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Alastor dusted off his suit, the fabric singed at the edges but otherwise intact. The lesser demon he’d dispatched lay in a puddle of its own viscous goo, a truly pathetic end for something that had the audacity to challenge the Radio Demon. Honestly, it was barely a warm-up. A light stretching exercise, if you will.
He straightened his bow tie – the only real casualty of the brief scuffle – and hummed a jaunty little tune. He was feeling fine. Sprightly, even. The thrill of a good old-fashioned rending always put a spring in his step.
It was as he turned to head back to the hotel that he heard them. A pair of mismatched footsteps rapidly closing in.
"Alastor!" Lucifer's voice, laced with that particular brand of kingly concern that was equal parts endearing and irritating.
"There you are!" Vox's annoying buzz followed.
They rounded the corner, skidding to a halt. Lucifer's eyes widened, darting from Alastor's disheveled state to the steaming demonic remains nearby. Vox's screen flickered, cycling through worried exclamation points and angry emojis before returning to his usual smirk, though it was a little more strained than usual.
"Well, well," Alastor began, ready to regale them with a thrilling, if somewhat embellished, tale of his victory.
But then, a thought struck him. It was a devious, wicked little thought, the kind that made the corners of his smile stretch just a bit wider. He was tired. Not from the fight, but from the sheer, relentless pressure of being this whole 'the strongest sinner in Hell' thing.
What he wanted was a day off. A day of being coddled, fussed over, and absolutely doted on. He wanted to be taken care of. And who better to do it than these two lovesick fools?
With the subtlety of a falling anvil, Alastor decided to act hurt.
He let out a pained groan, a sound that was entirely fabricated but utterly convincing. He clutched his side, a perfectly uninjured area, and swayed dramatically. His ears, which had been perked with alertness, drooped comically. He even managed to summon a tear to one eye, a single, perfect drop of moisture that traced a path down his cheek. It was, he had to admit, a masterful performance.
Vox and Lucifer were at his side in an instant.
"My god, Alastor! Are you alright?" Lucifer demanded, his hands hovering over the Radio Demon, afraid to touch but desperate to help.
"What the hell happened? Who did this? I'll rip their circuits out!" Vox snarled, his screen glowing with a furious blue light. He looked ready to summon an army of warbots from thin air.
"It was... nothing," Alastor gasped, his voice trembling with manufactured weakness. "Just a... a minor disagreement. I'm afraid I'm... not as spry as I used to be." He let out another weak cough, this one sounding suspiciously like a radio tuning to a dead station.
Lucifer's expression softened, the anger in his expression replaced by a wave of concern so potent it was almost visible. He gently took Alastor's arm, supporting him. "You're coming back to the hotel. Right now."
Vox, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes. He leaned in close, his screen inches from Alastor's face. "Wait a minute," he said, his voice low and suspicious. "I know that look. That's the 'I'm about to cause trouble and blame it on someone else' look."
Alastor just blinked at him, all wounded innocence.
"Vox, not now!" Lucifer chided, already half-carrying Alastor back towards the hotel. "Can't you see he's hurt?"
Vox sighed. He followed, still with a skeptical frown displayed on his screen. He knew Alastor was faking. He knew it with the certainty of a well-calculated algorithm. But Lucifer was worried, and when Lucifer was worried, he got... creative. And Vox, much to his own annoyance, was a sucker for a worried Lucifer. Plus, there was a small, traitorous part of him that enjoyed the idea of fussing over Alastor, even if the demon was being a manipulative little shit.
The walk back to the hotel was nothing short of melodramatic, with Alastor leaning heavily on Lucifer, occasionally letting out a pained whimper, and casting Vox mournful, pleading glances when he thought he wasn't looking. Vox, for his part, just rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness to the gesture that he couldn't quite hide.
Once back in the hotel, Lucifer immediately commandeered the bathroom, drawing a steaming hot bath and pouring in an obscene amount of expensive, floral-scented bath oils. Vox, meanwhile, hovered in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.
"You know, for someone who's supposedly dying, you're putting on a pretty good show," he remarked dryly.
Alastor, who was now sitting on the edge of the tub, looking pitifully at the rising water, just sighed. "It's a cruel world, Vox. A cruel, cruel world."
