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A fool he was for believing that he was truly free.
Alastor had thought that now that he was out of his deals, that he would be without restraints from anyone else. For once in his life and death, he would not be following the calling of another. Yet here he was, trapped once more in the cage of someone's fingers – without their realisation no less.
Trapped with this feeling of… soft desperation. A kindle ember that is barely noticeable, more akin to a speck rather than a glaring fire. Alastor, however, has a keen eye for the small details. And once this hole had started forming, he regarded it, apprehensive. And, for once, he felt out of control; unsure what to do.
He hasn't come to a conclusion on what to do yet.
Lucifer.
That's all he knows.
Alongside the strange emotions that come from that name alone.
He knows that Lucifer is the one who has him. And he knows that Lucifer does not understand the position and power he holds over him, let alone know he possesses it in the first place. Though he doesn't know what exactly Lucifer has from him. Carnal desire? Hatred? Obsession? Ire? Love? Surely, it can't be love.
“Don't be a fool,” Alastor replied cooly to his shadow, ignoring its displays of heart shaped hands and eyes to walk over to his dresser.
Pressing the freshly lit cigarette to his mouth, smoke infiltrated his lungs in its cloudy embrace, leaving its lingering taste upon his tongue and its remnants in the air.
Lucifer.
That foolish man doesn't even know what he's doing half the time. Bumbling about half sporadically, trying to cling onto the last semblance of love within his life. No- not even love, just the last bit of minor positive attention from his dear daughter. Sin of pride, not needing love but needing someone there to revel in his ‘brilliance’. What a selfish, horrible man. Would it be bad to admit that he sort of finds himself enjoying it?
Honestly, Alastor didn't even mind fulfilling that role of just watching the King and applying his company to that lonely sack of mushy, mutilated ducks. This is something that he loves doing anyways; watching, waiting, following. Especially if it was Lucifer. Even now, he kept some part of him on him, shadows that cling to the bottom of Lucifer’s heel to make sure that he knows where he is, what he's doing and whether Alastor would be safe to give him some company. To repress that urge he has to graze his skin. To mark his skin. To mar his skin.
That white, pearly skin, adorned with stardust, touched with dirty hands and still somehow mostly pure.
He took in another shivering breath, drawing in more of that ash to fill in that consuming hunger. In the beginning, he almost quit smoking, feeling like the sensation of smoke was attempting to messily bury a gap inside of him, choking him, burying him in its shoddy coverage. He felt like he was chasing the feeling of wanting to consume Lucifer. Afterall, what comes from the fire of hell and rises above it? The smoke.
Eventually, his body and soul was able to overcome his mind's dismissal and refusal. Soon he became a victim to his desires. He couldn't stop chasing that feeling of finally getting Lucifer in any way -nothing stopping him.
He still doesn't have Lucifer though, does he?
Hm. Does he even want Lucifer? Or is he just hungry and wishing to fill his stomach with a light snack?
His shadow laughed at the pun. He ignored it pointedly again, finding himself shamefully annoyed at his dark reflection. It had decided to latch onto Lucifer’s every step today, practically licking and drooling at his legs. Worst part is, is that it was caught in the process no other than the one it was following.
“Bambi,” Lucifer's voice had called out, demanding Alastor's attention immediately. He didn't have to search to know where he was. So he was fully prepared and focused when he turned and saw Lucifer walking over, a smug look painted all over that face of his. If only he didn't pull such weird expressions, he would be a thousand times more beautiful.
“Ah, Sire! Feeling lonely?”
Out of control. His mind and body was slowly straying away from his grasp, little by little, with every step that Lucifer took. He felt the shadow under Lucifer’s heel curl tighter. And he felt warmer all over again, inside and out.
He stopped just short of an inch away from him, the space between them being filled with the body heat emitting from Lucifer and the cool of the shadows surrounding Alastor's carcass of a body.
Salvation was just an inch away.
His grip around his staff tightened as the sudden urge to reach out and dig his claws into the man in front of him. Worse, he found himself shying away from the temptation of biting into him.
“I should say the same to you. Since, you kinda lost your friend.”
Alastor couldn't help but raise a brow. Forever unpredictable, he is. Always saying the oddest things.
