Chapter Text
The night took a funny turn the moment the phone start ringing.
It was startling for several reasons: no one had that number, no one would even suspect he had a phone in the first place, and - most tellingly - it had never rung before. Not in his entire afterlife. One would then have to question why a phone was connected with himself at all, but Alastor kept it for purely self-indulgent purposes. Letting himself get bored was never a good way to keep out of trouble, and Alastor got bored quite a lot, and when he was bored, he engaged in... well, a little light tomfoolery. It might not be equated with his character all that often, but the deer demon did quite enjoy a (mostly) harmless prank here and there, and harassing random cretins definitely scored high on his list of ways to amuse himself of a quiet evening. Calling them and leaving voice messages of disturbing noises and/or screams was a favorite, as was saying nothing at all. Over and over and OVER again, until the hapless idiot presumably smashed their own phone to make it stop. Oh, Alastor did so LOVE that one. A good standby when nothing else was going on to keep him otherwise occupied. Idle hands were the Devil's playground, and all that.
Which might explain the phone ringing now, point of fact.
Alastor meandered over to the vanity, letting the blasted thing keep up its shrill cries for attention, and debated whether or not to answer it. On the one hand, it offered a point of curiosity in an otherwise dull series of hours, but answering it also meant whomever was on the other end would discover the phone was his. It might not be whom he suspected. It didn't necessarily have to be. Given unlimited time and a bored enough monkey, eventually one of them could end up dialing his number, accidentally. Then he'd have to hunt whoever it was down and squash that knowledge out like a pesky insect, but that would take time. Enjoyable pursuit, sure, but also somewhat annoying. It most likely wouldn't even be someone entertaining, just another mewling soul who would break far too quickly and leave him wanting. That's what it usually ended up being. It was so hard to find food that was as fun to play with as it was to hunt. Alastor sighed at the thought, because he was also technically supposed to be curbing such inclinations, at least somewhat. It would be impossible to rid him of what was essentially a permanent warp in his soul, but he'd given his word on the subject, now hadn't he? Try to control himself a little better, that was the end goal, and the best way to do that right now was simply to not answer the phone currently tempting him to his own personal addiction.
Of course, curiosity itched at his brain. He'd never know if he didn't pick up, and the not knowing would probably kill him. Better to find out, determine exactly what activities were going to be slotted onto his mental to-do list, figure out if that included any apologies for his little lapse in good behavior, and get on with things. If it WAS whom he thought it was, well, then he could simply get satisfyingly indignant and finally get the joy of being able to slam a phone down with force. He'd not ever done that one before, and the potential opportunity to engage in histrionics like it is what finally motivated him to open the drawer the phone was kept in and lift the earpiece from its cradle. Sitting on the small chair in front of his ego-stroking sized mirror, Alastor smiled widely at himself and watched his image lick its sharp teeth in anticipation of the game. He didn't speak. If whomever this was wanted to speak to him, let them speak first. He was in control here, and they would know it right from the outset.
Whatever he was readying himself for, however, it wasn't an answering silence. Narrowing his eyes, Alastor tilted his head, pushing the receiver a little more into the cup of his own ear, straining to hear anything at all on the other end. Perhaps the caller suspected he might do this, because now that his attention was so riveted on the thing, a soft breathy moan warbled its way out of it. Quickly muffled. Alastor recoiled, holding the earpiece at arm's length as if it was venomous snake that might bite him if he wasn't careful. He blinked a few times, and debated throwing it back in the drawer and walking away with his tail (metaphorically!) between his legs. A dirty caller. He'd heard of them, heard they could be quite depraved if encouraged. It had never been something he'd encountered personally, but he knew Mimzy had, and the stories of how she dealt with them had always made him blush. She was just as dirty as they, and while she was of a kind to enjoy such nonsense, Alastor had never seen the appeal.
But he also didn't want to have to tell Mimzy that he'd run away from the challenge next time he spoke with her, either. She'd snort in that unwomanly way she had at him and roll her eyes, and tell him he needed to take the stick out of his ass, or something similar. She'd think him silly, and say as much, and while he didn't mind being thought a prude, he drew the line at silly. He was not silly. Putting the receiver back to his ear, Alastor steeled his nerves to put an end to whatever sick fantasies this idiot was engaging in. He only got so far as opening his mouth to issue some scathing opinion on the caller's... everything... when another sound from the earpiece made the words die in his throat. It was his name, gasped in a way that blanked all thought in his head except for one thing: yes, Alastor knew that voice, knew it quite well.
