Chapter Text
The stool he conjured up lives in the corner for the next week, a reminder of their new arrangement. Alastor finds a fondness in the sight of it. He’s looking forward to having those wings in his hands again. He is an attentive man, and keenly aware of the contradictions within him. As exciting as chaos is, there is a pleasant feeling to putting things in order. As much as he laughs at others’ embarrassment (such as the king’s poor wing hygiene), the same old joke gets worn out quickly. And he must be careful that that embarrassment not reflect on him, as the only overlord affiliated with the hotel.
Though Lucifer and Charlie technically outrank him, other overlords will turn any judgment and perceived weakness sharply on him.
He’s heard that the Vees are pushing their luck, pursuing further territory. He will not let the image of their little fortress fall beneath expectations.
A week elapses, and Alastor pulls the stool up behind the king’s chair again.
With some hesitancy, Lucifer presents his wings. Alastor removes his gloves and lays them on the desk beside the king’s current research. He peeks at the open page over Lucifer’s shoulder and makes out the words “namm” and “patron”. It’s exceedingly odd that those are the only words he recognizes. The former is from a language he grew up with. The latter could be from many languages, two of which he is fluent in. It doesn’t give him much to go on.
He thinks again about simply asking Lucifer what he’s up to. But this has become a game to him, and he doesn’t want it to end yet.
He sits and starts again with the top wings, restraining himself from burying his fingers under them to elicit those intriguing noises from last time. Fortunately, there is particular delight in being gentle with their dear king. Before they met in person he truly hadn’t expected him to be so… fragile.
With the king’s light, brittle feathers within his grasp, a deep instinct inside of him makes him want to handle him with care.
The king has revealed very sensitive aspects of himself so easily, because of Charlie, because of angels, because Alastor offered his help. To witness his points of fragility is exhilarating. Alastor doesn’t want that to end, though he does so hope the king will be more cautious with those outside the hotel.
“I was able to get most of the problem feathers from the edges where I can reach,” The king speaks up. “So you can just focus on the parts closer in- uh, if you want.”
Like that; He really should learn to control his stuttering. He seems to give himself away so easily.
“I believe we had agreed to allow me to take care of their grooming from now on.” Alastor’s tone is admonishing.
Lucifer shifts in his seat. “Oh. I, uh, I don’t know that we really agreed on that. It’s not… I mean, it’s not your responsibility. I should be able to take care of them myself.”
Does he think Alastor is clueless? Just a week ago he had hinted at wing grooming not being something one can do on their own. Why must he hold himself to impossible standards in situations like these and not in others where he might actually have some agency?
“Is that so?” He asks. “I expect you’ll be growing extra arms from your back to accomplish this, then?”
“No, I-I just mean… I don’t expect you to do this. It’s not a good look for a king to be taking advantage of his subjects like this. It’s not the kind of ruler I ever wanted to be…”
Alastor’s eyebrows raise. “Using the tools -and people- at your disposal is how subjects are kept in line, reminded of their place.” He isn’t fond of the idea of himself being a subject in this scenario, but it’s not the same. He’s doing this to repay a life debt, not because he believes Lucifer is inherently above him. But for others to know that Lucifer is above them - that’s important.
“But fine, enlighten me on this little pity party. Why should I feel taken advantage of?”
The king shrinks in on himself and doesn’t answer.
“Come now. Is there something to wing grooming amongst angels that I should know about?”
Lucifer cringes. It makes the muscles in his wings flex and shift along with him and the lower two sets start to curl around as if to hide. Alastor commits the movement to memory.
A moment later Lucifer straightens and those wings shake and puff back out to their original position.
“So, hey! How has the remodeling of the third floor been going? I had completely forgotten we didn’t finish decorating that.”
Alastor’s eyes narrow. He will definitely be bringing back that conversation.
He twists the keratin off a pin feather and answers, “Very well, so far. There’s just one more room for our dear Charlie to decide what to do with.”
“Oh, that’s good. I know she’s really into those quiet rooms. She’s been talking about ‘de-stressing areas’ a lot lately.” The king smiles, as usual when his daughter comes up.
They continue discussing the direction of the hotel as Alastor moves on to the middle set of wings. They seem the most uncomfortable for Lucifer to reach, and so Alastor works a little harder to ensure any problematic feathers are gone.
The conversation has trailed off, so Alastor takes it as an opportunity to bring up something else that’s been on his mind.
“The book in front of you, what language is it?”
“Hm? Oh, it’s, uh, a lot of them. It keeps switching. Some idiotic linguist decided to write it in the most confusing way possible, switching between every language he knew at almost every word. It makes syntax a nightmare.”
Huh, perhaps he had correctly recognized the words he spotted earlier, then. It would mean something about a soul and an owner, which could mean Lucifer is researching just about anyone or anything in Hell, for the amount of soul bartering happening.
“How many languages are you fluent in?” He asks.
The king laughs and seems to sit up straighter. “All of them. It kind of comes naturally when you’re Hell-born.”
“Quite impressive. I suppose that makes sense for all the souls from around Earth that end up here.”
“It certainly helps. Kinda takes the fun out of it, though. I can’t write secret messages because any other Hell-born could read them, anyway."
“I can see the inconvenience. It takes away the pleasure of learning, as well. I grew up with only two languages, and a bit of another. I decided to complete my fluency in the third after I found myself here.”
“Which one?”
“French.”
“Huh. I’ve always been fond of that one. Why did you learn it?”
“It bears close relation with the language I grew up using alongside English: Kouri-vini. Many in the communities I grew up in also used French.” The memory of his mother’s soft voice guiding him through a few French words eases the tension in his smile, softening it. He runs a gentle hand over Lucifer’s middle right wing, appreciating how improved they already appear. The blond man takes a deep breath as if the petting was just as grounding for him.
“I hadn’t paid it as much attention in life, but knowledge is, of course, a sign of status among overlords. Familiarizing myself with the language of diplomacy, of aristocracy, was useful to gain reputation in certain circles.”
“Huh. That makes more sense than ‘because it’s the language of love’, haha.”
“That too,” Alastor says quietly, thinking of his mother’s eyes.The topic of what it means for Lucifer to have his wings groomed doesn’t come up again. Alastor decides to let it wait. It was only their second session, and Alastor still has to be a bit rougher with pulling the feathers back into place. The rough treatment is unpleasant for the king, if his shifting and hitched breaths are any indication. If they’re just as bad next time, Alastor will have to insist they do this more regularly.
