Shameless Cross-Post: Radioapple
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
On the eve of yet another Valentine's Day, Lucifer is unable to sleep. Plagued by loneliness and an old persistent craving, Alastor emerges as the irritating solution to both the King's problems.
Or:
They share a cigarette. And maybe something more.
Content Warning: Nicotine addictions, brief child abuse reference
Word Count: 3,941
Part One: A Cigarette
The midnight air was warm, but with enough of a breeze to cut through the thick moisture that constantly permeated Hell’s atmosphere. Lucifer sauntered over to the thin metal railing between him and a fourteen-story fall to the concrete below, and took a long breath in. He was grateful for a brief reprieve after hours of tossing and turning beneath the silken sheets of his continent-sized bed. Empty, save for the copious amount of rubber ducks he used in a sorry attempt to fill the void. But nothing replaced the warmth of another body beside him.
Lucifer snorted. His inner dialogue always grew bleak around this time of year. Another Valentine’s Day alone. He’d mentally prepared himself to smile through all the festivities Charlie had planned, which included cookie-decorating, photo booth picture-taking, and rom-com watching. Then in the evening, Lucifer would watch all the lovely couples split for romantic dinners or sloppy hookups while he retired to his room to get drunk off Chardonnay and watch Casablanca, or perhaps The Notebook—if he was particularly feeling like crying his eyes out. Pathetic, yes, but a vast improvement from his first Valentine’s Day alone.
His grip on the railing tightened. He’d rather not recall then, the despair like a crushing weight on his fragile heart, suffocating on the immense love he had no one to give. He really had improved at managing the pit of loneliness that grew more pronounced during the holiday.
Seven Valentine-less Valentine’s Days. What was another?
And yet…
Something was different this year.
Something had been different for quite a few months now, though he hadn’t dared to give it a name. Lucifer had found himself smiling, really smiling, more than he had in ages. He hated that the mere thought had the corner of his lips upturned even now. His bed was no longer completely void of activity, and a thrill akin to an electric shock had found a home in his veins, sparking whenever they locked eyes. It was all so frivolous, temporary, a fact they had both vocalized to an extent.
But oh, was it fun...
Lucifer slumped over the smooth railing, wind blowing strands of gold into his eyes as he rested his chin in his palm. He had neglected the rollers tonight. As if there might be a need to have the locks free for pulling.
Though he had naturally withdrawn more than usual that evening, on account of the looming holiday, perhaps a quiet part of him had held out hope that tonight would be one of those rousing nights he had grown to love. A sufficient distraction from the omnipresent loneliness. It was only when the thought of knocking on that certain someone's door actually crossed his conscious mind that he recognized his idiocy. That was asking for trouble. So, rather than humiliate himself, he’d chosen to suffer but suffer with his dignity intact. Stars forbid him ever sink so low as to resort to begging for a hookup, like so many other wretched souls that populated his miserable domain.
No. He’d rather face insomnia head-on, watching the distant flickering lights of Pentagram city while the rest of the hotel residents slept or fucked each other senselessly behind him.
Lucifer craved sleep, but he wouldn’t have minded the latter—
“What an unfortunate surprise!”
Lucifer jumped out of his skin in what must have been a sight straight out of a cartoon, whirling around so swiftly the railing made perfect contact with that not-so-funny nerve in his elbow. The shock radiated up his arm fiercely, adding to the sour shame of post-scare clarity as he spat a curse. He glared daggers at the glowing smile, having grown even bigger at the brief scene he had created.
“Someone’s rather tense this evening,” Alastor hummed, giving Lucifer that cat-like head tilt the King had grown to associate with him. Indeed, the infamous Radio Demon stood before him in all his smug, irritating glory. He was, however, strangely missing his long, pin-striped coat, leaving just his scarlet dress shirt. Lucifer had seen Alastor in various states of undress over the past few months, but it had yet to lose its novelty. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. He was in nothing but his favorite blue, duck-print pajama set and fluffy slippers. An outfit meant for comfort, not to impress.