So it was exactly whom he thought it might be, just... well, just not whatever way he'd suspected it to be. It was supposed to be something inane, such as the other man wanting to chat over the phone like they were a pair of teenage girls gossiping, or maybe two hesitantly shy lovers whispering sweet nothings at one another. Something that made sense. Not this. Not soft moans and Alastor's name and-- dear God, what was that sound? It was positively filthy, and the deer demon found his face burning. He could see it burning, because of that damned mirror he usually loved preening in. He was red as...! as...! as an APPLE, damn him! Indignation positively warred with the urge to slam that phone down as he'd originally wanted to be able to do.
But there was also curiosity again. Why was Lucifer engaging him like this? Surely he knew that Alastor wouldn't appreciate it. When did Alastor ever appreciate it? They'd tried this pointless game multiple times, and Alastor always walked out before they got anywhere. Clearly, Alastor wasn't one for these things, never would be, might as well give it up as a bad job, but here the literal Devil was, making lewd sounds over the phone (of all things!) at him. Why would he do that? Forgoing his earlier vow to himself that he wouldn't be the first to say anything, Alastor dragged the rest of the candlestick phone out of the drawer and snarled into the mouthpiece, "Lucifer, what do you think you're doing?"
The smug satisfaction practically oozed out of the device. "Having fun." A slight gasp, shaky and ending on a tiny laugh. "Thought you might like to join me this time."
"I am not going to your rooms when you're in that state, Your Majesty." He kept his tone biting and dripping with venom, eyes narrowed in a mask of hauteur Lucifer couldn't even see, but with his face still flushed bright crimson. Alastor felt humiliated. The King knew he didn't much like this, and after the appalling disaster of the last time, Lucifer had agreed not to force it. Yet now here he was, calling in the middle of the night to torment Alastor with more of it. It felt like a betrayal.
"Good, because I wouldn't let you in if you did."
Alastor once more found himself peeling the earpiece away from his head and staring at it, but this time he wondered if his hearing was working correctly. "Beg pardon?" Whatever righteous fury he'd been working up to had just deflated entirely. Wouldn't let him in? What sense did that make, with all the activity Lucifer was clearly indulging in over there?
"I said I wouldn't let you in."
"But... why?"
Lucifer sighed, and Alastor could hear the rustle of silk sheets. "I know you don't want to be in here with me. Thought maybe you might like to just listen to me instead."
Well. That. That was. Hmm. Alastor could admit he was no expert on the subject - that was simple acknowledgement of fact - but how could one possibly find enjoyment if the partner you wanted to enjoy your time with wasn't even in the same room? When you couldn't see them at all? Fearing he was going to regret asking, Alastor muttered, "Why would you want me to do that?"
Another little series of sounds, and Alastor found himself imagining the diminutive monarch's movements in his head, 'seeing' him stretched out on his bed, hands doing who-knew-what, and probably smiling that sappy, stupid little smile of his, the crooked one that made him look even more of an idiot. "I love hearing your voice. Pretty sure I could get off on just listening to you talk." Lucifer made a small giggle, ending on a gasp. "Best part is, you can't see me, I can't see you, and if you don't like it or you get uncomfortable, you can always just end the call." A sound that Alastor knew was Lucifer licking his lips lasciviously, and unconsciously, he found himself doing the same.
Did he want that? Would that be all right? He'd been 'uncomfortable' to say the least all prior times, but a heavy part of that was indeed the feeling of being looked at. He didn't like when Lucifer's attention was on him so avidly. It always ended with him feeling inadequate and foolish, and worse, like he was broken and wrong. He couldn't hide when Lucifer was there staring at him. The adoration and patience only made it all worse, because surely Lucifer could find many more suitable partners. Better partners. Yet he persisted with Alastor. Any time Alastor backpedaled or slunk away in shame, Lucifer never brought it up again or rubbed his face in it. In fact, the Devil tended to try something easier the next time, going tamer and tamer, until Alastor just stopped wanting to try anything at all, since clearly he wasn't made for it and it was better not to raise Lucifer's hopes only to dash them time and again. If he hung up now, it would signal the final nails in the coffin of any sexual relationship, this he knew, but while Alastor also knew that Lucifer would push him on it no longer, would be satisfied with never having that with Alastor, the deer demon would always wonder: what if he had tried this last thing? Lucifer wasn't in the room. He wouldn't be watching Alastor's face, clocking all the minute tells that surely showed that his partner was not enjoying the moment.
