Chuckling, the king drew Alastor back in for another kiss, warming him back up to the action before repeating the motion of flicking his tongue against his lips. This time Alastor opened eagerly, curious for the next step in their little dance.

The sound he let out was entirely involuntary as Lucifer’s hot, slick tongue caressed his. His grip instinctively tightened on the king’s hips, his slender fingers gripping the cotton of Lucifer’s tunic tightly.

Lucifer moaned in response, deepening the kiss by thrusting his tongue further inside the hot cavern of Alastor’s mouth. He flicked his tongue up across Alastor’s top teeth before bringing it back down, gliding it wetly against Alastor’s own slick muscle. He withdrew slightly and Alastor followed him, not even hearing the way that he whined petulantly at the loss. His whine quickly turned to a groan of delight as Lucifer thrusted his tongue back inside, picking up a slow, sensual but unmistakably lewd rhythm as he f*cked into Alastor’s mouth with his tongue.

Alastor was feeling completely out of control. His head swam with nothing but Lucifer Lucifer Lucifer as he mindlessly kneaded the flesh of the king’s hips. He was hot all over, his temperature skyrocketing to an unbearable degree, and with a jolt he realized that he was hard, his co*ck straining the front of his trousers in an obscene display of desire.

Lucifer must have realized the same thing, for he pulled back and away from Alastor’s mouth, giving his swollen, tender lips one last parting nip.

“I need to know how far you’d like to take this,” Lucifer said. Alastor blinked open his eyes, trying to focus on the king’s words. His glasses were slightly askew on his nose and he reached up to right them, forcing his blurry vision to focus. He was pleased to see that Lucifer was looking a little flushed himself, clearly affected by the kiss as well.

“What do you mean?” Alastor asked, his voice coming out slightly slurred even to his own ears.

Lucifer smiled indulgently and stroked his thumb along one of Alastor’s sharp cheekbones. “I mean do you want to take this further? We can keep kissing if that’s what you’d like, or, if you’d allow me, I’d really really like to touch you. It’s entirely your decision though.”

“Touch me how?” Alastor asked, the haze in his mind receding a little as he became more wary.

“I’d like to touch your co*ck, Alastor,” the king said, his voice low and hypnotizing. “I’d like to stroke you off, and feel the weight of that pretty co*ck in my hand. I want to see you desperate and writhing for my touch, until you have no choice but to spill all over my knuckles, painting me with your spend. I want to know what your face looks like when you come.”

“Holy sh*t,” Alastor whispered, his voice strangled and far too high for his liking. No one had ever spoken to him in such a way, and his co*ck seemed to enjoy the attention immensely, if the way it twitched hard in his pants was anything to go by.

“What do you say?” Lucifer asked, his expression eager.

“Yes. Yes, please,” Alastor quickly nodded. He was still nervous, but the adoring look Lucifer gave him was more than enough to affirm that this was something that he really did want.

Lucifer leaned forward and placed a quick peck to Alastor’s lips before he settled flat on his feet once more. He nuzzled up under Alastor’s jaw, giving the thin flesh there tiny little sucks and kisses, nibbling along Alastor’s jawline until the assassin fully relaxed in his hold.

Slowly Lucifer brought his hand down between them to tug at the laces of Alastor’s trousers. Alastor’s hands flexed on the king’s hips and he forced himself to focus on the attention being shown to his jaw and throat, Lucifer’s sharp little canines providing the most delicious burn as he gently bit down, sucking a mark into the tender skin below Alastor’s ear.

When the laces were fully loosened Lucifer slipped his hand inside, his fingertips just barely skimming the heated flesh of Alastor’s erection. Alastor gasped, his hicks bucking forward on their own accord at the first hint of friction. Lucifer hummed in approval against his throat before boldly wrapping his hand around Alastor’s shaft and extracting his co*ck from his pants.

Alastor whined, his thighs spreading as his co*ck was manhandled into the open air. Lucifer’s hand was impossibly soft as it cradled the hard flesh of his co*ck. He gave it a gentle squeeze as he tested out the girth and length, stroking his hand along the entire length once in an exploratory fashion. Alastor’s eyes rolled back, his mouth dropping open into a moan at the single pump Lucifer gave him.

“So sensitive,” Lucifer panted in his ear. “f*ck, I could just eat you up, sweet thing.”

“Please,” Alastor whined, desperate already just from the simple, barely-there touches.

“Shh, honey, we’re getting there,” Lucifer soothed. He pumped his hand again, bringing it down to the base of Alastor’s shaft before swiftly coming back up and thumbing back Alastor’s foreskin. Alastor shouted at the sudden action, his thighs trembling and his knees nearly buckling as Lucifer ran his thumb across the head of his co*ck, digging into the slit to collect the dewey drops of precum there and using them to slick Alastor’s shaft as he passed his hand along it once more.

Alastor’s abdomen was already beginning to tighten, his balls drawing up in preparation for climax, and Lucifer had barely even touched him. He brought his hands up from the king’s hips to latch onto his shoulders, his fingers curling as he threw his head back and panted. Pleasure swamped his mind completely until all he could feel was Lucifer’s hand on his co*ck, and all he could hear was his soft crooning in his ear.

“That’s it, baby boy, give in to me. You look so f*cking good, f*ck, can’t wait to see what you look like taking my fingers, taking my co*ck… c’mon honey, that’s it. Come for me. Make a mess all over my hand, I know you can. Be a good boy for me, Alastor.”

Alastor cried out, his hips f*cking forward into Lucifer’s fist once, twice, three times and then he was coming, his co*ck twitching hard between Lucifer’s fingers as it sprayed hot cum between them, covering their tunics in his spend.

“Oh, f*ck, oh, please, please, please,” he whimpered. His hands dug into Lucifer’s shoulders like talons, but the king didn’t seem to mind. If anything he only pumped Alastor’s co*ck faster, until he was whining in overstimulation and reaching down to grip Lucifer’s wrist in a bid to get him to stop.

Alastor went limp, leaning heavily against the desk for support as Lucifer released his co*ck and brought his cum-covered hand up for inspection. Before Alastor could react Lucifer’s tongue was darting forward, sampling the spend that coated it.

“Gods,” Alastorwhispered as he watched Lucifer lick his cum from his fingers with wide eyes.

“Mm, you taste as good as I thought you would,” the king said, tipping Alastor a salacious wink. “How’re you feeling, big boy?”

“Tired. Dirty. Sticky,” Alastor reported, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Now that his afterglow was fading, he found that he desperately wanted a bath. But first: “Would you like me to…?”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. There will be plenty of other opportunities. If you want, that is,” Lucifer gave him a bashful sort of look, as if he wasn’t sure how Alastor would respond to the possible invitation of more intimate interactions between them.

Alastor found that he didn’t hate the idea. Kissing Lucifer had been wonderful, and the king seemed willing to be patient and understanding. He could only hope that that patience would not run out.

“I think I’d like that,” Alastor said hesitantly. Lucifer beamed at him, and he felt a tiny, barely-there flutter in his chest at the expression.

“Now, may we please get me cleaned up?”