I didn't send the initial prompt so I hope this is allowed, but could I request a followup to the story where Lucifer gets addicted to Alastor's blood? One where he finally gets that taste he's been so desperately craving, whether through charm or persistence or a trade of some sort?
Part 1 here.
Lucifer tried everything. He tried meditation. He tried stuffing his face with so much cake his waistband grew three sizes (he later transfigured it away, so no one would ask him Concerned Questions). He even went on vacation to the Lust Ring for a while, but there were only so many sex jokes a person could take before they started seeing penises and boobs everywhere.
The whole time he was there, he kept thinking about the forbidden fruit coursing through Alastor’s veins. And when he was done lusting after Alastor’s blood, he would think about Alastor in general. Alastor would hate this, he thought, bored out of his mind while a cow devil was milked dry in front of him. Alastor would hate that, he thought, as Ozzie and his partner treated him to a very graphic display of affection that left his face redder than a tomato. When Ozzie started rolling out the really premium shows, Lucifer decided it was high time for him to go.
By that time, the obsession had grown to the point where he was nearly deafened by it, the constant refrain of AlastorthisAlastorthatAlastorAlastorAlastor –
Then he stepped out of his golden portal, and a tall figure sitting in an armchair by the fire turned around and the voice went silent.
Alastor barely looked up, too busy petting KeeKee and looking like the world’s best Bond villain to give him the time of day.
“Ah, you’re back.”
When had that radio static started sounding like home? “Did y’all miss me?” He glanced around, deflating a little at the empty sitting room. “Where is everyone?”
“Busy with any number of far more important matters, I’m sure,” Alastor drawled.
“It’s good to see you too, asshole,” Lucifer grumbled. The brief moment of homecoming faded, replaced by that permanent feeling of annoyance that he always felt around Alastor. He had started stomping upstairs when the shadows by the top of the stairs shifted, crinkled. Then Alastor was there, blocking his way.
“I see your Majesty has his tiny knickers in a twist,” he commented, as if that wasn’t a totally inappropriate to say to the biblical source of all evil.
Lucifer’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Excuse me?”
“I wouldn’t bother trying to deny it if I were you,” Alastor mentioned. “That would be quite an insult to my intelligence. You’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. The whole hotel has noticed it. You’ve been dragging that silly cane all over the place, something you only do when you're upset.” A flash of green lit up Alastor’s wide smile. He looked positively ghoulish, but Lucifer was still stuck on his comment about his cane. I drag it when I’m sad? Since when? And why did he notice? “If it’s bothering you so much, why not share the load?”
“You want me to…tell you my problems? What is this, storytime?” Lucifer scoffed.
“Perhaps I could lend you my assistance,” he purred. “For a price, of course.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Now you’re insulting my intelligence.” With a flick of his hand, another portal appeared on the stairs, blocking Alastor from view. The demon was oddly perceptive. He didn’t want him to see just how close he was to falling to his knees and blubbering yes please just a sip, just one more taste.
(Lillith had always called him a drama queen. Maybe she’d had a point.)
The portal didn’t block the sound of Alastor’s voice, more’s the pity. “Is this about the little scratch you gave me a few weeks ago?”
Lucifer stilled. The portal wavered, guttered, and went out, leaving the two of them staring at each other.
“How–?” He stammered.
Alastor’s grin was triumphant. “How many times must I say it? Never underestimate my intelligence. So am I correct?”
Lucifer didn’t respond, which was answer enough. Alastor sniffed.
“In that case, I believe I have an answer to your problems.”
What? Was he offering what Lucifer thought he was offering? “And what could that possibly be?”
“Quid pro quo, my dear. You get some of my blood, and I get some of yours.”
“Fine,” Lucifer gestured him over impatiently. “Come here and bite me –”
“Not like that.”
Alastor raised a small glass vial. His smile would have made a crocodile jealous. “I told you, just a little bit of blood. I never said to drink.”
Alastor eyes flashed into dials and the darkness was split by a lazer of green, then red – a literal red flag. The biggest STOP HERE, DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200 Lucifer had ever seen.
But his mouth was so dry. He could barely think past how large his tongue had grown. Besides, he was the king of hell. The original sin. What harm could it do to let Alastor have a little bit of his blood?
A lot, the rational part of his brain whispered. This is Alastor we’re talking about. But the rational part of his brain had grown rather quiet around the Crusades, and he’d lost a good chunk of it by World War II.
Charlie said he was reckless. She didn’t know the half of it.
“Fine,” Lucifer said. “But you only get to take my blood once. And I can drink from you when I want.”
Alastor thought for a moment, then his lips moved.
Deal.
The word disappeared in the cra-a-ack of green lightning that struck around them like fireworks. He started to roll up his sleeves, but Lucifer was too quick for him. He flew up the steps and smashed into Alastor with such force he sent them spiraling into the wall. Alastor gasped, but before he could protest, Lucifer had torn the fabric of his shirt and slashed a deep groove into the cool skin of his neck.
Finally, that sweet blood flowed onto his tongue. He moaned, his lids fluttering as he drank greedily. Big mouthfuls at a time.
Sin. Death. Apples. Smoke and sugar. The taste was indescribable, and in that moment, Lucifer thought he could have promised Alastor his whole kingdom, and it would have been a fair trade.
Alastor, for his part, stayed dutifully still, even when Lucifer licked off the blood that had splattered onto Alastor’s collarbone and the tip of his chin, unwilling to let even a drop of it go to waste.
It took a while, but Lucifer finally leaned back with a groan, his lips smeared with blood like it was cherry chapstick.
“Satisfied?” Alastor muttered. Lucifer made an incoherent sound of joy.
“Good. I am as well.” Alastor raised a completely full vial of golden blood. When had he taken it? “I believe it was a satisfactory deal for both parties.”
Then he smiled in a way that made Lucifer's skin prickle.
Heavenly Father, what have I done?