No, Alastor supposed this was a little more like something he was very used to, and that was performing on the radio. He could host a show in his sleep, so surely he could sit here, alone in his room, and engage with the one person he hated so very much to disappoint. Lucifer wasn't touching him, wasn't expecting it. He couldn't see if Alastor lost interest or if he wanted to crawl away and die. This would give Lucifer something. Alastor need not even participate if he decided he didn't want to. He could simply sit there, quiet, and let Lucifer do whatever it was he was doing with himself. Lucifer was just asking for an audience, really, and as long as he kept his tendency to bite when discomfited under control, the Devil could get some satisfaction from the encounter. From at at least one of their encounters. Finally. It wouldn't be difficult at all, right?
The Radio Demon made a considering sound, deep in his throat, and Lucifer gave a soft chittering warble of pleasure in response to it. Maybe this idea did have plenty of merits, if Alastor focused on that. Just the idea he might be thinking of agreeing was clearly pleasing Lucifer. Alastor was also not entirely opposed to those odd bird-like noises the Devil favored when he got worked up. Maybe he could work with this. "What would you want me to do?"
"Do? Nothing. You can just... fuck!... just listen. Knowing is enough for me." More sheet rustling, and was that the sound of a hand on skin? Alastor couldn't quite tell. "Or you could talk. Nothing kinky! Just... ya know, whatever comes to mind."
Alastor couldn't say anything was coming to mind just at this moment, nothing except wondering what exactly his paramour was doing. Not being able to see was an unexpected downside. He didn't like not knowing things, not knowing the ins-and-outs of every situation. He was a bit in the dark on this one. Left only with trying to imagine what was going on, and that was slowly piquing his curiosity again. Where were Lucifer's hands right now? Was he touching himself? How was he doing it? Before the deer demon could think better of it, the words slipped out of his mouth. "What are you doing?"
A pause.
Then a chuckle. "Oh, you know. Little of this, little of that."
Alastor didn't know. He really didn't. "What, exactly?"
This pause was deeper. Then Lucifer's voice got a little rougher, a little throatier. It sent little shivers down Alastor's spine, for some absurd reason; he wasn't afraid of Lucifer. There was absolutely no reason for such a response. "Well, I was just maybe thinking of your hands on me. Just a little bit."
Entirely expected, but now the burning question changed to: "And what would my hands be doing?"
Again, Alastor hadn't actually meant to voice that, but he had, and now Lucifer practically purred over the line. "Right about now, they'd be just taking their time. Nothing serious. Probably touching my mouth. Being playful. You know how you are, always teasing."
That was true. Alastor dearly loved to tease. He loved to tease so much he occasionally made Lucifer cry. But that was all right because Lucifer sometimes made Alastor cry, so as long as they were equal about it on the subject, it wasn't an issue. With his mind having meandered a bit, Alastor started slightly as he found his fingers were idly drifting across his own lips, skimming the surface, and he paused. He hadn't meant to do that, either. Hadn't felt awful, though. Certainly not awful. A random thought flittered across his mind, a sudden urge. He teased at the line of his mouth, toying with the idea. "And would I put my fingers in, do you think?"
"Oh, absolutely," Lucifer rasped, "you'd slide them in and I'd suck at them. Gently."
That's what he thought might be the case, and the deer demon found himself thoughtlessly acting it out, pushing his own digits into his mouth. Is that what Lucifer would feel? The wet heat around his fingers, a tongue curling around them, gentle pressure as he hollowed his cheeks? Alastor felt his face get hot and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror again, hand stilled against his face and fingers buried there. Whatever expression he was currently wearing was a little foreign, a little wanton perhaps. He'd gone beet red, but he didn't look upset. And thankfully Lucifer couldn't see him, being so very weird. Lucifer wouldn't know what Alastor was currently doing. Would he want to? No, that would just give him ideas, probably. A little finger suckling was a long way from whatever the other man would be wanting to get up to, obviously, and best not to tempt him with more.
"When I licked at the base of your fingers, I like to imagine you'd squirm a little, but it would feel good."
Would it? Alastor tried it. It felt weird, but also not horrible. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it did make him squirm. It was just fingers, just a hand, but the metaphor of it wasn't lost on him. He teased his tongue right against the small webbing between the fingers and shuddered. Filthy.
