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Lucifer didn't usually take part in Charlie's redemption efforts. It wasn't that he didn't want to encourage her – it was just that being around so many people, especially people who clammed up or freaked out at the sight of him – well, it was a little overwhelming.
Still, after being in the hotel for several months now, he hoped that the residents had at least become used to his existence among them. Like cats who gradually accept the that person feeding them isn't meant to be feared, that they don't need to run and hide under the nearest dresser at the sight of them.
Not that he was feeding the guests – that was all taken care of by the catering company Charlie organised. Although, technically, he was footing the bill. If by 'footing the bill' one meant 'using his name and getting everything for free', and – yeah.
That analogy got away from him.
Anyway, the point was – he didn't often involve himself in the group activities, but this was one Alastor had shown an interest in, and Alastor rarely showed an interest (like, a genuine one) in any of Charlie's redemption plans, and Lucifer simply couldn't resist the glint that had flashed in those crimson eyes when he'd found out what the schedule was to be for today.
Of course – it involved cooking.
“Okay! Thanks so much for coming down, I'm so happy to see so many excited faces, ready to work on our newest trust exercise!” Charlie started.
Privately, Lucifer wouldn't exactly call the faces 'excited' – but that might have something to do with not only his presence, but also Alastor's terrifying grin, looming a foot above him.
He reached blindly behind himself and patted the other man on the thigh, coaxing his own smile into something he hoped was warm and welcoming, and not blatant evidence of his own anxiety. Alastor's static skipped a moment, and Lucifer felt his posture shift.
It was difficult for him to stop looming, but Lucifer appreciated the effort nonetheless.
“In case any of you hadn't already read the pamphlet, this is an activity meant to encourage you to trust your partner, to not only keep you safe, but also make sure you create something you'll both enjoy. The person doing the cooking will be blindfolded, and their partner will be directing them without touching any of the ingredients themselves. Um – we're starting simple, today, nothing too complicated. We're just going to be making schnitzel and salad, and everything is already pre-cut. I didn't think trying to chop tomatoes while blindfolded would be a good idea for our first try, but we'll see how it goes!” Charlie announced, her enthusiasm waning slightly when one of the guests stifled a yawn behind their hand, blinking large eyes with vertical pupils out of time.
They looked a little like Bel, actually – a strange mixture of goat and deer features, eyes red rimmed and perpetually exhausted looking. At least whenever Lucifer had seen them.
Charlie started with that sinner, trying to get them involved before they lost interest.
“Okay! Deerma, would you prefer to be the one blindfolded, or the one giving the instructions?” she asked, the goat-deer sinner looking slowly down at the ingredients, then at the blindfold.
“Hmm. Let me instruct,” the demon decided, to which Charlie clapped her hands together with a wide grin.
“Okay! You can partner with Dublin, so please move over to the bench set up in the right corner of the kitchen,” Charlie directed them. Another sinner, one that was relatively new to the hotel, trotted out from behind the counter and saluted Charlie, flinging a few feathers into the air.
Lucifer wasn't sure about the health and safety standards of having what looked to be a human-chicken hybrid in the kitchen, but this wasn't his rodeo, and therefore not his monkeys.
Was that the phrase?
He wasn't doing great with analogies today.
He meant to pay attention to the rest of what Charlie was saying, about who was paired with whom – but none of them were guests he was particularly familiar with, and Alastor had put a warm hand on his shoulder, long claws curling possessively near his neck. As if claiming Lucifer for his partner, and damn if that didn't still make his heart skip and his stomach do a little swoop through his abdomen.
Alastor's partner.
Still took some getting used to, they'd kept it so secret (or tried to) for so long, that even this little crumb of public affection was making heat prickle up the back of his neck, the fine hairs of his nape standing on end when Alastor's thumb moved casually over the back of his shirt collar.
Everyone got partnered. Charlie was running the show, so she wasn't participating in either the blindfold role or sitting in the director's seat. Lucifer was pretty sure the sinners at the bench next to him and Alastor were named Sebast and Flof, but he couldn't be certain. Might have misheard, thanks to a certain somebody leaning down to mutter in his ear;
“Would you like to mix things up a little today, sire? What say you wear the blindfold, this time?”
Lucifer swallowed, trying valiantly to put a stop to the images flashing through his mind. How Alastor could be so composed when in public and come so undone around (or underneath, or on top of, or beside, or-) him, he couldn't fathom.
