Chapter Text
The Summer's Over and the Dark Clouds Hide the Sun
“Alastor, baby, you look tired.”
Alastor blinked up at his mother as he tied on his tidy red-and-white pinstripe apron, perfectly starched and pressed as he always kept it. He’d been operating on auto-pilot since he’d let himself in the front with his key about ten minutes ago, his brain still located somewhere around the vicinity of his pillow and his feet already aching.
His mother, Delphine DuBois, was watching him with the sort of intent, worried expression she’d carried around for the last fistful of years since he’d started his new job. She was sitting at a weathered stool in front of the counter register, wiping down menus with neat precision born of practice. She didn’t even need to look at what she was doing anymore, she’d been at this for so long. Her eyes, a deep coffee-hull brown that always carried an indelible warmth, were focused on him, surely noting the bags under his own eyes.
She looked so small sitting there, the cancer having withered her over time even though she fought it with every fiber of her being.
Delphine wore her hair in an antiquarian style, taming her natural curls with sleek rolls that hadn’t been popular since at least the forties. She wore a modest day-dress in a durable green colour, little buttons tracing down the front until they disappeared into her own apron. Her bird-boned hands were weathered from decades in this very diner - from untold hours in dish water, unnumbered pops of hot grease, and miles and miles of mopped floors. Alastor knew perfectly well that beneath the counter her feet were shod in sensible kitten heels of the same taupe colour she’d preferred since he was a boy.
“...Ti sèf?”
Little deer.
The nickname finally filtered in through the sleep that fogged his brain and Alastor smiled, waving her off, “Mwen byen, manman. Don’t worry. I had a late shift last night. Is the dough already proofing?”
His mother looked nothing but wholly unconvinced, her lips pursed slightly to the side in that little way of hers.
He gave her an exasperated chuckle and finished the knot in his apron strings, “Maman.”
Too polite to roll her eyes right at him, Delphine let out a sigh and gave up the fight she knew she wouldn’t win against her devilishly stubborn offspring, “Yes. It’s ready for cutting when the oil’s hot. Put the coffee on, please.”
Alastor hummed in assent and walked back into the diner’s spotless kitchen to pull the dough out of proofing. It wouldn’t do for the yeast to do too much work and end up with a sour taste in every beignet.
That done, he strolled back out into the diner proper to begin coaxing their commercial coffee maker to life. It was an ornery piece of technology that had surely sat on the very same counter since at least the fifties, but neither Alastor nor his mother were in any hurry to replace the thing. There was a certain charm to old things…a personality that the years had etched into every facet of their being.
All of Lakay Diner was like that.
Alastor’s grandfather had been the one to found it with what pay the Army had seen fit to leave in his hands after the second World War. He’d been a serviceman, one of the few who was lucky to come home, and as soon as he had? He’d poured his everything into this place. Rather than resent the expense, Alastor’s grandmother had picked the family up and moved them into the homely apartment just above and the clan had been there ever since. Delphine had grown up working in the diner and had taken it over once her mother and father weren’t there to helm the ship any longer.
Alastor had grown up in the same apartment as his mother, their cozy space permeated with the scent of fried food and coffee for as long as he could remember.
There had been a time when he’d moved away for school, but…well…
He shook himself.
He was here now and this was what mattered. With his maman still sick, this was his place. It ran in his blood and he knew it like the back of his hand.
Alastor breathed in to brace himself and gave the coffee maker an affectionate tap on the side, listening as it growled to life like the lazy beast it was.
Oh, he loved this quiet time he had with his mother before Lakay opened for the day…before the first dog-tired graveyard shift workers dragged themselves in for food or the first bleary early-risers shuffled in for breakfast. Alastor loved when it was just the two of them working in peaceful tandem, the minutes full of soft jazz singing out from their antique radio and the muted tap of his mother’s shoes as she moved past him to get the oil heating. He’d shoo her out of the kitchen once the day warmed up, but for now he was content to leave her be.
She was beating the cancer and had been doing so slowly for years. Alastor was convinced that part of it was her tenacity, so far be it from him to wrap her in a blanket and tuck her away like a fragile curio.
Speaking of, he’d likely need to request a double shift at his second job soon. She had another procedure coming up and Alastor wanted to keep on top of payments…
The bell over the front door tinkled and Alastor was surprised for the second time that morning. They didn’t open for another half an hour.
He called back into the kitchen, “Maman? Did you forget to lock the door?”
Delphine’s steady voice called back, “Non, ti sèf. Mr. Morningstar requested to come early.”
Mr. Morningstar.
Alastor’s auburn eyes narrowed behind his glasses and he suppressed an annoyed growl as he turned back to the door just in time to see God’s Perfect Nuisance strolling through it.
That man .
Why on earth did his mother seem so charmed by the jumped up bastard? The cad was all hat and no cattle as far as Alastor was concerned and yet somehow Delphine DuBois had developed a liking for the pithy little troll.
Swanning through the door at a whopping 5’5 was a man so white Alastor was relatively sure he could reflect the sun’s rays at thirty paces. His hair was an annoyingly perfect golden hue, always coiffed back from his porcelain face just-so. Eyes so honey-brown they barely qualified as brunette at all were already gleaming with delight when he caught sight of Alastor. Today, he was dressed in a white suit with a pinstripe waistcoat that made him look like a candy-wrapper and it irritated the taller man unduly that somehow the damn thing never seemed to stain.
Grinning like an imp, the older man greeted, “Hey, Bambi! You’re looking extra sour today. Wake up on the wrong side of the crypt?”
Bambi .
Lucifer had accidentally overheard Delphine’s nickname for her son some months back and had expressed curiosity about the language he didn’t recognize. Of course, Alastor’s mother being a trusting sort, she’d told him quite pleasantly what it meant. Naturally, the pint-sized terror had used it against him ever since.
“Ah, Mr. Morningstar,” Alastor purred with false cheer, the smile on his face nothing short of a knife’s slash, “Still unable to respectfully adhere to business hours, I see?”
“What can I say?” Lucifer purred right back, “Maybe I just want some uninterrupted time with my favourite coffee boy.”
A muscle in Alastor’s jaw jumped.
He breathed in deep through his nose and let it out slowly, keeping his smile in place, “Well, your customary order won’t be ready for a moment. The oil for the beignets isn’t hot yet. There are certain drawbacks to being unfashionably early.”
Lucifer simply helped himself to the stool right in front of Alastor, placing his elbows on the counter like a goddamn heathen and delicately placing his chin on the backs of his hands, “No drawbacks here, Bambi. I’ll take a cup of coffee and some sparkling conversation while I wait.”
Alastor couldn’t help the way his eyes narrowed. His mother was going to be so disappointed in him for being rude.
Again.
“It’s brewing,” he bit out.
“Sparkling conversation it is, then!” Lucifer chirped.
There really was no putting the little cretin off once he’d set his mind to something. Alastor would almost admire the tenacity if it weren’t Lucifer Morningstar.
There was nothing admirable about Lucifer Morningstar.
One of the most successful titans of industry on the planet, he was the founder and CEO of Morningstar Industries - a company whose meteoric rise had featured in almost every magazine Alastor cared to name. He’d begun as a young man, a gifted wunderkind with a mind turned towards advancements in STEM that had revolutionized scientific knowledge. His apparent genius had ushered in a golden age in astronomical study thanks to breakthrough advancements in telescopy.