"You'd probably make me stop about then. Drag them out and go back to teasing. Maybe start trailing them down my chin and throat."
That sounded reasonable, Alastor agreed. Fingers running down his own face and neck, he stretched out against the back of his chair. The wetness of his saliva followed his fingers, making him shiver a little as the air hit it. Lucifer made a small gasp on the other end of the line, and Alastor had to bite down on his lip to prevent himself from echoing it. His face burned hotter, knowing that Lucifer was clearly doing the things he was saying, at the same time Alastor was. "What happens next?" Drat. His voice was husky, even to his own ears.
"Those fingers would keep going, down my chest, maybe one of your hands would drift to the side, circle a nipple. Pinch it a little. Not hurting, really, just tweaking a bit."
That made no sense, as Lucifer didn't have nipples. Why would any angel have them? Angels weren't meant to procreate, let alone lactate, and so they all lacked them. So why would Lucifer say Alastor would touch what the Devil didn't possess? Was he indicating he'd shift his shape a bit to include them? Maybe that was so, sounded like something the little fool would get up to, and Alastor dragged his free hand down his front, undoing buttons in his wake. He slid a hand underneath the fabric and moved towards his own set, rolling a little nub between index and thumb. The sensation made him tense up, stomach tightening. His leg twitched and he shifted back and forth in his seat. Did he like that? He might need more data to determine an answer.
"Then you'd do the other one."
Of course he would. Alastor wouldn't leave a job half-finished. He pushed his shirt further open and had a go at the second one. His squirming was starting to annoy him and he yanked his hand away from his nipple before it got anywhere near audible. He needed a little break. That's all. Then he caught sight of himself in the mirror again: shirt sagging apart, face flushed, hairline sweaty, and pupils blown wide. Even his ears were off-kilter, sagging and flicking randomly. He looked a right mess, and Alastor forced himself to sit up straight once more. Anxiously, he tried to find his indignation, tried to stop himself acting a fool. "And then I suppose my hands would go between your legs, do something there." He injected sharpness into his voice, because that was surely where this was headed, and wasn't that the end goal of it all anyway? The thought rankled him, and more than it usually did.
Lucifer snorted. "Oh, fuck no. You would never be so crass."
Blinking in surprise, Alastor watched himself get interested again. He could see his ears standing stiffly to attention, in his reflection. Damn his eyes. "No? But isn't this your fantasy?"
"Absolutely not. That's not your style, not even in my imaginings. This isn't about dreaming of you doing things you wouldn't. That's no fun at all."
Surprising, that. Alastor tilted his head to the side, thinking. He almost didn't notice his hand once again stroking at his chest. Almost. "Then what would I do?"
Lucifer shifted, sheets rustling. "Your hand would go lower, but not the destination you thought. Nah, you'd avoid that entirely, just to rile me up, and stroke at the place where legs meet hips. That little crease."
Oh. Oh, that tickled as much as it thrilled, Alastor thought, popping the buttons on his pants and trying it out for himself. The squirming was back, and while it still annoyed him, he pushed it aside for the moment in purely scientific exploration. Nothing more. "How... how low would that... go?" he gasped out, not sure where his hand should be going next, and needing Lucifer to tell him. He didn't know how to do this nonsense! He'd never needed this knowledge before now, and what he did know said the road map should be different than it apparently was. It was supposed to be simple: clothes off, insert tab into slot, proceed until done. This was anything but that. Which... which admittedly was what was making it so intriguing. It defied his expectations and kept him guessing. Curiosity always killed the cat.
But satisfaction would bring it back.
"Not down so far as to start being uncomfortable. Just, you know, a little touch, just out of reach, and then down the leg you'd go. Just along the inside top of the thigh. Maybe pressing a little more, skating those wicked claws along the skin. Not cutting in, just threatening to."
Skin? Lucifer was clearly naked, while Alastor was not. He thought about it for a brief smattering of seconds. Well, it WAS just himself here, no harm in seeing what it was like. Alastor lifted his hips and pushed the waist of his pants down his thighs to pool around his ankles. The air on his bare skin startled him. He was being a hussy, he knew, but his hand doing what Lucifer had suggested felt... it felt good. Was this how other people felt? Did their stomachs do knots and did they feel all dizzy at the brazenness of it? Did they feel none of that, and just do things without all this added strangeness he felt? Unsure of himself again, Alastor paused. He had the brief notion it might (might!) feel better if it was Lucifer's hand doing this. Yet, Lucifer would want more, and... no, this was best, Alastor in his rooms, alone, doing this and Lucifer not knowing he was doing it. Still, he had to make sure. "And this would... please you?" He wriggled in the chair, claws scraping just enough along his thigh to make him have to choke on a gasping moan. Lucifer couldn't be allowed to hear that. Probably would break his heart, knowing Alastor was being depraved and that Alastor was not doing so where Lucifer could see and touch.