“Uh, yeah, maybe it’s because you came outta nowhere?! Like a freak,” Lucifer spat, eyeing Alastor as he took a place at the railing beside him. He left just enough distance to be considered polite, but far too little to be considered comfortable. Lucifer’s skin prickled, like the very radio waves that radiated off the demon were caressing his flesh in ghostly whispers. The King was irritated now. He had already planned on sulking for the night, and he was not keen on changing that now, lest he give Alastor that satisfaction. Said demon’s gaze was subtly fixed on him, watching from the corner of his eye for the slightest slip in composure. Lucifer returned to leaning on the railing, as if the scare hadn’t happened at all, and the flicker of heat in his chest wasn't currently happening. He was definitely irritated.
“So…what’s got you up and haunting the halls at an hour like this?” Lucifer queried flatly. “It is two in the A.M.”
“I could ask you the very same,” Alastor retorted with the faux cheeriness of a television host—well, radio host, Lucifer supposed. While he spoke, an ornate gold tin materialized in his palm with a flash of green magic. The design on the lid was reminiscent of the geometric art deco style, pristine save for the small dents that were only really noticeable in certain angles of the light. Lucifer regarded the rather old-fashioned cigarette case with immediate interest, his frown slipping from his face. A crack in the facade.
The woody bitterness of tobacco settled on his tongue, and phantom smoke filled his lungs with the warmth of an old friend. Lucifer intertwined his fingers to conceal the way his right hand had begun to tremble. He was once again aware of whose company he was in and schooled his expression.
“Couldn’t sleep. The joys of insomnia! And I am definitely not in the mood to deal with you, aha, nooo~!” Lucifer grinned bitterly. Alastor was unperturbed by the apparent jab. He was in the process of removing a single cigarette from that ornate tin. Alastor placed the cigarette between his lips, sparked a small chartreuse flame from his right thumb to light it, and Lucifer watched with a hint of jealousy as he took a long drag. Alastor had never smoked in front of Lucifer before, though it was no secret that he did. The King could smell it off his clothes like a faint perfume, and taste it on his tongue when they kissed. It was always hard for Lucifer to ignore the lingering cravings after an encounter with him.
The slight tension in Alastor’s shoulders eased with his exhale, smoke swirling up into the maroon night sky. Lucifer watched as it faded away, some of his irritation going with it. It was quiet now as they stood side-by-side, a pair of lonely sinners watching the night pass them by. At least, Lucifer thought, he wouldn’t be the only one without a Valentine. No one else was miserable enough to put up with Alastor. The demon’s monocle was also absent at the moment, leaving nothing obscuring his face. Lucifer traced his profile with his eyes, the slope of his nose, and the curve of his relaxed smile.
That was something he could do now, read the differences in Alastor’s smiles. They could be subtle, but there were tells. The crinkle of an eye, the tilt of the head, the quirk of a brow. It really was all in the eyes, though. Whoever said ‘eyes are the window to the soul’ certainly knew what they were saying. For a man as poised as Alastor, even he couldn’t completely erase what lay beneath. As of right now, those crimson eyes were relaxed, ruminative even, a sight Lucifer unfortunately enjoyed much more than he liked to admit. He looked… good, resting his forearms on the balcony railing in an uncharacteristically lax posture. This was a side of Alastor not many had the privilege of seeing. A fact he knew all too well. Alastor’s eyes slid over to him, and Lucifer was caught staring.
He snapped his gaze away with a light cough, a gentle golden flush blooming beneath his cheeks like dim rays of sunlight.
Pathetic.
“Ya got another one of those?” Lucifer asked as the scent of smoke drifted over to him in the wind. The scent of blown-out birthday candles, late-night glasses of Merlot, and a deep ache left to simmer over low heat. His hands trembled again, and he shoved them into his pockets. He recognized Alastor’s genuine surprise in the subtle raise of a brow, the reaction sparking a flash of pride within him. There was that thrill, riding through his veins like a shot of tequila.
“I’m afraid this was my last,” Alastor said. He paused to take another drag, then rested his head in his free hand as he fixed his gaze squarely on Lucifer, interest flickering within those irises. “I must admit, I never took you for a smoker.”
Lucifer snorted, lips curving up lightly as his eyes traced the small expanse of railing between them. An expanse easily crossed by an outstretched hand.
“There is a lot you don’t know about me.”