But he wasn't about to look a gift deer in the mouth (another analogy, and he was pretty sure he was getting closer to the mark.) If Alastor enjoyed their time together, then all the better for him.
The thoughts were way more delectable than any schnitzel and salad they could make, blindfolded or not, and he suddenly wanted to take Alastor up on his suggestion in entirely different circumstances.
And Alastor knew it, the shit. His static crackled in that unmistakably amused way he had, the little hisses and pops that betrayed his emotional state far more accurately than his face ever could. It was completely unfair that Alastor could be both so attractive – and so aware of it.
Alright – Lucifer could admit he probably hadn't helped when it came to starving that ego of his. His mouth had a habit of running away with him when they were-
“Dad, Alastor, have you decided who's getting blindfolded?” Charlie interrupted his filthy train of thought – derailed it entirely, in fact, the coal of it spilling into the ruins of his mind as he tried not to let a flush creep across his cheeks. That would have been like a neon sign flashing above his head, proclaiming to anyone who looked that he'd been thinking unspeakable things about his daughter's facilities manager, while in his daughter's presence.
“Being the more experienced cook, I believe I ought to direct! Your father here is happy to follow my orders,” Alastor said airily, as if he hadn't just been planting those ideas in Lucifer's head.
Charlie was mercifully oblivious – or perhaps deliberately so, in which case; thanks, kid. Your old man appreciates the effort.
She nodded, beaming that thousand watt smile his way. A pang of guilt went through him, that he didn't participate more, and he resolved to change that habit. He was here to support her, after all. Fucking Alastor was a side-project.
Granted, a very, very appealing side-project – but he couldn't neglect his other responsibilities.
Alastor reached past him, accepting the blindfold from Charlie's hand when Lucifer made no effort to move, his thoughts too busy chasing their tails (or fluffy, adorable deer tails) around in his mind. He started, one eye twitching as his grin flashed onto his face – then softened into something a little more genuine than the awkward public relations expression he'd managed to adopt over the years.
“Don't make it weird, dad,” Charlie admonished, raising a brow in an expression that told him she definitely wasn't as oblivious as he'd hoped. His face flooded with gold as Alastor barked a laugh, and Lucifer's head shrank into his shoulders, making him look even shorter than he usually was.
Well, sure, she was over two centuries old, she'd had her own romantic endeavours, but she was still his little girl. He wanted to maintain at least a facade of believing in her innocence, despite living in Hell.
“Weird? Me? Ha! Nope, nothing weird about this, just having my – my – Alastor... put a blindfold on me and tell me how to prepare a schnitzel. All normal here,” Lucifer blurted, the burn in his cheeks increasing when Charlie stifled a snort behind her hand, shaking her head with a fond grin before she trotted off to hand out the rest of the blindfolds.
“Your Alastor, hmm?” Alastor prompted, once again leaning down to murmur in his ear, the static-rumble of the demon's voice sending a shiver down Lucifer's spine even before the strip of cloth was fixed over his eyes, nimble fingers tying it neatly off at the back of his head, carefully avoiding catching any hair in the knot.
“Boyfriend sounds weird,” Lucifer justified, refusing to let Alastor have the last word. The taller man hummed, hands falling to Lucifer's shoulders and pushing him gently forward, pulling him to a halt before he managed to walk right into the edge of their work station.
Walking without the aid of his vision was unnerving, and he could suddenly see why Charlie had called this a trust exercise. It took a lot to trust that Alastor wasn't about to steer him into a hanging frying pan, just to laugh at the lump that would form on his forehead later.
“It does sound weird. Rather juvenile, I'd say. In any case, I believe I told you partner is more than sufficient,” Alastor went on, a gentle admonishment in his voice that Lucifer was pretty sure nobody else would realise was anything other than sarcasm.
There were a lot of nuances to this guy, as it turned out. And Lucifer was enjoying himself immensely learning each and every single one.
“Now. This is a dish even you shouldn't be able to mess up, so do pay attention.”
Hey – that was rude. Lucifer was a good cook, and Alastor knew it! Now he was just being critical to try and land a blow for no reason, to needle him for his own twisted amusement.
Okay. Maybe it wasn't 'for no reason'. Entertainment was more than enough reason for Alastor to do anything.
He wasn't going to rise to the bait. Not here. He'd tuck the insult away and have Alastor apologising for it later, as long as he could stutter out an apology.