"Oh, it would. Fuck, it DOES. You have no idea how much it does."
Alastor might be beginning to have an idea. An inkling. Not one he thought he'd have, but maybe just a smidge of one. Lucifer's voice in his ear, whispering all these salacious suggestions, a hand touching him places no one ever had, making him gasp and bite down hard enough on his lips to draw blood... who would have thought this was where his night was going to go, or that he wouldn't be fighting it nearly so hard as he had in the past. He was still trying to, a little bit, but mostly because he didn't know what he was doing, and because this was still something he felt like he shouldn't want. Maybe a touch of stubbornness, too. He'd resisted this sort of behavior for so long, felt no urges for it, and he didn't like admitting he could possibly be wrong. Would he want this if Lucifer was in the room with him? No, not really... but. Maybe also a little yes. Which was more than it had been in the time prior to the phone ringing. Infinitesimal, but there. He surely wouldn't be willing to go even this far if it was literally anyone else who called suggesting it. Just for Lucifer. Maybe because he felt something for the other man. Alastor didn't want to name what that was, for naming it made it real, but still he felt it. He felt that something, felt it deeply at times, and here and now, it made things feel right in a way they hadn't before. Not even just an hour or two before, ironically enough.
Now here he was, phone receiver pressed into his skull, legs sprawled wide and open, and his free hand moving around his own body on a journey of exploration he'd have scoffed at this morning. Feel good? Hah! But oh, it did. It DID. Because Lucifer was saying the words, Lucifer was telling him what to do and where to go, and Lucifer was respecting his boundaries. Alastor could stop this at any time, with a single word. He could refuse to do anything at all with himself, and Lucifer wouldn't know, and if he did, he wouldn't judge. He hadn't yet, for all that Alastor often still expected him to. Most everyone else had. This, though, was different. So different. Why? Well, why still eluded him, probably always would.
Alastor realized he had shut his eyes, screwed them shut tightly, practically panting now as he fondled himself and hell, he wasn't even following directions anymore. Had Lucifer stopped giving them? He wasn't sure. His brain might have fried at some point, and Alastor wasn't sure when exactly it had happened and if he should care all that much if it had. Of course, opening his eyes meant he had to see himself again, and he couldn't look long. So very mortifying, how debauched he appeared at the moment. Glancing down, however, was far worse. FAR far worse, and so surreal it made him suck in a shuddering breath. That most definitely wasn't supposed to happen. It had, however, and now the situation needed a different sort of attention. Presumably. "What... what would you do if all this... if you found yourself... well. If you had..?" Why could he suddenly not finish a sentence? His brain HAD liquified, hadn't it?
"If I got hard?"
Well, at least Lucifer spoke fluent brain-melt. That was helpful.
Alastor nodded, realized the other man couldn't see this (that was entirely the point here), and stuttered out an only slightly frantic, "Yes."
Lucifer gave a humming reply. "Guess that depends on whether you were in the mood for... uh, for touching."
With a barely contained snarl, Alastor dragged the mouthpiece closer and spat out, "And if I wasn't?" He knew the answer. He didn't have to ask. Everything would just sort of stop, and it would end the way it always did, with shattered expectations and disappointment and himself leaving in a nasty snit. No, Lucifer wouldn't tell him to leave, hadn't ever... Alastor did all that on his own, thank you, and avoided the shame of being thrown out for his lack of enthusiasm. Maybe now was the time to make Lucifer say the words out loud. Rip that long-festering scab off and expose the rotten reality underneath. Make him say he would throw Alastor out if Alastor didn't want to touch him.
Lucifer didn't.
"Hey, if you weren't feeling into it enough for that, I meant what I said: wouldn't need your hands on me to get me there. You'd never have to do anything you didn't want to."
