Chapter Text
Alastor pried his eyes open.
Oh dear.
Something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.
He’d been talking to Charlotte Morningstar about a Bible passage. Nothing had struck him as unusual about the interaction, though he was beginning to suspect there was more to the woman than met the eye, her unusual pallor hinting at a darker truth.
He’d put his hand on her shoulder –
And that was the last thing he remembered.
“Good morning, Father.”
Alastor flinched at the sudden break in the silence. Even with his superior vision, it was too dark for him to pinpoint the source of the cheery, musical voice that made the ominous nature of Alastor’s predicament that much more poignant. Given the title, he was familiar with Alastor’s role in the church.
Wiggling his fingers and toes, he registered a rough, constricting pressure on his wrists and ankles. He was bound to a chair.
“Seems a little dark for the morning,” Alastor responded to the nothingness. Whoever he was dealing with sounded like a man, but was unlikely to be human. He needed to bide his time, gather more information, and stay calm.
A fluorescent bulb flickered on overhead.
Damn.
He immediately recognized the petite man standing in front of him, his white, gaudy suit practically glowing as Alastor's eyes adjusted – there was scarcely a person in town that wouldn't recognize this man and his distinctive look. If his signature suit didn't make it obvious, he had a shock of platinum blonde hair so pale it was almost white, and was so comically short that even in heels he was hardly taller than Alastor was while bound to this seat.
The reclusive owner of Morningstar Holdings, and father to the woman he suspected of being a vampire.
Luci Morningstar.
Now that he had a front row seat to the enigma that had his financial claws dipped into local law enforcement, libraries, schools, parks, and – oddly enough – the local apple orchard, Alastor considered that Charlie might not be the only demon this family was hiding.
He leaned in, giving Alastor a wide, fanged grin.
Ah.
That didn't take long to confirm.
“A pleasure to meet you. The name’s Alastor, though it seems you are already familiar with me.” He made a point to scan his eyes from the man’s swept back bangs to the tips of his black boots. “You are much shorter in real life.”
Alastor was lashing out in his mounting panic. Strapped down to a chair in a room with a vampire was not where a priest wanted to be. His shadows covertly prodded at the bindings on his ankles and wrists, but Luci must've enchanted them somehow.
“Hilarious,” he drawled, standing up straight and adjusting his bowtie.
Alastor knew better than to judge strength by appearances.
“Anyways. I've been turning a blind eye to your… extracurricular activities, Father. But now that your sights are on my daughter, I think it's time for a little intervention.”
He knows.
Somehow this man – vampire, he mentally amended – was aware of the things Alastor did alone, in the dark of night. The vampires he'd exorcised from this town. The human sinners he’d eliminated.
“Now, I'm not telling you to stop,” Luci continued, twirling his apple-topped cane, “I'm just telling you to redirect. Though I will say your proclivity for murdering us is a bit hypocritical, given you yourself are a…”
Luci made a show of sniffing him, and Alastor tried to sink further back into the wooden chair.
“A shapeshifter of some kind, surely. A carnivorous one, at that.”
Alastor scoffed. “I use discretion. Only the worst sinners end up on my table.” There was really no better profession to find them – the worst of humanity visited his confessional, and explained in great detail the evils they’d committed. The vampires weren’t so simple to find, as none willingly stepped onto holy ground. Which was why Charlie had been such a surprise.
Luci raised a brow. “Oh, and you think we don’t?”
“The bloodless corpse of my mother would say no, if she could still speak,” Alastor bit back, sounding less steady than he'd have liked.
Luci’s grin faded into a tense, flat line. “I can't even tell you the last time I killed a meal. It's inefficient. Barbaric, even. The modern obsession with vampires did wonders for our ability to find a willing neck.”
Alastor eyed him dubiously.
Luci shrugged. “Believe me or don't, I don't care. Just stay away from my daughter.” His grin returned, and he stepped closer. “You can mess with me, if you want. I've been pretty bored. But if you even think” – He bopped Alastor in the chest with the bottom of his cane – “about harming Charlie, you're going to find yourself bloodless. You understand?”