It had been a beautiful start and Alastor had remembered the news when he’d been young. But even as a boy, Alastor had never believed in the shiny facades the rest of society was only too happy to glut itself on.
Alastor was aware of other projects of less high-minded and geared towards the betterment of mankind. Anyone who chose to pay attention was. Lucifer’s shenanigans in public did nothing to improve the younger man’s opinion of his least favourite customer.
The man was, put in the most generous terms, a clown.
He had every privilege in the world and yet seemed to do nothing with it but throw obscenely ritzy galas and make an ass of himself while in attendance. The public found it adorable, but it set something queasy turning in Alastor’s gut. What was the point of a charity gala when you spent so much fucking money throwing it that could have gone to the people in need? What would it be like to have so much money that you didn’t need to care what people thought about you anymore? What did that level of privilege feel like?
Considering Alastor worked an obscene schedule just to scrape together the money needed to keep his mother on her cancer treatments? He had no mercy or love in his heart for Lucifer Morningstar.
He must have stewed for too long because he was suddenly aware that Lucifer was speaking to him again.
“Bambi?”
The man had moved, folding his hands down on the counter top and leaning forward slightly with something that almost looked like genuine concern on his cherubic face, “Hey…you look rough today, Alastor. Are things going okay?”
Oh, absolutely not .
Not even Alastor’s own sainted mother was granted insight into his woes, so this jumped up little pissant certainly wouldn’t be. Luckily, the coffee pot chose that moment to give a hissing groan, thus saving the younger man from the burden of answering where his mother would be able to hear him being rude.
He turned to the ancient coffee maker and reached for one of the equally old ceramic cups his mother so loved, thick crockery in a tan colour with little speckles like a hen. With his other hand, he dispensed coffee into the mug, but not as much as he would do with a more civilized customer. That wasn’t to say that he was shorting Lucifer of anything (his professional pride wouldn’t allow it), but he knew the man preferred an ungodly amount of cream and sugar in his coffee. It was ghastly, but Alastor knew his order well enough by now to make it without thinking, depositing the perfect mug of (ruined) coffee in front of their guest.
Lucifer looked down at the cup and something almost fond crossed his face when he took in the pale concoction, giving up on his line of questioning long enough to lift it to his pink little mouth for a sip. His golden eyes hooded with pleasure and he hummed, setting the mug down with barely a click on the Formica counter.
“Perfect as always,” he said, sounding almost charmed by that fact.
Alastor sniffed, “I know.”
A hiss of frying pastry filled the air and Lucifer lifted his nose, sniffing out the same aromas of heated yeast and sugar as Alastor detected, “Christ, that’s just what the doctor ordered.”
He craned forward in his seat to holler back into the kitchen, “You’re an angel, Delphine!”
His mother’s laughter floated back out like music on a summer breeze, “Flattery won’t make ‘em cook faster, Mr. Morningstar! Al, you be nice to that man and keep him entertained until I’ve got his order ready.”
Drat.
Lucifer was back to looking smug and Alastor was too exhausted for this.
It didn’t help that he saw faces like this every night at his other job…pretty, monied, white faces full of more confidence than brains - their eyes all trained on him.
“So Bambi, terrorize anyone new?” Lucifer asked, sing-song.
Alastor answered him back in matching tones, “I’m afraid terrorizing you monopolizes my mornings.”
If anything, Lucifer looked pleased about that fact, his smile widening with genuine glee, “Well, good. I’d get awfully jealous if my favourite coffee boy was giving anyone else the gold star treatment.”
Of course he would. Men and women like him were all the same, thinking that Alastor owed them something and that whatever scraps of attention they eked out of him were somehow special.
A trigger in Alastor’s brain, well-groomed by years at his secondary place of employment, tried to fire off…tried to tell him to lean over the counter and get a little more of Lucifer’s time and money. It suggested that he should drop his voice low and cant his hips to the side just right and tease him just a little bit more…
Alastor slammed down violently on the impulse.
He was not bringing that world into the serene haven that was Lakay.
Instead, he rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, “Yes, well, I’m sure you’re quite used to getting the gold star treatment, aren’t you?”
Alright, perhaps that one went a bit too far.
Alastor noticed the way true discomfort flickered in Lucifer’s bright eyes, dimming them until they were more of a toffee hue. The smaller man cleared his throat and seemed to shrink in on himself a bit, his smile receding. He raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck.
Lucifer huffed out a chagrined, “It’s uh…not all it’s cracked up to be, if you want the truth.”
Alastor blinked.
He didn’t have time to digest the sudden shift in character before his mother was bustling in and snapping at his arm with a tea towel, “Alright! You are meaner than a snake today, boy. Antre nan kwizin nan ak chonje konpòtman ou!”
Chastened, Alastor held up his hands and dismissed himself into the kitchen to finish cooking the beignets. There were only a few minutes left on the fry, so he settled in to watch over them, listening out as his mother smoothly transitioned back to English to talk to Lucifer. She’d likely scold him later and Alastor supposed he’d deserve it. Lucifer really was the only customer he treated this way after all, so it surprised her when he got his nose out of joint.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Morningstar. He’s such a sweet boy, but he does get the devil in him sometimes,” she said.
Lucifer’s voice replied, soothing and polite, “Don’t even worry about it, Del. I was teasing him pretty badly today. I’d get annoyed at me too.”
“Well, I’m not gonna scold a customer, anyhow,” his mother huffed and then her tones settled, “So what’s got you in so early today? I know you like your privacy sometimes, but you know the folks who come in here don’t ever pay you any mind.”
The next thing Lucifer said had that bashful quality again. Alastor flipped the beignets and began to prep the powdered sugar.
“Ah, I’ve just got a packed day is all, and I didn’t want to miss out on coffee and beignets. One of my friends is back from a business trip and he’s monopolizing me. He’s got some business deal with one of the clubs in town he wants me to scope out with him.”
Alastor lost interest in their conversation as business became a topic of discussion and turned his ear to the radio instead. The dulcet tones of Vera Lynn poured out of the speakers like sonic velvet and the younger man let himself get swept up in the tune. Like a reflex as he pulled down a clean plate, he parted his lips to sing along with the woman promising an unknown partner they would meet again ‘some sunny day’.
Letting himself accompany the radio always made him feel better and he was hardly thinking about anything at all as he plucked the beautiful golden brown pastries from the oil and placed them on a prepared rack to drain. He’d almost forgotten Lucifer by the time he plated the beignets and dusted them with sugar.
He certainly didn’t notice that it had gotten quiet out in the diner as his voice rose and fell in the morning still.
~*~
“He is unfairly hot, Oz. You don’t even understand,” Lucifer lamented while his friend went through his closet, having deemed his suit…well…unsuitable for their outing that night.
“Mm-hm, go on,” came the voice from his closet, sounding a little distracted.
Lucifer flopped back on his bed and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes with a growl before launching back into his lovestruck tirade, “He’s tall… so tall. Must be six feet even and he’s so slim. He looks long and I don’t know why that’s sexy, but it is. God, his eyes are insane. They’re like chocolate, but I swear there’s red in them when the light hits them just right…”
“Where’d you meet this guy, babe? Please tell me it wasn’t at that stupid ass Balenciaga show your Board insisted you show up to?”