Alastor didn't have an answer to that. Probably wasn't a lie - Lucifer wasn't the sort to lie about things, despite some of the monikers about it applying to the Devil - but Alastor almost wished it was. Then he could avoid these strange feelings and compulsions he was experiencing. If he could just get angry enough, they would definitely disappear, but Lucifer saying things like what he just had had the opposite effect on him. Instead of being able to hang up with a few nasty barbs and sulk in a corner for the rest of the night, licking his proverbial wounds, Alastor had to deal with a renewed rush of sensations. He liked Lucifer's response. Quite physically liked it, as if the man himself were here in the flesh and looking at him as if he hung the moon. Pathetic.
More pathetic was how quickly his hand moved, right down there between his legs, and he choked back a scream. THAT felt entirely different than it ever had before.
Lucifer must have heard something, some tiny sound Alastor had failed to adequately muffle, since he quickly asked, "You okay?"
"Absolutely spiffing."
Alastor barely got it out between tightly gritted teeth, fingers wrapped around his length, tasting blood in the back of his mouth. He might have caught his tongue on a fang, with the way he was fidgeting and practically thrashing about. Before the King could reply to that, Alastor gasped, "And what if I determined that I... was? In the mood, I mean?"
He was slightly abashed to be asking. He should know how to do this without begging for a guide book. Wasn't it the natural thing to know? Shouldn't any normal man know? That's what the prevailing notion on the matter was, he knew. Yet another failure on Alastor's long list of them on the matter, and now the mocking would start, wouldn't it? Alastor should know this. Instinctively. Clearly only a complete disaster of a person would need help here.
But maybe Lucifer didn't understand what he was actually asking. The Devil didn't comment on any of the underlying (hidden? hopefully hidden?) meaning of Alastor's words, he only started listing things that he thought would feel pretty damn good for a Radio Demon to do to Lucifer. Which Alastor might have tried out, just to see. He wasn't big on a few of them, but overall? Alastor decided maybe the fallen angel knew a thing or two on the subject. In fact, the deer demon wasn't sure he was being coherent anymore. Lucifer had to be hearing him moving around at this point, and surely the noises he was trying to strangle were at least partially audible, yet the other man just kept talking, describing other things, and damned if Alastor didn't follow along like an eager puppet on a string. If he didn't know better, Alastor would have said the King was using some magical vocal shenanigans to cause this humiliating little display Alastor was giving himself (stop looking at the mirror, you absolute idiot!). Lucifer wouldn't sink to that, though, and he'd never tried it before with much ampler reason to do so. This was all on Alastor, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
Oh, he knew how he felt about it right this instant, but in a general sense... well, he'd have to consider it at length (hah!) when his mind wasn't so riddled with unaccustomed lust. When he didn't have an impassioned voice in his ear urging him to do MORE. Alastor was all but writhing now, caught up in a spiral of sensation that he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to get out of. Was this how Lucifer felt, all the time? How did the man stand it? The deer demon half wanted to throw the receiver across the room so he could have both his hands free, yet if he did that, he'd lose the only thing that made the whole ordeal pleasurable to start with. He couldn't bear to lose that, didn't really want to stop this ride, not this time, not when he was so... close.
Odd. That had never mattered much to him until now.
Lucifer might also be sort-circuiting, down the line, because his voice had gone all high and funny and he was babbling some sort of nonsense in Alastor's ear. Something breathy and whiny and... wait. Alastor managed to drag his brain out of the tightening pleasure loop he was on and actually focused on the words. "That's right, baby, you're doing so good. Fuck, you're doing so good, SO good for me. Just keep on a little longer, a little bit more for me, fuck I want to hear you when you cum for me. I want to hear so damn badly, Al. Please, please, please, Alastor."
What.
Alastor might have temporarily taken leave of his senses, but that sounded suspiciously like Lucifer knew exactly what was going on on Alastor's end. Had he just been getting too loud or had he been tricked into engaging in this farce? Did Lucifer plan for this very eventuality, somehow knowing Alastor would mimic him and obey his words all along? The nerve. The unmitigated gall. But... did it matter? Alastor caught his own eyes in the mirror and had a very fast, very terse discussion with himself, which went something like: "don't you dare". He liked Lucifer, Lucifer... probably liked him at least a little, if all this was something to go on. Sure, Alastor could act his usual indignant self and stop things right here and now, be offended and have a conniption (he did so love a good conniption), regain control of the situation, such as it was. He could do that. But he always hated himself, just a bit, for not being what he felt Lucifer really wanted. Clearly Lucifer was enjoying this, it was doing something for his beau (was that the right term anymore? eh), and he could give Lucifer little else in that department.