Arrogant.
“Yes,” Alastor rasped, throat dry. He understood. It didn't mean he would obey.
“I'm going to remove your bindings. Don't try anything...” Luci knelt and released his ankles, then bent around the chair for his wrists. Alastor got a whiff of apples, and heard a quiet chuckle. “Or do,” the vampire finished, lips curling back into a smirk.
As soon as the cloth dropped from his wrists, Alastor transformed and called to his shadows.
~*~
Oh this is cute.
Lucifer took a moment to admire the priest's ass. The fabric had puffed out when he shifted, and Lucifer could just imagine the little fluffy deer tail hiding underneath.
As a human, Alastor was quite handsome. A darker skinned man of ambiguous descent, he had a sharp jaw, pointed nose, and brown eyes that bordered on black. The quintessential embodiment of tall, dark and mysterious; the opposite of Lucifer, at least for the tall and dark bits.
But when the priest shifted, he was something else altogether – new sights were rare at his advanced age, but Lucifer had yet to encounter an Eldritch deer. Red eyes, antlers, and two black-tufted ears had popped into existence, and Lucifer really wanted to give him a pet.
“Well aren't you adorable,” Lucifer cooed, and Alastor whipped around, shadowed tentacles twisting around Lucifer’s limbs.
Lucifer slipped out of them, hopping to the side. “I admit I was expecting a wolf. Maybe a panther.”
Lucifer did a twirl, hopping over a tentacle aimed for his ankles. “But shadow Bambi was not on my bingo card.”
Alastor's eyes bled completely black, and Lucifer felt a thrill zip down his spine. He'd really been hoping the man would fight back. Life had grown so tedious as of late.
It was obvious why Father Alastor had been so successful in his hunting of Lucifer's kind. He was fast, and these twisting shadows were both nimble and strong. But Lucifer was stronger and faster.
With a speed Alastor likely couldn't perceive, Lucifer slammed him against the cement wall with a forearm to his upper chest. It was time to teach this man a lesson.
A static screech took Lucifer off guard, and in the time he took to cringe Alastor dissolved into shadows right between his fingers. Lucifer’s smile turned feral. He hadn't had this much fun in years.
There were more shadows, claws, and snapping teeth, all of which Lucifer made sure to dodge in the most obnoxious, over-the-top way possible.
“What the fuck are you?” Alastor growled, pausing to gape at him with a grin full of sharp yellow fangs.
“Language, Father!” Lucifer gasped with the self-righteousness of a hundred churchgoing, elderly women.
Tentacles erupted from Alastor's back, and Lucifer decided it was time to stop playing, as fun as this little diversion had been.
It had been a long, long time since Lucifer bit someone non-consensually. He could tell this obstinate deer would only be broken with a showing of strength, so he'd make an exception to his self-imposed rules.
He slipped under Alastor's guard, dragged his head and neck down – giving his soft ears a little scritchy scratch because he couldn't help himself – while enveloping him in a gentle but unyielding embrace, and sunk his fangs into his neck.
~*~
Alastor froze as Luci’s fangs pierced his flesh. One moment he’d been sassing Alastor from across the room, and in the next he was latched to his jugular.
He'd never come across a vampire half as fast as this one, and was only now starting to accept that he might be completely outclassed.
You can mess with me if you want. I've been pretty bored.
Unafraid. Confident. Perhaps for good reason, Alastor now considered. Maybe he had been the arrogant one here.
With the first pull of blood, Alastor recognized why Luci's claim of a willing donor group might not be the fiction he'd initially thought.
One of the many things that had spurred Alastor to join the clergy was his distinct lack of sex-drive; the abstinence that most priests saw as a sacrifice was to Alastor a blessing. No expectations of maintaining the societal norms for dating, no need for tact or finesse when declining advances.
So when the first pull of blood had all the rest of the blood in his body shooting straight down to his cock, he knew something was suspect.
A second pull and Alastor had to bite back a moan, going limp in the vampire’s grasp.