“Huh? Oh, no. I uh…I kinda ended up in the bathroom having a panic attack at that show. I don’t think I met anyone except the very nice EMT who ended up having to fish me out of there,” Lucifer said, dragging his hands down his face, “No, this guy helps run this diner I really like.”
Ozzie finally deigned to poke his head out of the closet, raising one luridly blue-dyed eyebrow, “...I beg your finest pardon, Luci?”
“Yeah, Lakay Diner. It’s this nice place…real snapshot from history. I don’t think Miss Delphine’s updated the place since the forties and it’s cute. I like it. They make the best like…Creole donuts? I found out they’re called beignets,” the CEO rambled to the ceiling.
“Babe. Focus,” his friend sighed.
“Oh, sorry. Yeah. It’s owned by this sweet Creole woman, Del, and her son. I mean, I don’t know if he owns it, but he’s always working when I go there and they don’t have any other employees. I assume he co-owns.”
“Soooo,” Ozzie drawled, walking fully out to begin laying out potential clothing options, “You got the hots for some sweet little hayseed?”
Lucifer snorted in amusement, “Oh hell no. Bambi is mean as hell and I’m pretty sure he hates my guts.”
Ozzie paused and straightened up, popping hands on his hips, “You’re this fucked up over a guy that hates you?”
“He hates me to my face, Oz! Nobody does that! Even Lils just looked sorry for me when we ended things…”
“Luci…Lils doesn’t hate you and you know that. Please tell me you haven’t fallen ass over teakettle for a man who can’t stand you as some sorta weird self-flagellation bullshit,” the bigger man said as he reached down to give his friend a shake.
Ozzie was huge. Bigger than Alastor even. Not only was he a towering figure height-wise, but he was also broad chested in a way the slender diner worker wasn’t. His skin was a gorgeous ebony and he had a full head of meticulously maintained sapphire locs that poured over his strong shoulders like a mane. Lucifer envied him sometimes. He was so effortlessly stylish and confident…and, y’know, handsome.
Lucifer groaned, “It isn’t just the mean thing. He…I dunno. He dotes on his mother…like, he’s so gentle with her. He’s so old-fashioned. There’s always jazz playing in the diner and he sings along with it. Just like today, yeah? The whole world went silent when he was singing. And! He knows my coffee order by heart.”
This time his friend actually chuckled, “The last part just means he’s good at his job.”
“He hates making my coffee order.”
The other man was a combination of stumped and amused as he urged Lucifer to sitting, “So…he’s bad at his job?”
“You don’t get it Oz. I love that he doesn’t like me for the wrong reasons,” Lucifer tried to defend his poor, doomed crush.
“Luci, it sounds like he doesn’t like you at all.”
Lucifer huffed and let himself be guided into different clothes as Ozzie’s big (yet surprisingly gentle) hands helped him into a form fitting cowl-neck shirt and a silvery-grey blazer, “It’s…maybe I want to earn something instead of having it given to me for once, Oz. But…” he sighed, coming back down to earth, “He’s way too young for me…has to be. And I get the feeling he doesn’t want to be earned, so…yeah.”
The look on Ozzie’s sculpted face softened and he hummed, “Don’t worry about Diner Boy too much, babe. We’re gonna go out to this club and have a good time. It’s pretty well spoken of in the nightlife circles, so you should be able to wash that man out of your hair if you want.”
“What exactly is this place you’re taking me?” Lucifer asked, taking over the task of dressing himself in the more acceptable outfit his more effortlessly chic friend had decided on for him.
“Place called Frequency. Opened up five…maybe six years ago. Wasn’t much to write home about at first…more big ideas than actual execution. But the owner, this Vox guy? He’s ambitious and Frequency’s got damn good word of mouth now and Vox’s been angling for partnership opportunities” Ozzie explained drifting over to a mirror to check his eyeliner, “My Fizz has a line with one of the dancers there. Says the clientele is pretty high-end so I’m sure someone’ll catch your eye.”
Lucifer adjusted the cuff of his jacket (fiddled, really) and sighed “I’m not looking for anyone, Oz. Stuff with Lils is still too new.”
Ozzie turned back to him with a chuckle, plucking up a bottle of cologne as he did, “At least get the taste of mean Diner Boy out of your mouth.”
The little blonde’s nose scrunched, “Ozzie, ew.”
His friend’s chesty, brassy laughter filled up the penthouse.
~*~
Alastor pulled his car into the parking lot of his second job and took a minute to lean over the steering wheel and just…breathe.
He was exhausted and his feet still hurt from the morning. Well…they technically still hurt from last night but a full day on his feet at the diner hadn’t helped things. It wasn’t so bad he couldn’t pull a shift here, but he knew for a fact he’d be fighting blisters by morning. He briefly entertained calling out, but his mind called up an image of his worn out mother sleeping in her armchair back home, her body so lean from the illness.
It was enough to rebuild his tenuous resolve and Alastor breathed out, taking his hands off the wheel to reach for the duffel bag occupying the passenger seat.
Time to go.
Alastor shouldered his bag and slid out of the car, taking a bracing breath and looking up at the sleek, modern building in front of him.
Frequency was one of the most exclusive clubs in the entertainment district, a den of iniquity so high-end it didn’t even advertise what it was. It didn’t need to. Those who were meant to be there just knew and that, somehow, gave the whole place an air of class. Alastor wanted to laugh at the very notion, but it paid the bills and kept his mother on the road to health, so how snide could he really afford to be?
The man pursed his lips and his long stride carried him across the small back lot meant only for employees, walking up to the back door and keying in the door code. He looked up into the little camera mounted over the door and waited for someone to recognize his face, the door buzzing and clicking open after a moment. No turning back now. Not that it was ever a choice.
Alastor ruffled a hand through his own hair and stepped through, closing the door tightly after him. In front of him stretched a long hallway with several doors branching off to either side. The music wasn’t yet pounding (Frequency wasn’t open during the daytime hours), but the acoustics were already primed as the young man stepped in, his shoes cracking like gunfire on the tile. He resisted pinching his sinuses as the report of his footsteps ricocheted down the hall. There was certainly no hiding his presence now.
Sure as anything, a slickly coiffed dark-haired head popped out from around the jamb of one of the doors and Vox waved him in, “Al! Good, you’re here. I need to talk to you before you start getting ready.”
“Of course,” Alastor said agreeably, because what else was he meant to do, really?
The man altered his course to Vox’s office, setting his duffel bag down and seating himself in a chair across from the man’s desk. It was a sleek, metal thing that looked cold and impersonal to Alastor’s eyes. Arrayed behind the other man was a wall of television monitors, each one tied to a different camera in the club. There was security, of course, but Vox preferred a…well…personal touch.
Vox had always been that way.
They had gone to school together in their early years and Vox was defined by two traits - a strong need to control the world around him (which Alastor had admired a bit as a boy) and a grasping, intense need for more. He’d always seen a bright future for himself, and at the time the other man hadn’t seen any problem with that. After all, hasn’t Alastor been the same? Hadn’t he too once dreamed of bigger cities and brighter lights?