And yes, dammit, YES, Alastor was also enjoying himself and decided that he wasn't going to do anything but turn his brain back off. THAT seemed the happiest course of action for everyone involved, including his reflection in the glass, which was grinning at him again like a besotted moron. He let himself sink once more into Lucifer's crooning, shelving everything else for a later time. All he wanted to focus on right now was how his hand felt wrapped around his cock, how his back was arching and his hips were giving little aborted thrusts, but mostly he wanted to latch on to the dulcet tones of the Devil's voice encouraging him towards his finish. He was panting so hard there could be no doubt any longer exactly what he was doing. He needed more of it, all of it, more more MORE.
He certainly hoped Lucifer was getting as good as he was giving, because when Alastor hit the point of no return, he felt like his head exploded and he thought he might have temporarily have gone blind. Who knew what kind of noises the deer demon made while that happened, as he was past all sense by that point (probably some sort of keening, he heavily suspected keening). Collapsing back against the chair, he wondered if this was how it was to become a puddle. Oozing downwards, sliding towards the floor and not caring. His arms were slack, brushing the ground, head hanging backwards, phone receiver probably rolling around at his feet. His head was blissfully empty, all cottony soft. Quite a nice little dénouement, wasn't it? After floating in contentment for a few minutes, Alastor's fingers scabbled idly at the floor, seeking the earpiece he'd dropped, and he made a noise of satisfaction when his claws clicked against its hard casing. Putting it to his ear again, he could hear very heavy gasping breathing. Lucifer was clearly as wrecked as Alastor himself. That answered that question.
Giving a soft, lightly playful laugh, Alastor rasped, "Well, that was mildly interesting, I suppose. "
Listening to the offended squawking that came his way at that, Alastor smiled a real smile and took note of his own smugly pleased expression in the mirror. Satisfied. Oh, so satisfied. So satisfied that he just couldn't resist a little light needling, now he was feeling back to rights. "Personally, I thought I was trying too hard, but good to know my acting abilities haven't actually disappointed. Who knew I'd be so good at sex work - maybe I could give Angel a run for his money, with how well it went down with you." He watched his smile crawl wider, settling back into its usual lines, and chortled at the sudden dial tone as Lucifer slammed his phone down. Well, no, not slammed. These new portable phones had lost that ability, and was it any wonder Alastor hated them? You could only swipe your finger across the screen frantically, and you looked a twerp doing so. He could see Lucifer doing just that in his mind's eye, and it made him laugh out loud, the sound slightly unhinged. It had been cruel of him to say that, he knew, but that was his nature. Wasn't in his nature to apologize for that fact, either.
Then again...
He plucked the scrap of paper from the drawer, the one on which Lucifer had scribbled some numbers during one of his more hopeful moments. Alastor had never felt any urge to use them until now.
"What??"
Lucifer sounded annoyed when he picked up. Oh, dear. Clearly Alastor has struck a nerve. A very sore one. Maybe a certain past someone else had actually resorted to faking it at some point. Utterly gauche, that. "Oh nothing, darling. Just had a quick question for you." He looked at his claws, buffing them slightly against the lapels of his mussed shirt. Waited until Lucifer grumbled a reluctantly appropriate query. Too bad he couldn't see Alastor's Cheshire grin as he answered, but maybe he'd be able to feel it. He really should be able to at this point. "I was just wondering to myself how gullible you really are?"
"I am NOT-!"
"You truly think I'm that good at acting?"
The silence was deafening. Then a sullen - but slightly hopeful - "...no?"
The Radio Demon's grin was now threatening to split his face in half. "Well, are you gullible enough to believe me if I say I am not averse to giving a repeat performance sometime, maybe convince you of my acting abilities further...?" Did he mean that? Really mean that? He winked at himself. Actually, yes. He did. Would Lucifer believe it, that was the question. Alastor certainly wouldn't, not after his nasty little comment mere minutes ago.
This silence was poignant, and Alastor felt a sudden spike of worry that he'd pushed those buttons too severely. Then the line was positively dripping lewdness when Lucifer spoke next, breaking the tension. "Oh, I think I could stand to endure a rerun of that particular broadcast. Definitely could. Was one of my favorite episodes. Most favorite, currently. Facts."
Oh. Oh, good. The Devil was buying it. Hook, line, and...
"I'll have to keep a phone line open for you then, dear listener."
"FUCK yes, baby."
...and sinker.