“W-what…?” He managed to rasp, eliciting a light chuckle. Despite his size, Luci had no difficulty supporting all of Alastor's weight, heaving him over to the wall for added structural support.
Luci pulled back just far enough to speak. “A fun side effect, isn't it? I could kill you, and you'd be humping my leg all the way to the grave.”
Through sheer willpower, Alastor halted the involuntary shifting of his hips. The fangs slid back in, and this time Alastor couldn't stop the pathetic bleat that escaped his lips.
Luci moaned softly in response, and the noise blanked Alastor's mind. He'd never considered lust to be a formidable sin, but he would never underestimate it again.
As fast as it began, it ended. Luci pulled back, and Alastor gasped in the breath he didn't know he was holding, sliding down the wall until he landed on his ass. His animalistic features all unshifted until he was just a man, staring between his legs in disbelief.
What was wrong with him? It had to be some kind of unholy aphrodisiac.
Luci bent down eye-to-eye, and Alastor glanced up from the throbbing tent in his trousers to meet his crimson stare, glowing ominously in the dim lighting.
“As you can see, I'm a teeny tiny bit stronger than you. So I'll ask you again. Will you leave Charlie alone?”
“Yes,” Alastor said, actually meaning it this time.
Luci clapped, jovial. “Excellent! I really didn't want to kill you. Now I'm going to send you on your merry way, and we can both pretend this never happened!”
If Alastor ever saw this vampire again, it would be too soon.
~*~
It was too soon.
Alastor could hardly believe his eyes. It had only been two days since Luci had dug his fangs into his neck, and here he was, sitting in God’s house.
All mass, he'd been doing his best not to keep glancing at the pew to the back right, where the man sat in his immaculate white suit.
It was definitely him. No mistaking those piercing, tawny eyes boring a hole right through his vestments.
Impossible.
Alastor had dragged many a fanged creature here before. Watched them scream in agony on sanctified grounds.
What made this one different?
Alastor made his way to the front of the center aisle, preparing for communion. Surely a vampire wouldn’t dare to consume the host.
“The body of Christ.”
“Amen.”
One after another, the parishioners lined up. Alastor was barely paying attention, switched entirely to auto-pilot as his senses searched for the wolf hiding amongst his sheep.
He really wasn't hiding.
Mr. Morningstar, as many of the community had greeted him with surprise this morning, sauntered up directly in front of him, hands extended.
“The body of Christ,” Alastor repeated, the words barely came out.
“Amen," Luci replied with a wink as Alastor placed the host into the center of his palm.
Alastor looked on in disbelief as Luci plopped the small circle right onto his forked tongue, catching a glimpse of fang before he shut his mouth.
Luci spun to walk away, pausing as he underwent a full-body shiver.
Was this the vampire's limit? How would Alastor explain it to the parishioners when this man burst into flames in the middle of–
Luci glanced back over his shoulder to give Alastor a wide grin. “Spicy!” he whispered gleefully before continuing forward with a spring in his step.
The old woman behind him in line stepped forward with a frown, her keen eyes following Luci as he returned to his pew. Alastor sighed.
“I can assure you the host is the same as it always is, Rosie.”
~*~
Lucifer was suddenly feeling very pious.
He’d played it off as nothing, but it really was highly uncomfortable sitting in church. Physically it felt a bit like bathing in a hot tub that was a few degrees above the recommended limit, and mentally it felt like sitting in the living room of an estranged parent.
But he'd do it – had done it, over and over again – to watch this priest charm his parishioners with a disarming smile. Only Lucifer knew what was hiding underneath, and he sort of liked that.
He wasn't sure what it was that enticed him, exactly. There was a joy to be had in watching the emotions play out subtly behind that welcoming facade every time he walked up for communion. It had been so long since Lucifer had felt the desire to do anything at all, but since he'd strapped this priest down to a chair, he'd begun feeling downright inspired.
He attended both of Alastor's Sunday masses, the nine o’clock Wednesday mass, the eight thirty on Thursday, the Adoration held on Friday, and now once again he found himself seated in the back row for the first mass on Sunday.