They’d been close when they were younger, but as they neared high school graduation, Vox had clung too hard and wanted for more of Alastor’s attention than the other man felt he could give him. They were on different paths…the former headed into business and the latter destined for his arts conservatory. There’d been a period of resentment then, when Alastor rebuffed his old friend and went on his way no matter how much the other man begged.
But then his maman had gotten sick.
Then he’d had to leave the conservatory.
Then he couldn’t get a regular job with how much work his mother and Lakay required and there was Vox with an offer.
Alastor had tried to resist it…he really had. Yes, he was desperate and his mother’s financial affairs were in dire straits as bills for treatments began to roll in, but surely these weren’t the bright lights he and Vox had dreamed of together as boys. But…roll in the bills had and when it came to his mother, even Alastor’s immense pride had a limit.
So here he was, sitting in Vox’s office and smiling mildly as the handsome, black-haired man settled ostentatiously behind his desk, keeping their power exchange in place, “Hey Al, glad you’re early. Listen, I’ve got a special request for you tonight.”
“Do tell, old pal,” Alastor said leisurely, already slipping into his nighttime persona.
“I’ve got two high-rollers coming in tonight. I’m only doing business with one of them, but you know how it goes. Listen, getting into bed with this guy,” the other man paused and waved his own figure of speech off before continuing on, “...so to speak, anyway, will be good for us. You’re one of my classiest acts in this joint, so be sweet on them, okay? Best behaviour.”
Bitterness rose like a tide in Alastor, but he kept his face carefully pleasant as he said, “I see. Am I being assigned to them for the night?”
“When you’re not on stage, yeah. I still need them to see the kind of quality we offer. Once you’re off, Husk’ll point you to their VIP table,” the other man said, leaning forward on his elbows to look Alastor in the eyes with what was supposed to be a ‘sincere’ expression.
Vox did that a lot and Alastor wasn’t even sure he knew he did it. His old friend had always had a very loose grasp of other peoples’ emotions and tended to perform them rather than feel them. He modeled expressions he’d seen on other people, like somewhere along the way he’d forgotten how to organically experience anything that wasn’t dominance and control. Alastor had never held it against him in the past since he understood it on some level.
“Understood,” Alastor hummed lazily and carefully trapped his feelings of resentment in the fancy little box he’d built for them years ago.
A businessman so wealthy that Vox was panting over a partnership? That would be good tips at the very least…and the promise of a few private dances (if, of course, his old friend didn’t do something foolish like comp them). This was what he was here for.
There was nothing to resent.
Vox’s face faded into something somewhat more real and warm, “Thanks, Al. I appreciate it. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”
How was this somehow worse than the false camaraderie?
Sensing that the overture was ending and an unwanted first act was scheduled to begin, Alastor stood smoothly from his seat and leaned to collect his duffel, “Well, if that’s all, I’d best get to the dressing room before Angel dominates it with that absurd make-up case of his.”
Alastor very nearly startled when a hand settled on his wrist. Vox must have moved from around his desk while he was distracted with fleeing.
“Hey. How’s Del?” Vox asked.
The darker skinned man felt his entire soul recoiling but he made himself play nice and respond mildly, “She’s keeping well. The treatments are doing their job and the doctors are hopeful for her continued health. Incidentally, I would like to discuss the potential of picking up an extra shift later this week…”
Make it about business…dangle one of Frequency’s best acts in front of him and maybe…
But no.
Vox sighed and gave him a gentle tug, “...Or, I could just give you the money for it. You’re working yourself to the bone, Al. Let me help out a little…”
Alastor’s lips thinned against his will and he quickly shook his wrist loose to adjust his glasses, “I already owe you enough for giving me the job, Vox. You know neither my maman nor I like to be indebted to others.”
He drew the boundary firm in the sand between them as he had so many other times before.
Vox huffed and frowned, “It doesn’t have to be a debt…”
Alastor was not going to have this conversation again, especially not when he was exhausted and getting ready for yet another long night. When he’d been younger, a pointed cruel word would have been enough to put his old pal off, but now that the man literally held his employment in his hands…
“Just schedule an extra shift for me next week, Vox,” he said as gently as he could to make sure he wouldn’t start the night out on the wrong foot with his employer.
A flicker of stark disappointment flitted across the businessman’s face before he locked his emotions down and nodded sharply, “Yeah. Will do. Check the roster before you leave to see if everything looks right.”
His point made and the conversation brought to the screeching halt he’d desired, Alastor saw himself out of the office and back down the hall to the dressing room. He moved at a leisurely pace, not actually worried that Angel would dominate the counter space. While he found his coworker crass and unassuming, Angel Dust was a consummate professional and knew better than to take more than his due counter space. As a matter of fact, Angel was practically a den mother backstage, especially where new dancers were concerned.
The bawling out he’d given the unfortunate new girl who’d made the mistake of wearing lotion of all things for a turn on the pole had been rather beautiful.
Well.
Once more into the trenches.
~*~
Lucifer sunk down into the plush seating of the VIP nook he and Ozzie had been granted for the evening while he tried not to be a total wet blanket about the night.
Frequency was…nice.
The CEO supposed that it was one of the nicest ‘establishments of the evening’ he’d been dragged to over the years (excluding Ozzie’s, of course). The floors were a spotless black tile that sparkled like stars thanks to the glittering embeds in every single one, specially designed to capture and refract the neon lighting. Everything was so cutting edge Lucifer might hemorrhage if he made a wrong move in here. Everything smelled just as clean as it looked and everyone walking the floors was a singular beauty too poised to possibly be real.
The VIP nook was swanky, but then again most of these places tended to be. This one was a sleek, horseshoe shaped pocket inset into the wall across from the stage and slightly elevated, giving he and Ozzie an unparalleled view of the ‘entertainment’.
The small blond jostled when his friend judged him with an elbow, smirking, “Only you could look bored in a strip joint, Luci.”
He blinked up at his friend and grimaced, reaching for his Jack Rose cocktail and twirling the stem between his long fingers, “I dunno what to tell you, Oz. I see these kinds of people at every event…shiny, made up, perfect.”
Ozzie raised a dyed brow at him and then inclined his chin to the stage where the gorgeous, thin blonde with a waistline that would have made Gia Caragni weep for shame arched down into an inverted crucifix. His plush thighs wrapped around the pole were the only thing keeping that gorgeous flaxen head from plummeting to the stage below. While the rest of the spellbound audience watched, he relaxed his grip and slid downwards like a falling star. He caught himself at the last second just above the floor before slinking to the stage like a cat.
He wasn’t even breathing hard as he prowled on all fours to the edge of the audience and, yeah, Lucifer got it, he supposed. The performer was gorgeous and the athleticism of the dance was unparalleled. The sexy blonde oozed charisma and Lucifer was sure he’d be booked for private dances the rest of the night.
Lucifer turned back to his friend and shrugged as the music ended, taking an unapologetic sip of his drink, “I mean, do I think you should go into business with this kind of talent? Sure. Am I interested in any of these people? No.”
Oz scoffed, “Luci, babe, look at the other patrons . Man, you don’t go to a strip club tryin’ to date one of the performers. That’s trashy.”