Alastor hummed in what Lucifer assumed was quiet agreement. Sure, they had been hooking up on occasion (though, more frequently in recent times), but that did not change the fact that they had only really been friends for a few months. If you could even call what was going on between them friendship. Lucifer enjoyed their rather impassioned spats, how easily they swapped insults in a never-ending game of wits. In short, Alastor pissed him off in such a thrilling way that Lucifer couldn’t possibly file their relationship under the ‘friendship’ label.
Silence filled that measly gap between them—silence and smoke. Lucifer inhaled with each of Alastor’s exhales, chasing after that sense of serenity that accompanied the relief of persistent withdrawal. The end to a quiet, muted suffering, a longing left by absence. That was something Alastor and a cigarette had in common.
Lucifer returned to simply watching.
“I stole my first cigarette from my father when I was ten,” Alastor said unprompted, jolting Lucifer out of his wistful thoughts. He didn’t bother confirming that the King was listening as he continued, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette. “He had left the pack in his coat pocket, so I saw no harm in helping myself.”
“Ten years old?” Lucifer interjected, brows raised in disbelief. “Why the heck does a ten-year-old want a cigarette?”
“What can I say, I was a terribly curious child!” Alastor laughed in that theatrical way he always did, like he was entertaining hundreds of sinners even now. “Horrendous experience, truly awful. Nearly coughed up a lung! And then I dropped the smoldering thing right on the carpet, burnt a hole straight through. That’s what tipped off the old man, ha! He beat the dickens out of me.”
Alastor recounted the whole affair with such a fondness that one could almost be fooled into thinking the memory was a happy one.
Lucifer, however, was disturbed.
“He beat you?!”
Alastor rolled his eyes and waved his hand as if to shoo away Lucifer’s concern.
“Of course he did! I was a thief and was, naturally, punished. But never fear, I got him back!” Sinister implications lay beneath his jaunty tone, though he added—“But that’s a story for another time”—before Lucifer could bother asking.
The King was rather stumped as he mulled over this new tidbit of information. Alastor was hardly one to volunteer personal information. In fact, the only things Lucifer knew about Alastor’s life before Hell were that he was a prolific serial killer, a radio host, and once had a mother. And now there was a new piece to the strange puzzle that was Alastor. A father. A childhood. The concept of Alastor once being ten was impossible for Lucifer to grasp.
Tendrils of bitter smoke coiled around Lucifer’s face, filling his lungs and soaking into the fibers of his clothes. He had always hated that about cigarette smoke. It persisted. The magical flourish of a hand was enough to purge the acrid miasma from his body, but maybe tonight, he’d wait a little longer to do so. Linger in Alastor’s scent just a little more.
Lucifer followed the cigarette’s movement from its idle place between Alastor’s fingers up to Alastor’s lips. He really wanted a cigarette.
“Tobacco’s always kinda existed in Hell, y'know, grows naturally down in Greed, but it got reaaaally popular with you sinners around the 1600s.” The words flowed naturally, as they always seemed to when Lucifer was with Alastor. “That’s when all the genocidal maniacs that invaded the Americas started popping up here. Brought the craving down with them.”
Alastor had his eyes fixed on Lucifer, head still cradled languidly in his palm. In moments like these, the King could never tell if that casual smile was genuine or if it hid a loaded gun. But that was the thrill of Alastor. And as of right now, the borderline sensuous curve of his back made him exceptionally enticing to Lucifer. Whether it was loneliness heightened by the eve of Valentine’s day or the second-hand smoke talking, Lucifer didn’t care to decide. He cleared his throat and looked away as heat rose in his cheeks.
“I picked up the habit from Lilith.” Her name was heavy on his tongue, but he forced himself past it. “It was a social thing when we had our soirées with friends—Lilith’s friends, mostly—but, ha! Addictions are, well, persistent!” He made a show of enunciating that final ‘t’, as if to emphasize his point.
That drew a hum from Alastor. “That they are.”
“Oh-ho, yeah... Anyway, Lily and I stopped when Charlie was born. She didn’t want the smoke around the baby—neither did I, of course, it's really terrible the way it clings to literally everything. Like glitter! Practically impossible to get rid of through non-magical methods.”