He winked when they locked gazes, and Alastor simply sighed, no longer taken aback. Lucifer would have to up his game.
~*~
“What do you think of that one, Father?”
Alastor didn't even have to turn to see who she was referring to. Sister Niffty had a type. Alastor continued to shake hands with his parishioners as they filed out of the building, ignoring Susan's snide remarks about his sermon. He'd admittedly been a bit distracted.
“Face of an angel,” Alastor replied cryptically, and she giggled from beside him. Luci had managed to slide out of the church without Alastor noticing after every service last week, but today he seemed happy to wait in his pew.
“Sure is. But those eyes were stripping you of your vestments all mass.”
“Do keep those observations to yourself, Sister,” he admonished. He didn't need anyone else noticing. Alastor didn't have much experience in the sins of the flesh but even he could feel the heat from the vampire's gaze.
“Lock the doors behind you, would you dear?”
“Father Alastor likes the bad boys too,” she giggled and Alastor clicked his tongue reproachfully.
“Remind me why you're a nun again.”
“The habit makes me feel like a ninja.”
Alastor had no comeback.
When the last of the parishioners left, and he heard the tell-tale click of Niffty locking the door, Alastor made his way over to the singular figure still sitting in the pews. He was seated in the last row, scooted all the way to the center aisle. He looked relaxed, his oversized hat sitting in his lap, and he graced Alastor with a stunning smile as he approached.
“How are you here?” Alastor blurted out the question that had been plaguing him daily.
Luci cocked his head. “Why couldn't I be?”
“Because vampires scream in agony when they cross the threshold.”
“And you know this because…”
Alastor's grin sharpened, and Luci made an oh face.
“Oh yeah. Father Alastor – vampire hunter extraordinaire! Easy to forget when you're up there being all nice and holy. I mean, it's a little uncomfortable. It sort of tickles.”
“Are you not a vampire?”
He felt silly even asking. He'd been bitten by this man, which was an act he was now focused on not focusing on. It haunted him at night, when he was alone. He refused to act on it.
“I'm not a vampire, Father. I’m the vampire.”
~*~
“The first one, the fallen one, yada yada,” he finished, watching the proverbial gears spin behind those dark eyes.
“Luci…” he said quietly, eyes widening. “The morning star. It's not possible.”
“What? Is it so shocking?”
“Is the Devil not supposed to be in Hell?”
At least he's engaging with me.
It wasn’t the kind of conversation Lucifer wanted to be having, but he had Alastor's full attention and that was good enough for the moment.
“What makes you think this isn't Hell?” Lucifer asked, gesturing vaguely around himself. “What exactly is this planet missing that Hell is supposed to have? Pestilence? You've just exited a global pandemic, and your population seems keen on teasing out a few more by denying modern medicine. War? Has there ever not been war? You've been killing each other as a species since Cain and Abel. Famine? Plenty still starve. Maybe there's just not enough fire and brimstone for people to consider it Hell.”
Alastor watched him, expression inscrutable. “If this is Hell, where does death lead?” he asked after a contemplative pause.
Lucifer shrugged as he looked towards the front of the church, a crucifix hanging high, affixed beneath murals of cherubim. The Catholics always made everything so grandiose and beautiful; the opposite of the humility they tried to preach. Lucifer always found the hypocrisy mildly amusing.
“I’ve been here a while. Don't really know how it goes anymore, to be honest. As far as I'm concerned, Hell is being stuck on this goddamn rock. Alone. And then when I tried to not be alone, I went and made everything worse.” Lucifer felt his Devil-may-care mask slipping, and forced the brightness back into his expression. “Except for Charlie – she's an angel. Figuratively, of course.”
“Of course,” Alastor responded dryly. “But why do you insist on coming to mass? It is distracting.”
“Can't stop looking at me, can you?” Lucifer teased, spreading his legs and resting his arms on the back of the pew. Alastor scrunched his face in disgust, and Lucifer thought it made his nose look cute.
“Hardly.”
Lucifer made an exaggerated pout face. “Is it because I don't sparkle? I thought you said I had the face of an angel.”