“I wasn’t ,” Lucifer hissed.
His friend smirked at him before turning to look back at the stage, “Hush, babe. The next act is starting.”
The smaller man shot his friend a huffy little scowl that he would never acknowledge as a pout and returned his attention to the stage just as the lights changed from the lurid pinks and blues of the last performer to a warm gaslight hue backlit in scarlet. It was an unconventional choice for the evening and Lucifer watched curiously as a stage kitten scurried out to set a plain black chair at center before vanishing. This was different and the CEO found himself drawn in by the novelty.
The intermediary music faded out and the announcer’s smooth, ringmaster voice cut in over the soft chatter in the wake of the last dancer’s act.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, saints and sinners, dastardly damsels and dandies of the night, it is our pleasure to introduce the chairman of a good time. Here for your entertainment is the one, the only, the Demon of the Dance Floor - Alastor!”
Lucifer’s stomach did a funny skip-hop maneuver to the wrong side of his body.
There was no fucking way.
But then he saw it.
From the wings of the stage, a leggy figure wrapped in a gauzy red robe and balanced precariously on a sparkling pair of dangerous looking platform stilettos appeared. Lucifer’s gaze started at the shoes, the body a glittering ombre from red to deepest black, and his hand tightened on his glass. Those were the kind of shoes designed only for the truly confident or foolish…suicide for the uninitiated, but murder for the skilled. The feet tucked into them were sheathed in red silk stockings that stretched all the way from the tips of peek-a-boo toes, around the elegant turn of an ankle, and up impossibly long legs to hide away beneath that robe. The shoes gave lift and definition to the dancer’s calves…calves that Lucifer knew had to be strong from so many mornings running around the diner.
He knew the narrow waist cinched tight by the flimsy cord of the robe. He knew that no-nonsense stride as the dancer settled himself easily in the chair. He knew the beautiful mocha hue of the throat on display above the neckline of the crimson wrap. He knew those devastating, lustrous curls and the knife-sharp eyes gazing out below them.
It was him.
It was his pretty, mean diner boy with the ‘fuck you’ eyes and razor wit.
It was his Alastor there seating himself on the chair in a loose straddle as the first strains of something smoky and jazzy filled the air.
It was the beautiful Creole man who knew his coffee order by heart and sang jazz along with the radio every morning.
Alastor .
Lucifer watched in a trance as the slender man looked over his shoulder with come-hither eyes half concealed by the fall of his curls. The younger dancer moved like a snake, sinuous and languid as he lazily rolled the shoulder back and let one arm of the robe fall to the elbow. Rather than repeating the motion on the other side, he reached for the neckline with his newly freed hand and slowly, so slowly, guided the water-fine silk down the lean muscles of his opposite arm. With nothing left to support it, the back of the robe fell.
Heat rushed up under Lucifer’s collar.
Alastor swayed in his seat, hips gyrating in a mockery of sexuality while the lean muscles of his back shifting with every motion. A black latex corset pinned in his already waspish waist and the CEO’s throat went dry as his mind oh-so-helpfully informed him that he could probably fit his hands around that waist and still have room to touch. Fuck.
Then Ozzie was speaking next to him and Lucifer started so hard he nearly dropped his drink, feeling the sticky cocktail dribbling over his fingers, “It’s good that they’ve got range. Most new places just do the bump and grind.”
“What?” Lucifer said blankly, turning his head to his friend to find the man watching the stage as relaxed as could be.
One of the man’s meticulously dyed and shaped brows cocked up and he tilted his head to regard his friend out of the corner of his eye, “The way they stagger their acts, babe. The Angel Dust guy is more the speed you see at other clubs like this…bright lights, thumping music, tits, ass, high-energy, y’know? It’s promising this place knows how to switch it up. Alastor’s act, see, it’s got a different kinda heat.”
No fucking kidding.
Ozzie went quiet, clearly waiting for Lucifer to weigh in on the matter, but the CEO’s tawny eyes had already drifted back to the stage, mesmerised.
Alastor had draped himself backwards over the seat of the chair, making eyes at the audience while he slowly undid the sash of his robe. His long legs were up in the air, ankles crossed as if Peter Driben himself had painted his moment into life using nothing but smoke and sex and silk.
The taller man slid carefully until his shoulders were braced on the floor, bringing his hands down to the stage (splayed out and god Lucifer marveled at those slender fingers) before tipping himself up and over. He landed on those insane heels like a cat, ass to the audience as he traced up and up and up his stockings to toss the robe he’d been wearing away. He revealed that the only thing he wore beneath that flimsy garment was his corset, a sly smile, and the smallest thong Lucifer had ever seen in his damn life.
“Hey, Earth to Luci. C’mon, man. I warned you about eyeing up the talent,” Oz chuckled, “I get it. He’s good. Little worried about how skinny the dancers here are, but we’ll see.”
“Oz, that’s him,” Lucifer blurted as Alastor dropped to his knees, shook out his curls, and gave his heels a resounding crack.
“That’s who?”
“Diner boy. Alastor. That’s…that’s him,” the business magnate choked.
His eyes focused back on the stage just in time to see Alastor resting his buttocks against the seat of the chair from behind, leaning his weight into the sparse flesh of his cheeks. Graceful and teasing, he popped his downstage knee up to block the audience’s view of his crotch, dragging long-fingered hand up, up, up from his groin in a tantalizing trace. His fingers followed the dips and hollows of his belly, tauntingly plucked at the corner of his thong, and glided all the way up to his collarbone before he swept it overhead in an arc to rest on the seat of the chair behind him. His center of gravity tipped and then he was balancing on the chair back, hands braced behind him and nude chest presented to the air while his legs undulated.
“Shit, really? That’s the mean guy you’re stupid for?” Ozzie whispered, voice openly incredulous.
The music swelled and on stage Alastor lowered himself down to his shoulders, bracing them against the chair’s seat so his back was locked into a particularly edible looking arch. Balanced, he freed his hands from the seat and reached up to pop the busks on his corset one…by…one.
Lucifer’s mouth went dry.
Ozzie remarked wryly, “...Guess it is.”
The corset opened like a blooming lily, Alastor’s talented fingers parting it to frame his slim belly before sliding it out from beneath him and casting it away. He allowed the gorgeous sight to linger for a moment before sliding his ass down to the chair’s seat, lifting his legs into a straight pike in the air, and curling up to embrace them to his chest. God, he was flexible.
Lucifer set his drink down before he could drop it and embarrass himself in yet another fancy venue.
~*~
Alastor shot a look full of arrogant heat out into the crowd, grateful that the glare of the stage lights made it impossible to make out individual faces. It always made his time on stage easier - being unable to make out each leer, each hungry eye, each grasping hand longing for a piece of him.
Leaning backwards out of his pike, Alastor eased himself backwards onto the floor in a slinky roll, letting himself slide rather than catching himself on his platforms this time. He cocked his hips and drew one knee up to brace before…well…for lack of a better term…humping the stage in a series of rolling thrusts. The audience always enjoyed that one and Alastor had long since gotten over the discomfort of it all. It was good to get the audience fired up before going out for tips.
‘Get them hungry enough that they’ll pay for a snack,’ Vox’s friend Valentino said.