The initial heat melted into a pleasant warmth, settling comfortably in Lucifer’s chest. But the intensity of Alastor’s stare was a hit of nicotine, a dizziness that had the King loosening his tongue. Letting his guard slip. Almost. He laced his fingers together when he caught Alastor’s eyes flicking down to his trembling hands.
“You display an alarming amount of withdrawal symptoms for someone who supposedly quit decades ago,” Alastor declared, cocking a brow smugly. Lucifer glowered.
“I never said I quit, I said I stopped… mostly. I just prefer to keep it quiet, mkay? On the down low, as they say. Low-key.”
Alastor visibly grimaced at the modern slang, earning a grin from Lucifer.
“I really haven’t in a while. Charlie doesn’t like it, and the last thing I need is her losing sleep over a stupid habit,” he trailed off.
“Even the Devil has his vices,” Alastor then mused. And it was only when the demon pointedly blew smoke in Lucifer’s face that the King realized that some of the distance between them had vanished. The current of musky air caressed his faintly glowing cheeks and was gladly taken into his lungs as he considered their proximity.
Even so, Lucifer scowled.
“What Charlie doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Lucifer insisted, folding his arms over his chest as he held Alastor’s stare.
“Deception, a wonderful foundation for a relationship,” Alastor quipped, tilting his head and tapping ash off the end of his cigarette. He watched the glow of a single ember momentarily intensify before it was extinguished by the pull of gravity.
“Oh, right! I forgot you were the expert when it came to all things relationships, ha-ha! Silly me,” Lucifer deadpanned, eyes sharpening at the growing amusement evident on the other’s face. More frustrating—the smug grin made Lucifer crave him more, not less.
“One needn’t be an expert to point out the fault in keeping secrets from those you love, my dear,” Alastor countered smoothly.
“Why do you do this?!” Lucifer huffed, throwing up his hands. “Can’t we just have one conversation without your smart-ass comments? Honestly! One civil, normal conversation!”
“Oh, but where’s the fun in that, cher?” Alastor tutted, leaning in close enough to spike Lucifer’s heart rate. “I don’t tolerate your company to have normal conversations.”
Lucifer remained resolute, meeting Alastor’s challenge by inching closer. Only the slight crease in his brow betrayed the heat swelling in his chest.
“Yeah? Well, I can’t deal with this tonight, ‘kay? I’ve got enough to worry about with all Charlie’s plans for tomorrow, important plans! Not that you’d understand the importance of Valentine’s Day, since you’re clearly lacking in the heart department,” Lucifer retorted with a gritted smile.
“Ha! No, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong. I have a heart, I just don’t care to use it,” Alastor corrected. He straightened, forcing Lucifer to look up if he wished to maintain his firm glare, which he did. “You, on the other hand, use yours far too much.”
That one stung.
“And what’s that supposed to mean, huh?” Lucifer scoffed. Alastor let out a theatrical sigh of exasperation. There was that head tilt again, the demon’s grin growing with the joy of a gun cocking.
Fire
“Eight years later and you’re still sulking before such a frivolous holiday?”
Lucifer yanked Alastor down to his level by the collar of his shirt, fists shaking with rage.
“You are the most narcissistic, egotistical, stuck-up mortal I have ever had the displeasure of spending more than two seconds with,” he growled, fury spiking as Alastor remained unfazed. “I only entertain your bullshit because you happen to be mildly entertaining and a surprisingly good lay! That’s it! I don’t have to put up with this! Ha- I shouldn’t put up with this! Why do I?!”
Already, Lucifer’s anger had dwindled into frustration, frustration more at his own inexplicable infatuation with someone he should have completely written off as just another one of the violent psychopaths taking up space in his prison of a home. Said violent psychopath took another casual drag of his cigarette, which was burning ever closer to the tangerine filter. He let Alastor’s shirt slip out of his grip in favor of rubbing his temples. He didn’t have the energy for this.
“Why do I bother telling you anything when all you’re gonna do is call me a pathetic sap!” He groaned. Alastor smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt, still grinning with that smug sense of satisfaction.