Gottem.
Alastor's smile clenched, hands fisting at his sides. He clearly hadn't realized quite how good Lucifer’s hearing was. The color of his cheeks darkened, and Lucifer eyed the quickening pulse just above his collar.
“What do you want from me?” he redirected, eye twitching. Lucifer let the topic of his beauty drop, because that was a good question.
What did Lucifer want from him?
Certainly he'd been fantasizing about taking another bite. Counterintuitively, corruption had never been his kink – but he was suddenly seeing the appeal of making this uptight priest renege on his vows. The idea of Alastor on his knees, begging for his bite had Lucifer crossing his legs to hide his reaction.
Sex? He'd been on a seven-year dry spell since Lilith left, and was only now realizing he might be dehydrated.
He eyed Alastor's Adam's apple as it bobbed with a thick swallow.
Yes. A wee bit parched.
His eyes trailed lower and Alastor cleared his throat. Lucifer grinned, unashamed at being caught staring.
“I thought we could be pals.”
“Excuse me?”
“Friends, buddies, amigos–”
“I know what a pal is.”
“Let's hang out outside of church, and I'll stop” – he draped himself dramatically across the pew – “distracting you.”
~*~
The Devil wanted a playdate.
It made sense, he supposed, that Lucifer would have a vested interest in dragging a priest down to the depths of his depravity. If this really even was Lucifer. It was difficult to believe, but so was a vampire that could consume the host and relax in a pew without bursting into flame.
“Very well,” Alastor replied, unable to back down from a challenge. If Lucifer got too cosy with him, he'd simply use their newfound closeness to end his existence.
Lucifer sat up straight and blinked at him in silence for a few seconds. “Really? That was like, way easier than I thought it would be.” He popped up from pew, setting his hat atop his head. “See you tomorrow Father!” Lucifer clapped Alastor on the back as he walked by, and he froze up like one of the statues gracing the sides of the cathedral. The vampire then proceeded to whistle his way casually down the aisle before vanishing right before the locked door.
Alastor would surely be regretting this.
~*~
“Between you and me, Adam was a complete dick. Like it's really no wonder Lilith left him for me, you know? The bar was in Hell, as they say.”
Alastor sighed, pocketing his rosary beads.
“You know I come to this park for peace, contemplation, and light jazz.”
Lucifer had wedged himself between Alastor and his radio on the park bench. Everyday between two and three o’clock, one of the local stations would play jazz, and Alastor would come to the park and listen while he said his daily rosary. It was mostly for appearances, and because he felt he needed to keep up some level of rapport with The Powers that Be if he was to continue his vampire-slaying habits.
“Guess it's a good thing I'm here to make things less boring,” Lucifer grinned, tossing an arm behind Alastor on the edge of the bench. Alastor didn't move away. Instead he crossed his legs and considered the fascinating biblical resource that was now at his disposal.
Lucifer adjusted his wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun off his face, and Alastor made a mental note to bring an umbrella tomorrow. Most vampires didn't venture into the daylight at all, but it seemed Lucifer could – albeit uncomfortably.
“Did you ever meet Eve?” Alastor asked, and he watched with amusement as Lucifer’s eyes lit up with glee.
“I’m glad you asked!” he said, scooting close enough for their thighs to brush. Alastor had quickly cottoned on to the fact that touch was part of Lucifer’s natural way of expressing himself, and that was something he was probably just going to have to get used to.
Unless he killed him, Alastor supposed.
“So in my opinion,” Lucifer began, whispering conspiratorially, “Eve was a total downgrade…”
~*~
Alastor was preparing breakfast for the monthly bible study hosted by Charlie Morningstar. He'd met her several months prior to her father, when she'd come to him requesting to use the church's basement for the gathering.
As good as he was at cooking, Alastor could never quite get breakfast right.
“Looks like you could use some help, from the big boss of Hell himself–”
Alastor flinched at the hot breath fanning against his ear, the sing-song voice and proximity triggering physical reactions that pissed Alastor off.