He suppressed a sigh as he pushed himself back up onto his hands and knees like a naughty housecat and prowled to the edge of the stage.
Alastor hated thinking about Valentino.
When he’d first been hired, Alastor had been a dancer, sure, and a skilled entertainer, but he had known next to nothing about the skindustry he was about to be entering. He’d gotten some ‘hands-on’ lessons on dancing for an entirely different kind of audience with Valentino and he’d hated the experience passionately. Hell, he’d hated it so much it had almost ended his new employment before it had even started…but then he thought of his maman’s medical bills and endured.
It had never gone far enough for Alastor to properly complain about anyway.
Alastor seated himself at the edge of the stage nearest the clients and folded his legs primly one over the other, giving the thirsty johns a bit of a tease. Calculating, he raked his eyes over his options before settling on a regular who was a particular fan of Alastor’s brand of cruel consideration. He extended one of his feet and used the platform of his heel to tip the man’s chin up (not allowed, strictly speaking, but it did leave the garter of his stocking in reach.
A big hand skated up his silk-clad calf and, bingo, several damp bills that Alastor knew for a fact were on the larger side found their way into his garter.
That was the only client he’d allow to touch him, but it was enough to cue the rest of the audience that it was time to start handing over their offerings on the altar of lust.
Alastor danced the song out, slipping down into the audience and accepting his due with all the elegance he’d learned after years of this same routine. Oh, the dance changed nightly, but this part never changed.
As the song finished out, Alastor cast one last haughty look at his crowd before excusing himself back to the dressing room to stash his tips. He’d have to count them and then tip out the percentages due to the bouncer and deejay, but for now he had more work to do. The high roller Vox was so interested in was still out there waiting and Alastor owed him a bit of extra attention if he hoped to get those extra hours or maybe a private dance that he might get to keep the payout from.
He didn’t bother to re-dress, wanting to put all of his best assets on display for the newcomer’s viewing pleasure (though he did note their dutiful kitten had dropped his few shed items back at his usual place in front of the bank of mirrors). Alastor did take long enough to fix up his make-up, carefully touching up the concealer under his eyes so his exhaustion wouldn’t show. He decided that his liner looked well enough, reapplied the neutral gloss on his lips, and then sashayed out of the dressing room to get back to work.
The music on the floor had gone right back to thumping bass while one of the girls occupied the pole, not so much a full routine as a placeholder to keep the customers happy while the other performers worked the floor.
He went to the bar where Angel Dust was currently picking up a round of drinks (and taking an opportunity to torment the strapping barman with his endless flirting) and leaned against the counter, “Husker.”
The man held up a finger before rumbling at Angel, “Kid, get out of here and mind your manners, okay?”
Angel accepted the tray of shots he handed over and the light in his strange, mis-matched eyes dimmed a little, “...Yeah. Sure. G’night, Husky…”
And then he was off, flitting into the crowd with his million-watt fake smile as he floated along on bubblegum pink platform boots.
Husk turned back to Alastor and he looked almost as tired as the stripper felt, his broad shoulders slumping as Angel disappeared into the crowd, “Hey Red. Got an order?”
“A request, actually,” Alastor drawled, studying their bartender out of the corner of his eye, “Vox says we’ve got a couple of dandies in tonight that I’m meant to mind. Care to show me where they ended up?”
The barman’s lips twisted under his normal exhausted neutrality.
Husk was an odd one. He didn’t seem to like any of the dancers he’d interacted with daily for years, or anyone at all for that matter. He seemed like an irascible drunk at the best of times, always just sober enough to keep his job but not enough to actually be called sober. He was gruff and distant, but his toffee-colored eyes were keen and watchful. He saw everything. He saw the way Angel had to use a bit of extra make-up after one of his dates with Valentino. He saw the sort of men Alastor would get assigned to. Sometimes Alastor even suspected Husk could see past his own careful mask.
Yes, Husk saw everything and approved of very little.
He sighed and lifted a finger to point over to the VIP booths, “Just over there, Red. Should have a decent night, by the way. Big guy tipped well when he got their first round.”
“Anything else?” Alastor asked, already looking for his marks for the evening.
“Just…be careful with this one, yeah? Those guys are big deals, the both of them. Vox’ll blow a gasket if this doesn’t go right,” Husk said, tilting his head as a patron came up before turning to take their drink order.
Informally dismissed, Alastor scanned the low-lit room until he spied a flash of lurid teal from one of the VIP booths and determined that was his goal. He’d never seen this man before and he recognized the cut of that suit perfectly well as an expensive one. You didn’t get that kind of fit or shine from an off-the-rack affair. A suit like that took high-end fabric and hours of careful tailoring and it was not something a nobody wore for a night out at a strip club. Honestly, it wasn’t even something a lot of their ‘somebodies’ wore for a night out.
Letting his eyes fall half-lidded, Alastor sauntered up to the booth and offered the man the sly little tuck-smile that drove his customers positively wild, “Good evening, gentlemen.”
His voice was a come-hither purr, and nowhere near loud enough to cover the distressed coughing from the far side of the booth or the clatter as a drink dropped.
His mahogany eyes flicked up to the source of the disturbance and Alastor went still as a deer in the headlights, ice flooding his veins.
Lucifer fucking Morningstar was sitting there staring at him with rabbit-panic written across his perfect, doll-like features. His golden hair was neatly coiffed and he was dressed in silver and black tonight rather than his trademark white. The silvery shine of his blazer brought out his eyes and he was staring at Alastor.
Burning shame quickly melted the ice dripping down the back of Alastor’s skull when he realized he was standing in front of one of the wealthiest men in the world (and the most painful thorn in his side he’d ever endured) almost entirely naked.
Alastor’s heart went stock still in his chest.
Oh god, what if he told Alastor’s mother about this? If his mother knew where the money that paid for her medical bills came from, would she start refusing more treatments just to spare him? No. No, absolutely not. Alastor wanted to run, but his feet wouldn’t move.
A whiskey-smooth voice cut through Alastor’s terror, soothing and chesty, “Hey, Alastor, right? Loved the dance. Very classy work.”
It snapped Alastor out of his panic spiral and he blinked, refocusing on the room and, more importantly, on the blue-haired man watching him with a welcoming smile. Lucifer still looked like he wasn’t sure whether to run or die on the spot, which served to calm Alastor further. It helped him think. Alright, if Lucifer looked that confused, he would be easy to manipulate. If Alastor played this right, he could perhaps ensure his mother would never know what he was doing at night.
Alastor’s smile slid back on his face and he hummed, holding out a hand to the taller man, “Indeed, I am! I’m afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage though, Mister…?”
The big man chuckled, clearly sniffing out the false friendliness, but appreciating the hustle all the same, “Asmodeus. Call me Ozzie. This is my friend - .”
“Lucifer Morningstar. Why, who hasn’t heard of him?” Alastor smoothly cut Ozzie off, fixing his eyes on the little blonde who was still staring at him like a terrified rabbit, lips parted, “Who knew I’d be entertaining celebrities tonight, hm?”
Lucifer let out an undignified croak. Alastor was embarrassed on his behalf.
Ozzie’s smile widened knowingly and gestured to their booth, “Well, since we’re all acquainted then, why don’t you join us for a bit? There’s a bit of room over by Luci.”