Lucifer returned, a fluffy towel draped over his arm. "Alright, you two, enough. Alastor, get in the tub."
Alastor looked at the bath, then at Lucifer, then at Vox. A sly glint entered his eyes. "I'm afraid I'm... too weak... to undress myself~."
Lucifer and Vox exchanged a look. A long, silent conversation passed between them, a mix of exasperation, amusement, and something that looked suspiciously like affection.
"Fine," Lucifer sighed, stepping forward to help Alastor with his jacket. "But you owe us. Big time."
Vox just shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. He reached for Alastor's bow tie, his fingers brushing against the demon's neck. "You're impossible," he muttered, but there was no real heat in his words.
And so, the King of Hell and the Media Overlord found themselves undressing the Radio Demon, their movements gentle and careful, despite the eyerolls and sarcastic comments. Alastor, for his part, was in heaven. He closed his eyes, a contented sigh escaping his lips as Lucifer's hands worked at the buttons of his shirt and Vox's fingers unfastened his trousers. He was being pampered, cherished, and it was everything he'd wanted.
"See?" he thought, a smug satisfaction warming him from the inside out. "Sometimes, it pays to be a little... dramatic."
And as they lowered him into the steaming, fragrant water, he knew he was right. This was going to be a very, very good day.
The water was divine, a perfect temperature that seeped into his very bones, chasing away the last of the manufactured chill. Lucifer, with a reverence usually reserved for particularly well-crafted rubber ducks, began to work a lather of soap into Alastor's fur. He was especially meticulous, as if he were mapping every inch of the demon's body.
"You're awfully quiet," Lucifer murmured. "Still hurting?"
"Immensely," Alastor lied, a blissful smile spreading across his face as Lucifer's fingers found a particularly tense spot in his shoulder. He leaned into the touch as a silent encouragement. "But this... this helps."
Vox, who had been leaning against the doorframe watching them with a look of fond exasperation, finally pushed himself off. "Oh, for crying out loud. You're not fooling anyone, you big faker." He walked over to the tub, crouching down beside Alastor. "But if we're doing this, we're doing it right."
With that, he produced a small, elegant-looking brush. It was made of some kind of dark, polished wood, with bristles that were soft yet firm. Alastor recognized it immediately. It was a shedding brush, the kind used for high-maintenance pets. And he was absolutely livid. And also, a little turned on.
"Don't you dare," he warned, his ears twitching.
Vox just grinned. "You've got a battle in your fur, Al. It's my civic duty to help you... decompress."
Lucifer chuckled, making the water vibrate a bit. "He's got a point. You're shedding all over the place."
Alastor opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat as Vox began to brush. The sensation was... odd. At first, it was a little uncomfortable, the bristles catching on the mats and tangles in his fur. But then, as Vox worked, the brush began to glide through, and a feeling of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over him. It was like a deep-tissue massage, but for his fur. He could feel the tension melting away, replaced by a warm, fuzzy contentment.
"See?" Vox said, his voice smug. "Told you it would feel good."
Alastor just hummed to himself, almost resembling happy purring. He was too blissed out to form a coherent response.
Lucifer, not to be outdone, moved on to Alastor's antlers. He took a soft, damp cloth and began to gently wipe them down, his touch so light it was barely there. Alastor's antlers were a sensitive spot, a direct line to his very core (ehm, DICK–). He shivered, a full-body tremor that had nothing to do with being cold.
"Careful there, your Majesty," Alastor managed to say, his voice a breathy whisper. "Those are... delicate."
Lucifer smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. "I know. That's why I'm being so gentle, moron."
And he was. He wiped away the grime and dried blood from the fight, his movements slow and reverent. He traced the intricate patterns of the antlers, his fingers lingering on the sharp points. Alastor felt a strange warmth spread through him, a feeling that was both comforting and deeply unsettling. He was being cared for and it was a feeling he wasn't used to. He wasn't sure he liked it. But he also wasn't sure he wanted it to stop.
Once Alastor's fur was brushed and his antlers were clean, they turned their attention to his hooves. Vox, ever the practical one, produced a small jar of a thick, creamy balm. He took one of Alastor's feet, lifting it out of the water and resting it on the edge of the tub.