“You're stalking me,” Alastor accused calmly, angling his hips so the vampire wouldn't get a view. How had he even gotten in? The door was locked.
“Is that what they call friendship these days?” Lucifer replied, hopping up to sit on the countertop next to the stove. Alastor scowled through his tight grin.
“I'm a priest. What would the Devil want from me in a friendship?”
“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Blood?”
“No.”
“Sex?”
“Absolutely not.”
“How about… the spatula.”
Alastor gave him a long look.
“Very well. But if the parishioners start dropping dead after consuming these, our friendship is done.”
Lucifer scooted off the counter and plucked the spatula from his hands, booty bumping Alastor to the side.
“Why would I sabotage my own daughter’s endeavors? Besides, I am a professional pancake maker, thank you very much. If anyone dies, it will be from ecstasy, having tasted a pancake bordering on the divine.”
“I’m sure they will be… fangtastic.”
Lucifer whipped his head around, eyes narrowed. Alastor feigned ignorance.
“Did you just make a pun?”
“I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about,” Alastor countered blithely, gathering the plates and utensils.
“Uh-huh,” Lucifer replied with suspicion. “I see you, Father.”
“Vampires do tend to have excellent vision.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes, then proceeded to make a batch of perfect pancakes.
~*~
“Can I bite you?”
“No.”
“Just a little itty bitty sip?”
“No.”
Lucifer’s shoulders slumped, and he fell a few steps behind as Alastor continued his walk around the grounds.
“You seemed to have no qualms about taking it without my permission the first time,” Alastor mused, and suddenly Lucifer was directly beside him again.
“Is that what you're into?” he asked, hope sparkling in his big golden eyes as he blinked up at him. They were such a unique color, people must assume he wore contacts. Alastor felt his resolve waiver briefly.
“No,” he eventually responded, masking his amusement behind his standard serene smile. Lucifer’s shoulders slumped once again, eyes downcast. He began to fall behind, and Alastor shortened his gate. There was no point in holding this damn umbrella if the vampire wasn't going to stand in the shade.
Lucifer tapped his cane on the pavement as they stepped, the rhythmic thunk the only noise outside of the birds and their own soft footsteps. “Well, I needed you to respect me. Your type only respects strength.”
Alastor tipped his head in acknowledgement. It was true. If Lucifer hadn't kicked his ass, he'd probably be actively planning gruesome deaths for both him and his daughter. But as it was, Alastor valued his own life more than he valued a lack of theirs.
“Can I bite you on a different day?” Lucifer ventured.
“No.”
“What if you get injured from a third party source, and there's just blood lying around?”
Alastor raised a brow. “Did I taste that good?”
Lucifer leaned in with a shit-eating grin. “You tasted like absolute garbage.”
Alastor halted, eyes going wide with indignation before they narrowed with fury.
The audacity of this pasty parasite.
“Then why are you so insistent?” he asked, eye twitching, debating if he wanted to fold up the umbrella and watch the man burn and squint his way back to the rectory.
Lucifer gave him a friendly nudge as they continued forward, and Alastor ignored it. “Shifters are kind of like beer. No one likes the taste at first, yet brewing is a thriving industry. You're bitter like a god-awful IPA, but there's something extra satisfying about it.”
Alastor pulled at his collar, feeling hot as memories of Lucifer’s bite assailed him, overshadowing his annoyance at being compared to a bitter ale.
“Does… everyone react in a similar way?” he asked, averting his eyes.
He stopped as Lucifer hopped directly in front of him, blocking his path. He spread his arms wide, wearing one of his big, stupid, fangy grins.
“I'm Temptation with a capital T, baby. Of course they do.”
Alastor felt… something, knowing that every time Lucifer took a meal, the recipient was ready to bend over for–
“Don't call me baby,” he hissed, dodging around him and retracting the umbrella.
Lucifer raised a hand to shade his eyes. “Oh did I say baby? I met Bamb–”
“Get your fix elsewhere, demon.”
Lucifer huffed, stuck out his tongue, then vanished.
~*~
Buzz buzz.