Alastor knew a hint when someone laid it down in front of him and slid smoothly around the table, “Why, such a gentleman! Don’t mind if I do.”
The game began.
Slipping himself into the booth and already lamenting the way his ass would stick to the upholstery once he went to stand, Alastor played his first gambit. He slid in close enough to Lucifer that the other man would be able to feel the heat rolling off of his skin, but no part of them touched. He was letting Lucifer get a taste of what good behaviour would get him while still withholding so that he was still firmly within the realm of good taste. He could feel how Lucifer went tense next to him, particularly when he leaned forward just enough to seize a few napkins, dabbing at the table where the smaller man’s drink had spilled.
He shot Lucifer a heated look from beneath his lids before turning his attention pointedly back to Asmodeus, dangling the lure before promptly ignoring him, “Well! What a treat to have you both here tonight. Tell me, gentlemen, are you enjoying the show?”
Ozzie’s smile turned into a smirk as if he smelled Alastor’s gamble and he turned all of his attention on him, “Have to admit, I’ve heard good things about Frequency. Didn’t realize the talent was so high-quality. I’m almost jealous of Vox finding all of you first.”
Alastor let out a demure laugh and waved the comment away with the back of his hand, ignoring the squirm in his stomach at the reminder of what he was now, “Goodness, you flatterer. I thought you were a gentleman, but you’re a rogue aren’t you? Why, one would almost think you’re here looking to do a bit of scalping.”
“Well, I’ve been known to be a little enterprising,” Ozzie crooned right back, leaning forward in his seat, “Why, you interested in being scalped?”
God forbid.
Once maman was well again, Alastor would leave all of this so far in his rearview mirror…
He laughed instead of balking and slyly reached past Lucifer to nudge his fingers against Ozzie’s, “Oh, Vox treats us all very well. You’d have to be prepared to make a very good deal…”
Lucifer cleared his throat loudly between them and tried to stand, banging his knee hard against the table. A few eyes turned to them and, once again, Alastor found himself humiliated for Lucifer. How did a human exist with such a breathtaking lack of grace? Alastor had never seen Lucifer like this before. The man usually seemed so much more in control when they battled at the diner…
“I uh…” Lucifer said roughly and then cleared his throat, “So uh…you dance?”
Alastor bit down his grimace through sheer force of will.
However, it was an opening he wasn’t afraid to exploit and Alastor tilted his head so his curls fell just over one eye, “As a matter of fact, I do. Would you like a private demonstration?”
Lucifer’s normally lily-pale face now sported a high flush and he stammered, “I uh…I saw you…on stage…”
Idiot.
Asmodeus came to the rescue, laughing broadly and tapping his hand against the table, “Luci, he’s asking if you want a private dance - very elegantly by the way, well done.”
Alastor preened under the praise and said nothing, watching Lucifer expectantly.
He needed him to accept a private dance or two. Not only could he more than afford Alastor’s rates for the private back rooms, but Alastor needed to get him alone so they could talk. He had to make sure Lucifer would keep his fool mouth shut even if he had to hold a stiletto to his throat to do it.
“I mean…I’d hate to impose…” Lucifer babbled and Alastor really could have strangled him.
“You’d be paying for the privilege, Mr. Morningstar, so hardly an imposition. The pleasure,” the dancer went in for the kill, reaching up to hook his pointer finger into the collar of Lucifer’s shirt and giving him a little come-hither tug, “would be all mine.”
The magnate sat there looking like a stunned prey beast, but Alastor knew he had him when the man licked his lips and whispered, “...Okay.”
Perfect.
“Come with me then, Mr. Morningstar,” Alastor purred and carefully extricated himself from the VIP booth.
Ah yes, pulling his bare cheeks off of the upholstery was every bit as unpleasant as he’d thought it was going to be. It was worth it, however, when Lucifer slid out to follow him like a little puppy dog, eyes huge. His companion, Asmodeus, merely grinned and saluted them with a raised glass before turning his eyes back to the stage to take in the next performance of the night. Thank God he hadn’t asked for a double.
Alastor needed privacy for this.
His heels clicked across the floor as he led his latest patron away from the main show floor and towards the corridor that housed the private rooms as well as Vox’s office. The door of the latter was shut, but Alastor knew better than to believe he was unseen. His old friend had the entire building (save for perhaps the restrooms and dressing room) wired to the gills - always taking in information. Even the private rooms weren’t spared, though they at least didn’t collect sound.
The first room was open, so Alastor stepped inside, making room for his skittish client to slide past him.
The private rooms weren’t large simply because they didn’t need to be. The floors here were flat black acrylic tile inset with flake glitter that sparked and gleamed under the mood lighting. Most of the far wall was dominated by a plush leather couch meant for the patrons to occupy and Alastor knew there was a little chest of ‘props’ tucked next to it. It was nothing too racy…scarves for stripteases, gloves, fans, and the like. They were selling fantasies here, after all, and everyone’s fantasy was custom-built.
And, of course, there was the camera.
A patron would never notice it unless Alastor was being very dull indeed, but he knew perfectly well where the little eye was watching. Vox always watched his private dances. He’d never said as much, but he would always drop little comments too pointed to be built on vague inferences. It was watching even now, a miniscule red light blinking discreetly from a corner over the door.
Now, under normal circumstances Alastor had an extremely strict no-touching rule with his dances. It was a personal preference and part of the persona he’d worked to cultivate over the years. He was aloof and hard to please with clients and oh how they salivated for it…for a distant, chilly beauty to think they were special enough to have earned a dance. They never seemed to remember that they were paying for it.
Lucifer though? He needed a more personal touch.
Taking control of the scene, Alastor prowled after the businessman who was currently standing in the middle of the room like he’d done something wrong and gave him a firm push on the chest. With a yelp, Lucifer toppled back into the soft couch and stared up at Alastor like he was some sort of dark and terrible god. Good. At least he’d probably be inclined to behave, especially since he was already so nervous.
Following quickly, Alastor straddled him and rested his weight on the tops of the man’s thighs, making the image more believable for the camera by draping his arms over surprisingly broad shoulders. He had a sinking feeling Vox wasn’t going to like him getting so handsy with a client, but Alastor would cross that bridge when he came to it.
He could feel the way Lucifer’s hard was racing in his chest as he leaned forward and breathed into the smaller man’s ear, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Lucifer squeaked ( actually squeaked) and stammered out, “My friend wanted me to come out with him tonight!”
A new song started playing over the speakers since they hadn’t selected one and Alastor gyrated his hips to it, eyes narrowed since the camera couldn’t see his face at this angle.
Lucifer went pale and his hands bunched into the fabric underneath him, “What are you doing here?!’
“Clearly,” Alastor drawled, leaning into the curve where neck met jaw without touching, “I work here.”
He breathed on the other man’s neck and Lucifer jumped, reaching for his shoulders to press him back just a little. Tawny eyes were studying his face intently and something other than terror or blind lust was written in them.
“Bambi…” Lucifer whispered, “Look, you don’t have to do this for me. You look dog tired. I’ll still pay whatever your dances are worth, but can’t you just like…nap instead?”
Alastor hadn’t been expecting that and he paused, staring at the man he’d very much come here to threaten.