"And what's this?" Alastor asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Hoof balm," Vox replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Keeps them from getting cracked. You'd be surprised how much damage you can do, galavanting around Hell in those fancy shoes of yours."
Alastor watched, intrigued, as Vox scooped a small amount of the balm onto his fingers and began to massage it into his hoof. The sensation was strange, but not unpleasant. The balm was cool and soothing, and Vox's touch was firm and confident. He worked the balm into the cracks and crevices, his fingers moving with a practiced ease.
"I had to do this for one of my Vees once," Vox commented casually. "Valentino broke a heel and threw a fit. Took me an hour to calm him down."
Alastor raised an eyebrow. "And how did you manage that?"
Vox smirked. "I told him I'd buy him a new pair. A very expensive, very sparkly pair. With matching accessories."
Lucifer laughed, brightly enough to make the room feel immidietly lighter. "Sounds like you have your hands full."
"Don't I know it," Vox sighed, but there was a fondness in his tone. He finished with the first hoof and moved on to the second, his touch just as gentle, just as sure.
Alastor leaned back, letting the water support him. He closed his eyes, a deep, contented sigh escaping his lips. He was being coddled, fussed over, and absolutely doted on – so basically everything he wished for, and more. He felt a wave of affection for the two demons, a feeling so strong it was almost painful. (we all know you're a sociopathic dick bambi)
"You know," he said, his voice soft, "you two are... surprisingly good at this."
Lucifer and Vox once again exchanged a look.
"We're just full of surprises," Lucifer said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Now, let's get you out of that tub before you turn into a prune."
Alastor, for once, didn't argue. He let them help him out of the bath, their hands steady and sure as they wrapped him in a fluffy towel. He was feeling warm, relaxed, and utterly content. The day was turning out even better than he had planned.
After the bath, a new challenge presented itself: pajamas. Or rather, the lack thereof. Alastor, it seemed, did not own a pair. This, of course, was not a problem for his dear partners, who saw it as an opportunity.
"I've got just the thing," Lucifer declared, disappearing into the closet and emerging with a pile of... something. He held up a pair of red silk pajamas, the fabric shimmering in the light. "These were a gift. From... someone. I never wore them."
Alastor eyed the pajamas with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue. They were clearly expensive, the kind of thing a king would wear. They were also, he noted, a little too... revealing for his taste. The pants were low-slung, and the top was unbuttoned, showing a hint of chest.
"I don't think so," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I'm more of a... flannel kind of guy."
Vox snorted. "You? Flannel? I'd pay to see that."
"I'll have you know, flannel is a very durable and practical fabric," Alastor retorted, although he was clearly joking.
"Please, Alastor," Lucifer pleaded, holding out the pajamas. "Just try them on. For me."
Alastor looked from Lucifer's pleading expression to Vox's amused smirk. He was fighting a losing battle, and he knew it. With a dramatic sigh, he snatched the pajamas from Lucifer's hands and retreated to the bathroom.
When he emerged a few minutes later, the effect was... striking. The red silk clung to his lean frame, highlighting every muscle and curve. The pants hung low on his hips, and the top, left unbuttoned, revealed a tantalizing glimpse of the pale, fluffy fur of his chest. He looked, to put it mildly, devastatingly fucking handsome.
Vox's screen flickered, a wave of bright cyan blue washing over it before he could get it under control. "Well, well," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Look at you."
Lucifer just stared, his eyes wide with admiration. "Wow," he breathed. "Just... wow."
Alastor, for the first time that day, looked a little flustered. He tugged at the hem of the top, a self-conscious gesture that was completely out of character. "They're a little... revealing," he mumbled.
"They're perfect," Lucifer said, stepping forward and pulling Alastor into a hug. "You're perfect."
Vox joined in, wrapping his arms around both of them. "He's right," he said. "You are."
Alastor stood there, sandwiched between the two most powerful demons in Hell, wearing a pair of silk pajamas that weren't his, and felt a strange, unfamiliar feeling wash over him. It was a feeling of belonging, of being wanted and loved for who he was, not what he could do. It was a terrifying feeling, but it was also, he had to admit, a little wonderful.