“I'm all ears, chef,” Lucifer said sweetly, twitching when Alastor's hands ran down his arms and settled on the tops of his own hands, gently guiding them over the surface of the bench. Charlie hadn't said whether this was allowed, but nobody was telling them to stop, and the feeling of Alastor's long arms and spindly frame caging him in from behind, unable to see a single thing-
Well, it was doing certain things to Lucifer that would need revisiting later.
“There are bowls here, cutlery here – plates, flour, eggs, breadcrumbs, cheese – and the ingredients for the salad are to the right,” Alastor informed him, bumping Lucifer's fingers against each item as he announced it, his voice still low. Pitched for Lucifer's ears alone, despite the instructions echoing up from the other participants in this little trust exercise.
It was like listening to his own private broadcast, even with so many people around them. Alastor's voice was definitely made for radio, even if Lucifer disagreed with him when he said his face was made for the same.
How could one be both so overconfident and so self-deprecating?
A mystery for the ages, surely.
Alastor's hands left his arms when Charlie's voice rang through the space, informing everyone it was time to start. The squawk that sounded from one side of the room could only belong to Dublin, and Lucifer wondered for a moment whether this schnitzel was chicken or veal.
Or venison, which would probably suit Alastor just fine.
“Your meat has already been flattened to within an inch of its life, far more tenderised than I would have chosen to do. Start by laying out three bowls, sire. Good,” Alastor started up a steady commentary, Lucifer's heart doing brand new dances in his chest at the approval in the other man's voice. Even when he clattered the bowls together, wincing at how loud it sounded in the blackness of his vision, Alastor didn't offer a word of criticism.
He tuned out the voice of the pair to their right, the one he thought was named Flof purring out a suggestive 'tell me what to do, then,' before the shattering sound of crockery breaking rang through the room, Charlie squeaking out a reassurance that it was fine, even as her footsteps hurried over.
No – all he could focus on was Alastor's warmth radiating against his back, not quite touching him, peering over his head at the counter. The sinner's static hummed around them, whining like a theremin when Lucifer's hand ventured too far one way or the other.
It was amazing how much more you could hear when one of your senses was stifled.
“To your right are two eggs. Pick them up, one at a time, and crack them against the counter – not against the edge of the bowl. You'd likely miss, and even were you to hit the edge of it, it's far more probable to get shattered shell in the bowl than if you use the flat surface. Not too hard, now – good. Run the pad of your thumb over the egg until you feel the white leaking through the crack you've made, then slip the claws of your thumbs in and finish the job. Over the bowl, mind, a little to the left – stop. There.”
Lucifer had never thought being told how to crack an egg could sound so damn seductive. Was it just Alastor's crackly, filter-heavy voice, lowered into bedroom tones?
He swallowed. There was a sudden urge in his mind to continue this, following on from his earlier thoughts – to keep this blindfold and have Alastor direct him as he saw fit, and he packed the idea away for later perusal.
Charlie's voice intruded into his thoughts, briefly. Talking to the pair of sinners who'd first partnered up; “No, Deerma – it's not meant to be rolled into something you could – um, be intimate with. No, putting the lettuce inside won't help – you know what? I'm not here to stifle your creativity. If Dublin is happy to follow those instructions, you two go ahead.”
Lucifer decided he didn't want to know. Would much rather focus on the low murmur of Alastor's voice, trying not to get too distracted by the feeling of the demon's warm breath ghosting over his ear. The taller man must be leaning down behind him, watching what he was doing with his chin practically on Lucifer's shoulder.
“That's one. Do the other one, and make sure you get the shells out of the way. The cutlery to your right – pick up a fork. A little further to the right – yes. Now, edge your left hand along the counter until you feel the bowl. Stop – it's about an inch to your middle,” Alastor encouraged.
He was surprisingly good at this, Lucifer thought as he pulled the bowl with the eggs in it towards himself, getting the end of his fork in on the second try and quickly whisking it at Alastor's instruction.
Honestly, he was being downright patient. And the low cadence of his voice was practically dripping down Lucifer's spine, warmth curling at the base of it as the skin on his cheeks heated once more. He shifted from foot to foot, trying to dismiss the unwanted threads of arousal before he could embarrass himself in front of everyone present.
Seriously – if he popped a hard-on just from listening to Alastor telling him where the packet of flour was and ordering him to tip some of it into a fresh bowl, he could forget being humiliated in front of Charlie. Alastor would never let him live it down.
A slightly irritated blat of static leapt into the air when Lucifer apparently poured half the breadcrumbs onto the bench instead of into the remaining bowl, but Alastor didn't snap at him. Just guided him to pick up the block of crumbly cheese and break it up over that same bowl, mixing it into the breadcrumbs with his claws.