He looked serious.
Aware of the greedy eye of the camera, Alastor quickly knocked his hands away and moved them down to his ass, guiding strong fingers to grip the cheeks tightly as he leaned in and hissed, “My employer would find out. Now shut up and listen.”
Using the grip on his ass to balance, Alastor tilted back in a sinful arch towards the camera and composed his face into an expression of music-fueled sensual euphoria. He raised his hands to tousle his own hair and hissed between his smiling teeth, “You never saw me here.”
“What?” Lucifer asked, breathless and clearly a little affected by the dance.
Planting the toebox of his platform heels into the floor, Alastor flexed his abs to roll sinuously back up, “I didn’t stutter, Mr. Morningstar. I am not here.”
Leaving his client baffled for the moment, Alastor swung one flexible leg up and over so he was facing the opposite direction on Lucifer’s lap. He braced his hands on the other man’s thighs behind him and spread his feet, balancing on the beveled edge of his heels as he swiveled his hips. He was staring directly at the camera now.
Lucifer released him immediately, hands awkwardly falling to his sides, “I…Al, I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Alastor sighed and masked it with a figure-eight shimmy, his head rolling luxuriously from one shoulder to the other, “My mother…is never to know of this. Ever. If I find out you’ve told her during one of your little morning chats, I will find a way to make your life miserable. Also? Would it kill you to look like you’re enjoying this just a little?”
The man behind him took a very, very deep breath, “Alastor. I need you to understand how hard I am trying not to enjoy this…”
“Of all the times to develop a sense of respect,” Alastor sneered and ground down at the end of a sybaritic roll, releasing one of Lucifer’s thighs to trace a hand up his own torso.
“Why do you think I’d tell your mother anything?”
Cursing himself for not thinking to wear his knee pads under tonight’s stockings, Alastor rocked forward off of Lucifer’s lap so he was on all fours before him. He slid his hands across the tile to show off the slope of his back (and, incidentally, give Lucifer a prime view of his the way his thong framed his ass cheeks). It was far more slinky and submissive than his usual fare, but…
“Because,” he gritted out, “You are an idiot and you seem to thrive on making my existence difficult.”
“...I like teasing you, but…Christ, Al…do you really think I’d be that awful?” Lucifer asked and he sounded legitimately wounded.
Unsure what to do with that, Alastor ate up time with some lazy body rolls that usually drove the boys wild when they got to watch his thin waist move. Why did Lucifer sound hurt about all of this? He was always such a prick in the mornings. Why shouldn’t Alastor have been worried about his mother finding out via his least favourite client about his nighttime employment?
But then sometimes Lucifer would be an actual person who seemed to worry about him and it was confusing.
“...I had to be sure,” Alastor said, pushing up on his platforms to press his ass back at Lucifer, face still in the vicinity of the floor.
“Jesus,” Lucifer whispered and cleared his throat quickly. That definitely had slipped out.
He rallied with, “I won’t tell anyone, Alastor. Is this why you’re so tired-looking in the mornings? I just thought hating everything all the time took up too much of your energy.”
“Flattering,” Alastor informed him tartly, finishing the push up and popping onto his heels for balance while he traced nonsense patterns up his stockings, “And yes, this is why. I work nights here.”
He turned sharply to the other man, “And I do not hate everything, thanks ever so much.”
“I mean, your mom notwithstanding,” Lucifer amended, eyes fixed on Alastor and so wide that the light in the room turned them molten.
“I would like to stop talking about my mother while I am attempting to give you a private dance,” Alastor bit out, raising his arms above his head and rotating his hips. He averted his gaze because somehow facing the way Lucifer was looking at him…the way the older man was staring up at him like he was something worthy of worship and not a cheap wet dream…
“You started it, but fine.”
How odd that he’d seemed so nervous when they’d gotten in here but all it took was a little bit of bickering for Lucifer to open up. Alastor sauntered back to the couch and rested a knee on the cushion right neck to his hip, getting into his space once again.
“So are you going to haunt me here as well then?” Alastor asked, some of the angry, frantic energy bleeding out of him.
Lucifer wouldn’t tell his mother. God help him, but Alastor believed him. The very idea had seemed to shock Lucifer…like it had never even occurred to him.
“Well, for starters I’m pretty sure I’d go broke if I did,” Lucifer’s tones were lighter than they had been, “For another thing, I know you think I’m an idiot, but I can recognize a boundary. You don’t want me here and to be honest, this really isn’t my scene. I like places a little more…”
“High class?” Alastor sneered, anticipating the insult.
Everyone loved a stripper, but that didn’t mean they respected them.
“Quiet. I like places that are quiet,” Lucifer corrected him softly, “You can calm down, Bambi. Look…let’s get one thing straight, okay? I’m not going to start magically thinking less of you just because I’m paying you for a dance. I know you hate it, but I like the way things are. I like coming into the diner to annoy the coffee boy who thinks I’m trash incarnate. I’d like to keep it that way, so I won’t make things weird if you won’t?”
Alastor’s body had kept moving, following the rhythm on instinct while he tried to find his footing in a conversation that he no longer controlled. It was how he found himself draped across the older man’s lap like a concubine and murmuring, “I don’t hate it.”
Lucifer smirked, a bit of his old spirit returning, “No?”
“Non,” Alastor said as the music wound down and he rose into a diva sit, “Though you are profoundly annoying. Well then. That’s all the time you get for one dance, Mr. Morningstar. I don’t suppose I could tempt you into another?”
But the older man was already reaching for his wallet and smiling, “Nah. I should free you up for other clients and head back out so Ozzie doesn’t think I died of a heart attack or something. What’s your rate? I’m sorry, I should have asked.”
Alastor lifted off of Lucifer entirely and shifted to sit next to him on the couch, “Forty dollars per song.”
Lucifer nodded, handing out some bills and Alastor noted that the amount he’d been given was enough for at least three dances. He peered up at the older man who only winked, stood, and put his hands in his pockets.
“Call it a tip for having to put up with me.”
The dancer considered the money in his hand for a moment before tucking it into his palm for later. Alastor was proud, but not proud enough to turn down that much money in one go. He rose as well and headed for the door, “It should be bigger, then.”
“You’re not the first guy to tell me that,” Lucifer joked, the absurd little clown.
Alastor opened the door for them both, already planning to head to the dressing room and put the money away for safekeeping. He’d likely make a few rounds, then go back to check on Lucifer and Asmodeus since they were his assignment for the night. Hopefully he could score a few more private dance clients and finagle some more tips…
But Vox was standing at his office door, face a particular sort of neutral-pleasant that spelled trouble.
“Hello Alastor! As soon as you’re done with Mr. Morningstar, would you step into my office for a minute? I need to chat with you about something.”
Alastor’s stomach curdled.
Chapter Two Preview
When the magnate spoke, his voice was filled with something that sounded like actual concern, “I’m just worried , Al. Your boss called you in right after…well…after, and I didn’t see you the rest of the night.”
“If you’d ridden him any harder, he would have been inside you.”
Vox’s voice filtered into Alastor’s exhausted mind and he bit the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood.
Lucifer’s words were muffled through the cotton between his ears, “...And that’s a bruise. I know one when I see one.”