Alastor's pocket vibrated.
He should not have given his phone number to the Devil.
Buzz buzz.
He knew better than to take it out and look whilst talking to Deacon Husker.
“I noticed the wine was lower than it ought to have been at today's mass. We've had this discussion before. Get your alcohol fix literally anywhere but the sacramental wine.”
Husker looked down at his feet in shame. “I'm sorry, Father. Won't happen again.”
“Good.”
Now excuse me while I take this text from the Devil.
Alastor stepped around Husker and removed his phone from his pocket. He'd hardly used the thing prior to giving Lucifer his number, and now it hardly left his side.
Spitting image, amirite? the caption read. Above was a picture of a duck, painted with Alastor’s signature white and black clerical collar, twigs – very antler-like in shape – affixed to the top of its head. Alastor stifled a disbelieving laugh.
~*~
Lucifer stared at his phone, awaiting a response. He was always the first one to text, and Alastor tended to respond only with curt, minimalist statements, but he wasn't giving up.
“Who are you talking to?” Charlie asked, leaning over his shoulder. Lucifer swiftly flipped over his phone like a teen caught misbehaving, and Charlie raised a brow.
“The uhh –,” Lucifer paused, debating how weird this would be to admit. “The priest I briefly kidnapped a few weeks ago.”
“Father Alastor?!” she gaped, eyes going wide as saucers.
Lucifer laughed nervously, but then his phone buzzed.
“Berightback,” he slurred all at once and zoomed at hyper-speed to his bedroom and shut the door. He looked down at his screen.
You're an idiot.
Lucifer cackled.
~*~
“You said you wanted to hang out on occasion. Not that you wanted to become my third shadow.”
Lucifer kicked his feet up onto Alastor's dining room table. It was a combined dining room and kitchen, so he got to admire Al’s ass as he cooked at the stove. He always wore the signature black-on-black combo of the clergy, but the dark colors couldn't hide his narrow waist and sharp angles.
“Get your feet down,” he snarled without even looking back. Lucifer did as instructed. He just liked getting a rise out of him.
“Well it looks like you cooked enough for two. Smells great.”
Alastor turned off the heat, then finally turned around to level him with a glare.
“It is your third time appearing at my table for dinner in as many days. I don't recall ever inviting you into my house.”
“I'm not your average vampire – I don't need an invite.”
“I was talking about being a civilized human being, not about being a vampire,” he responded dryly. After a quick plating, Alastor plopped a steaming meal of jambalaya in front of him. Lucifer rubbed his hands together in anticipation – Alastor had turned out to be an excellent cook.
“Well I'm not a human being either, so I'm above your superficial laws of civility.”
“Not if you want to keep eating at my table. Use the damn door next time.”
“Fine,” Lucifer grumbled. He rather enjoyed the fire that sprung to life in Alastor's eyes whenever he popped up by surprise.
He chewed a bite, swallowing with a soft sigh of contentment as Alastor took the seat across from him.
Lucifer eyed the veins of Alastor's wrists as he rolled up his cuffs. He licked his lips. “This would be excellent paired with a glass of your blood,” he commented, only half joking. He poured the wine Alastor had at the table, the pretty maroon a sad replacement for what he actually wanted.
“No,” Alastor told him for probably the tenth or eleventh time now.
“You're no fun.”
“Maybe if I get to try yours, first. Even the playing field.”
Lucifer stiffened, any response other than a hard no entirely unexpected.
Alastor didn't know what he was asking.
Heat rose to his cheeks as he imagined Alastor drinking from him. It was an intimate act, and one that would bind Alastor to him in ways the man would never be comfortable with. He was still a priest, for fucks sake.
Lucifer glanced up, noticed the intensity with which Alastor was watching him, and immediately looked back down at the wine. He took a slow sip just to delay and regain his bearings. It was too dry for his tastes. Or maybe his throat was just dry.
Behave behave behave.
He picked up his fork. “I don't think you'd like it,” he mumbled around a bite of jambalaya.
Alastor mmm’d, and let the subject drop.