As Alastor directed him into picking up first one, then the other pre-tenderised piece of meat, snatches of the other conversations drifted to him.
“-what did you call it?”
“A schnussy! A schnitzel pussy, keep up!”
“You know, this reminds me of this one time I was fuck-”
“Don't.”
He shook his head. Compared to the others, he and Alastor were doing great. The meat went in the flour, then the egg – getting a lot of it stuck to Lucifer's fingers, but that was a problem for later – and then the crumbs. Rinse and repeat – without the rinsing, obviously, cause that would kind of defeat the purpose of doing the whole thing in the first place, now wouldn't it?
With crumbly, cheesy fingers, Lucifer found himself fumbling with the pan, unable to turn the stove on as his tongue poked from his mouth with his concentration. A snicker of amusement rose from behind him, and Alastor's hands landed on his hips.
He wasn't entirely sure that was kosher, wasn't sure if touching was against the rules of the game, but he wasn't going to tell if Alastor wasn't.
“Give them here, sire,” Alastor muttered, again so close to the side of Lucifer's head that he could feel the other man's breath, sending another shudder down his spine. He wondered at how silly the taller sinner might look – and quickly dismissed that idea, safe in the knowledge that even if Alastor were hinging in half, he'd still somehow manage to look graceful.
Wordlessly, he held up his hands in the direction of Alastor's voice, assuming he might have a tea towel or cloth to wipe them down. He almost jumped out of his skin when something long, warm and wet curled around his fingers, dragging his hands even closer to what could only be Alastor's mouth, if the sharp scrape of familiar teeth was anything to go by.
“T-that's raw egg,” Lucifer pointed out, desperately trying to hold onto his composure, to think of the least arousing things he could imagine. Adam. Husk in a bikini. His collection of rubber ducks being burnt into a plastic puddle.
Alastor only hummed, sucking in a way that made Lucifer's knees quiver, threatening to collapse as interest stirred below his belt. They were in the kitchen, around other people, and Alastor was being an absolute shit by doing this.
It certainly wasn't demonstrating good kitchen hygiene practises. Then again, if it was only him and Alastor eating this meal, then Lucifer supposed it didn't make too much of a difference. It wasn't like they hadn't swapped spit before, after all.
“I hate you,” Lucifer said quietly, stifling a sound in his throat by biting his lip as Alastor's clever tongue twined around the fingers on his other hand, scraping off breadcrumbs and egg alike. He was rewarded with the sound of a low chuckle, staticky and rough, and was suddenly glad he couldn't see whether anyone else was currently looking at them.
“You flatter me,” Alastor riposted, releasing Lucifer's fingers and straightening slightly, if the direction of his voice was any indication. Lucifer wiped his hands on his waistcoat, again walking all over food safety regulations, and tried to listen to Alastor's next instruction over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears.
“The frying pan is not centred. Move it a little further forward – there. To your right is a bottle of oil, careful not to knock it over!”
Lucifer almost did, the back of his hand bumping into it and quickly lurching to catch it before it clattered to the floor, his concentration all shot thanks to Alastor's rather distracting behaviour. His fingers curled around the bottle, and he unscrewed the cap, pouring oil into the pan until Alastor told him to stop.
Turning the stove on made him pause, not entirely pleased with the idea of utilising an open flame whilst blindfolded. He was pretty much fireproof, but the kitchen wasn't. Still, he supposed that was another part of the trust exercise, trusting Alastor to make sure they didn't burn down the hotel.
“We'll wait until the oil is hot. Take two steps to your right and extend your hand forward. You'll find a large bowl, and if you lower your hand, you will find the ingredients for our salad.”
Lucifer lowered his hand, recoiling when it landed in something wet and cold. Alastor barked a laugh.
“Well done. You found the salad dressing! Two bowls to the left of that is our lettuce, let's start there, shall we?”
They got roughly halfway through the salad before the oil was hissing hot, and Alastor directed him to pick up the meat they'd already coated and gently place it into the pan. Lucifer winced automatically when the oil spat at him, hitting the back of his hand – truly, it was more a habitual response than any reaction to pain, since there was very little that could hurt him – but Alastor was on him in a flash.
“Show me,” he demanded, as if he was genuinely worried it could have done any damage. Claws curled around Lucifer's wrist, lifting his hand up to his shoulder once more.