“Wha-” Barely even getting his question out, Lucifer interrupted him.
“Best part is, I'm not lonely! Your friend has been giving me company all day. Haha! How sad is that, that your shadow doesn't even wanna be around you.”
He felt his whole body seize up, a record scratch sounding in time, loud enough for Lucifer to notice and smirk wider. Alastor stored that sight for his mind later, filing it away with all the other rows of Lucifer in his mind.
He stretched out his consciousness, finding his shadow still wrapped around its place on Lucifer’s… waist. It's inkly black hands tracing and licking the smooth, white body and down the dip and curve of his perfect spine. An uncontrollable shiver ran down his back as the sensation of that smooth expanse of skin overwhelmed his senses. It was almost like he was touching him.
But he wasn't. It was his stupid shadow. And while his shadow may be him in some way, it still has a detachment from him. Like a piece of his soul that was broken off.
“Hm, has it now?”
So yes, while his shadow may have done him a favour by giving him that pleasure of letting him feel what's below those silly clothes that he covers himself with. It also got caught.
Lucifer wasn't all that bothered though.
That was the best part of it. But also the worst part of it. Because why should he ever care about how Lucifer feels unless he loves him?
For a person like Alastor, to care that much about how someone feels, it must mean something more than that care he extends for people he owns such as Husk and Niffty. It must be a different type of care if he wants to start actively seeking it out. To be the one to draw that out, to be the one to hold and keep it.
Was Alastor even capable of love?
He took another drag of his cigarette, the ash that once tasted sweet and like apples becoming bitter and dry, before he put it out and made his way over to his bed.
Could Lucifer be the one to finally give him a heart? Or maybe unfreeze something within him that always needed the warmth that life nor afterlife could ever fulfil.
Every time his fingertips skimmed the pale skin of the King, an unrivaled warmth melted away his fingertips and washed over his body; drenching his body with nothing but purity and sin all at once. Thoughts of innocence and light and thoughts of darkness and desire.
Alastor laid his head down and closed his eyes, letting the fatigue that he's been ignoring finally win its battle.
Rarely ever does he dream.
And when he does it's nothing but Lucifer.
His taste at last on his lips. In his dream, he kisses Lucifer harder, revelling in the way that he has full control over himself but also in the way that Lucifer’s body hands itself willingly to him. Practically melting in his grasp and allowing Alastor to press his tongue in further, melting their warmth and coldness together into an ugly mess.
His hands move all over his body, mapping out each curve and line, each dip, each muscle, each organ – all of him. If he could draw, he wouldn’t dare try to capture his beauty on paper, only ever wanting his muse to be forever with him in reality rather than in still images. If he were to press his lips against the paper, it wouldn't meet him back, never reaching the same amount of want compared to when he kisses his real muse.
His eyes don't miss a detail of him. Not just physically but the way he reacts. When Alastor’s light feathery kiss touches a part of him, his eyes watch the way that Lucifer responds. His body sometimes twitches, other times he leans in closer, chasing his teeth and allowing him to pierce him, most of the time he watches his expression. His happiness, his anger, his sadness. He licks the tears that fall up. Alastor loved everything that Lucifer gave.
He adored every sound that Lucifer made. His quiet moans and gasp, his loud cries. His voice was like music that he couldn't get sick of. Every story was its own melody, each note held its own carried weight of emotion. He repeated the songs in his head, echoing its tune in the chamber of his mind.
Alastor woke up, desperately trying to reach out for what his dream left him with. He wants it. He turned to his side, tucking his hand under his head.
Lucifer.
Oh, Lucifer.
“What have you done to me?” He whispered out into the night, voice low, unable to reach its audience.
Worst of all, he doesn't mind what he has done to him.
He doesn't sleep, just so that he can think of Lucifer for a while longer. He thinks about him while he carries out day-to-day tasks, he thinks about him when he is making his food, he thinks him every time something reassembling a duck, an apple, a snake, an angel, passes his view, he thinks of him while he reads, he thinks of him while he sings, while he listens to his songs, while he walks, while he sleeps, while he breaths. So long as his soul has an ability to dream, he will think of Lucifer.
For now, maybe that's all he needs to know.
Alastor doesn't need to think of love. Not when he can think of Lucifer.