Chapter Text
Some time after the battle with Adam, Lucifer decided to stay at the hotel with your daughter until things between Heaven and Hell settled down following the death of the first man.
During that time, something about the king caught Alastor’s attention.
That something was his hands.
When they first met, Alastor hadn’t paid much attention to the king. Their personalities had clashed dramatically from the very beginning, ending in a heated exchange of insults—and even a musical number. But as days turned into weeks, the constant coexistence with Lucifer made Alastor notice that small detail.
Once he grew accustomed to the king’s constant presence in the hotel, he slowly began to notice more things about him. From his snow-white skin to his golden hair, which could be compared to rays of sunlight, and not to mention those rosy cheeks that gave him an almost angelic touch. Any demon would have to admit why Lucifer was known as God’s favorite.
Lucifer was beautiful.
And although his pride refused to acknowledge that there was more than just beauty, Alastor eventually realized that the king was not merely a pretty face. Their conversations over drinks at the bar made him understand that Lucifer was also excellent company. A good drinking partner, even.
Once that realization clicked, it became more and more common for the two of them to “casually” meet at the bar late at night, after everyone else had gone to bed.
But that led Alastor to notice something that didn’t quite make sense.
At first, he thought Lucifer wore gloves—the change in color was too drastic. He even considered that the king might have a fear of germs, which, considering they were in Hell and all the things that passed through it, didn’t seem like such a crazy idea.
But later, he realized that wasn’t the case.
His Majesty didn’t wear gloves. That was his skin. Those were his hands.
When he finally understood this, he was genuinely surprised. The contrast in skin color was striking. Was it only his hands? Were his feet the same? Over time, the questions only multiplied. Did it stop at his wrists, or did it go all the way up his arms?
Almost every time Alastor saw Lucifer, the king wore his usual white suit or long-sleeved shirts that hid his arms completely.
Fortunately, that question was answered a few days later when Lucifer came down for breakfast for the first time wearing something different. Instead of his usual suit, he wore a short-sleeved shirt with a duck joke on it, finally revealing the truth: the black color of his hands extended a little past his forearms before gradually blending into his porcelain-colored skin.
“Good morning, Bambi,” Lucifer murmured as he entered the kitchen, yawning softly.
“Oh, Your Majesty honors us with his presence today,” Alastor replied, placing a cup of coffee on the dining table, right next to the empty seat beside Charlie.
“Good morning, Dad!” Charlie said cheerfully as she pulled out the chair next to her and offered it to her father with a smile.
“Good morning, Char-Char,” Lucifer replied, smiling back at her as he sat down and took the cup of coffee.
Although his relationship with Lucifer had improved greatly since their first meeting, Alastor had to admit something—something that took him a long time to understand. After consulting his friend Rosie, he finally realized what those feelings were that stirred inside him whenever he looked at the king.
It felt strange, and he denied it at first.
Love… such a peculiar word.
He refused to admit it, because admitting it would mean admitting he had a heart. He—a supreme overlord who delighted in torture, mutilation, and the screams of his victims. When demons thought of the Radio Demon, love was certainly not what came to mind.
Even though he could now put a name to that strange condition that had driven him to Rosie’s doorstep more than once, he still refused to act on it.
Or at least, that’s what he thought—until he found himself here.
Sitting at the bar late at night, the hotel wrapped in silence. At the far end of the counter, a small radio softly played smooth jazz. The fireplace was lit, creating a warm, cozy atmosphere in the room. Lucifer spoke animatedly, gesturing with his hands as he recounted a story older than himself.
Alastor enjoyed this greatly. Knowledge was power, and at that moment, he had the ultimate scholar right in front of him. He had often indulged in listening to Lucifer’s tales about the creation of the world.
Slowly, he lifted his drink and took a sip, his attention fixed on Lucifer. Though he listened to his words, his focus gradually drifted to the king’s face.
The firelight reflected beautifully against Lucifer’s porcelain skin. Alastor realized he had been staring longer than intended when Lucifer suddenly fell silent. The king pouted slightly before his expression softened into a gentle, foolish smile.
“Take a picture—it’ll last longer,” Lucifer teased, taking a sip of his drink. “I know I’m handsome, you don’t have to tell me.”
Alastor let out a short laugh and took another sip of his whiskey.
“I didn’t take you for the vain type, my king,” he joked.
Lucifer puffed out his cheeks and glanced away.
Perhaps the alcohol was starting to affect them both.
“Oh? Is His Majesty blushing?” Alastor teased, smiling as he pressed the king’s buttons. “Or maybe it’s just the alcohol talking? I didn’t know angels could get drunk.”
“It’s my special brew,” Lucifer murmured, taking another drink and sighing happily. “I needed something strong.”
Maybe it was the alcohol—or the fact that Alastor knew the king was terrible at lying when drunk—but something compelled him to finally ask the question that had bothered him for months.
“I was wondering,” Alastor said casually, leaning slightly against the bar and fixing Lucifer with his gaze, “why is your skin porcelain-white, but your arms are a different color?”
He didn’t miss how Lucifer froze for a second. The question clearly caught him off guard.
“What?” Lucifer said, lowering his glass slowly.
“I don’t believe your hearing has gone bad at your age, Your Majesty,” Alastor replied with a teasing smile, though there was no venom behind his words.
“Ha ha, very funny, Bambi,” Lucifer muttered with a frown.
“Oh, come on—why so serious? It’s just a question,” Alastor said with a grin. “Indulge me tonight.” He lowered his ears slightly and widened his eyes, trying to appear less intimidating.
Lucifer stared at him for a moment before smiling softly.
“You know I can’t say no when you make that face, Al,” he murmured, his silly smile betraying just how drunk he was.
“All right,” Lucifer sighed, playing slowly with his glass. “Let’s see… where do I even begin? It’s been so long, I hardly know what to say.”
“I’m sure it’ll be entertaining no matter how you tell it, Your Majesty,” Alastor replied with a smile.
“Are you sure you want to hear it, Al? It’s a long story. A bit boring. It goes all the way back to the beginning of humanity,” Lucifer said, yawning softly. “And it doesn’t have a happy ending.”
“Nonsense. Any story involving you is bound to be interesting,” Alastor said lightly. “Besides, down here, time is the one thing we have plenty of.”
He stood up and walked toward the sofa nearest the fireplace, extending his hand toward Lucifer. The king huffed but took it, standing up slowly—though not without grabbing his drink first. Together, they moved to the couch and sat down, getting comfortable.
“All right, all right,” Lucifer chuckled, taking another sip before sighing.
“This happened a very, very long time ago… at the very beginning of everything, in the middle of a garden.”