“Alastor! You're not supposed to touch your partner!” Charlie's voice made Lucifer jump – he'd been so focused on Alastor alone, he'd almost forgotten they were doing this as part of her redemption exercises.
“Apologies, Charlie. Your father merely hurt his hand, I was simply concerned for his well being,” Alastor replied smoothly, thumb swiping over the spot the oil had hit before returning Lucifer's hand back into his own possession.
“Okay, well – Dublin! Oh my god, you're on – you're on fire, hang on-!” Charlie's voice hurried off in the direction of a pained squawk, an expression of confusion following from the sinner's perpetually exhausted seeming partner.
He hoped they were okay, and debated whether he should tear off his blindfold to go and help-
Only for Alastor's body heat against his back to press closer, his heart fluttering in his chest as the man almost growled down at him; “Do not get distracted. Pick up the tongs, five inches to your left, and follow my instructions to remove those schnitzels.”
What could he do but obey? King of Hell he might be, but who could resist that voice?
Picking up the schnitzels was more challenging – it was like playing a claw machine blind. Which – actually, that was exactly what it was like. Alastor was growing more agitated by the second every time Lucifer's tongs closed on nothing, clearly concerned about overcooking the meat – and Lucifer practically slumped with relief when he finally managed to grab first one, then the other, and drop them back onto their plate.
He turned off the stove and returned to the salad, as per Alastor's instructions.
“Add the red onion – two bowls to the left, sire – and the tomato. The dressing, now, and pick up the bowl to give it a gentle toss. I do believe that finishes the task at hand,” the demon muttered, sighing as Lucifer hooked a thumb under his blindfold, pulling it up to examine their handiwork.
In terms of looks, it wasn't the most impressive dish he'd ever seen. One schnitzel had made it to the centre of the plate, but the other had one third dangling off the edge. They were both also leaking oil onto the porcelain, as it seemed neither one of them had thought to cover the plate with paper towel in the midst of the increasingly distressed noises coming from the opposite side of the room, not to mention Alastor's growing panic at Lucifer being unable to grab the meat from the pan.
The salad – was a salad. Nothing to write home about. And the bench was a mess, flour and egg and breadcrumbs strewn about the place, bits of everything plastered down the front of Lucifer's waistcoat.
Still – considering Dublin was currently being bandaged, Deerma had rolled their schnitzel up and was even now stuffing it full of lettuce, and the other pair seemed to have broken more plates than they'd used – he didn't think they'd done a terrible job.
“Dinner is served,” Lucifer announced, pulling his blindfold off all the way and tipping his head back to meet Alastor's gaze, a lopsided grin on his face. The sinner raised one brow, his own smile unimpressed.
“Were this a restaurant, I'd send it back. And I certainly hope the chef isn't expecting any compliments from me,” he sniffed, flicking his bangs away from his face, peering critically at the meal they'd made together. Lucifer took the opportunity of his distraction to shove the blindfold in his pocket.
“I mean we made it. We might as well at least try it,” Lucifer pointed out, steadfastly ignoring the fact that Deerma was now taking photos of their creation, cackling all the while. They made a lewd gesture using the schnitzel as a target, and Lucifer suddenly decided that this was enough socialising, for today.
He nudged the wandering schnitzel more firmly onto the plate, picked up both the plate of meat and the bowl of salad – and jerked his head in the air, summoning a swirling red portal through which his own suite was plainly visible.
“Come on, chef,” he grinned, enjoying the way Alastor's smile twitched with genuine amusement. Honestly, if you could manage to discern the smell of their food past the scent of burnt feathers, it actually smelled pretty appealing.
“Very well. Though I will be holding you accountable if I'm disappointed,” the taller man conceded. Lucifer shot him a wink, after first making sure Charlie wasn't looking.
“Come on. Have I ever disappointed you before?” he purred.
Smooth, oh boy, that was smooth, he was pleased with that one. Even more pleased when two very faint spots of red appeared high on Alastor's cheekbones, the tips of his ears dipping just a fraction.
Oh, he was adorable when he was flustered. He could talk the talk, but when it came to Lucifer walking the walk he suddenly turned into a blushing, bashful version of himself that didn't exactly mesh with 'Radio Demon, feared Overlord and psychopathic, cannibalistic serial killer.'
As far as group exercises went, Lucifer wasn't sure how effective that one had been on the path of redemption. It wasn't really like him and Alastor were anywhere near the starting gate, anyway.
But it had been fun. And really, wasn't that what mattered?
~fin~