“Well,” Alastor began with the swagger of a true radio host when Lucifer’s ranting quieted into muttered cursing, “that’s not what I was going to say, but if the shoe fits…”
Lucifer inhaled for several seconds, begging his father for patience. All he could smell was smoke. The King wrapped his fingers around the balcony railing so he didn’t wrap them around Alastor’s neck, standing straighter just as the demon relaxed again. Face-to-face once more, Lucifer caught the faintest hint of what lay beneath the sharp cigarette smoke that clung to Alastor’s hair and clothing. The rich warmth of smooth bourbon and the amber woodiness of sandalwood. It was a layer of him that not everyone reached. And Lucifer had sunk deeper than that. In those brief moments, before Alastor regained his senses.
It was then, with his head still tucked against Alastor’s shoulder, skin against skin, that Lucifer could detect crisp cypress and fresh Spanish moss. Bright and earthy, like the evening summer breeze through the leaves of a delicate water tupelo. Lucifer yearned to lose himself in the sweet serenity. But it was all so fleeting, rapidly enveloped by the acrid haze of charred leather and sickeningly sweet tobacco leaf.
“Are you going to share or are you just going to keep making fun of me?” Lucifer murmured after a moment of breathing him in, eyes flicking between the demon’s face and the cigarette. Alastor was too close for comfort now, but not nearly close enough. This was their game, the never-ending song and dance. A practiced waltz, so romantically formulaic, just three beats of the heart, over and over.
“I thought you weren’t in the mood to put up with me tonight, cher,” Alastor snarked, though his voice had dropped into those low, velvety notes that had Lucifer feeling just a little weaker. Gone was the Radio demon, off the air, leaving a quieter being in his wake. This was the Alastor he— …enjoyed.
One
“I’m not,” Lucifer attested. He walked his fingers across that expanse of railing, then settled a delicate hand on Alastor’s forearm. His pinky grazed the bare skin just beyond the rolled sleeve, the minuscule contact more addicting than any other mortal vice. Alastor’s gaze sharpened, but he didn’t pull back. “I just could reaaaally use a cigarette right now.”
Two
His words lingered as they played that familiar game of ocular chicken. Alastor was freakishly good at not blinking. Even as his lips curved up a fraction more and he hummed lightly, his perfervid stare never strayed from Lucifer.
“Alright...”
Lucifer brightened at the rather swift concession, letting go of the solemn pretense. He could already taste the comforting warmth as Alastor took his final drag, burning the cigarette almost down to the filter. Lucifer glowered and opened his mouth to complain.
Three
The shock that went through him was nothing less than euphoric. Already, Lucifer was melting into Alastor’s lips, feverishly gripping his bicep to keep himself upright. But it was just as he cursed the demon’s cunning through the rapturous headrush that Alastor showed his hand. He gripped Lucifer’s jaw to hold it still and lax, then exhaled. Smoldering wood and lazy Sunday mornings filled his lungs and swirled in his fluttery heart. When he had taken it all in, Alastor relaxed his hold on Lucifer’s face, cupping his cheek with a degree of care that Lucifer allowed himself to believe was tenderness. He tilted his head in a futile attempt to bring them closer, breathe him in just a little more.
Lucifer wasn’t sure where the nicotine ended, and Alastor began.
But it was all so fleeting…
He had only gotten the slightest taste of Alastor’s tongue when they broke. Foolishly, Lucifer chased after Alastor’s lips as he withdrew. But oh, he was far too stupefied to feel even a hint of embarrassment when Alastor blatantly laughed at his glassy eyes and slack jaw. When Lucifer found his voice again, the words tumbled clumsily from his lips.
“Oh-ho my, aha.. that’s uh, ha, that’s nice… whatever, whatever that was.”
“I believe they call it ‘shotgunning’ nowadays,” Alastor hummed as he finished off the cigarette with a final drag. Lucifer nodded languidly.
He was staring. After that little stunt, returning to bed alone was completely out of the question. Dignity be damned.
“Uhhh, quick, um, quick question—will you fuck me tonight?”
Alastor glanced at him sideways, mildly amused at the utter lack of shame. Lucifer waited, holding his breath.
One long exhale later, and Alastor crushed the cigarette into the railing, the extinguished butt slipping from his fingers and vanishing in a flash of green.
Victory.
~~~~~~~~
...Pretend I didn't miss the fourteenth.
I hope to have part two up soon but if it takes a little, please bear with me! (I unfortunately must prioritize school assignments)
Happy belated Valentine's Day!
