Chapter Text
The radio demon couldn’t admit himself- no, he can never dare admit it. He can never admit that whenever he sees the fallen angel he yearns to see more of him, to go beyond the boundary of merely bantering with the king, beyond the boundary of bloody fights and disagreements, beyond the accidental soft grazes on their fingers; he can never admit wanting them.
yearning for something more than just touching
.
To greed something such as this is nearly akin to eating the forbidden fruit; a mere ‘taste’ can spiral him down into an endless hunger that he can no longer satiate; one that he can no longer control.
And that knowledge brings him into a state of fear for the first time in his life. He fears that if he continues to play along with the fallen angel’s squabble, he might lose himself from the incarnation of temptation itself.
Slowly, he avoids the fallen; subtle to evident as months pass by, daring not to interact with temptation, daring not to be left alone with him, not to be tempted by his lofty expressions, his endearing actions, his.. his everything.
Avoidance is futile, yes, he knows that; he knows that someday he’ll catch up to it, start another banter with him that he knows he might get himself trapped in and he doesn’t want that to happen.
He’s Alastor the Radio Demon for fucksake; one who enjoys the suffering of others, who relishes and bathes in the power and control he feels when sinners and overlords alike tremble at the mere mention of his name, he is a demon with a reputation to uphold as the most powerful overlord.
Of course, his need for control doesn’t stop with mere sinners, imps, and overlords, he wishes to control the most powerful being in all hell as well, to manipulate and bring the king beneath him. That. That’s what ecstasy is to him: to be able to control the king of hell, to be the only demon who’s able to irritate and push the king’s button without such consequences, it makes him feel so invincible. It’s a feeling like no other, a feeling of satisfaction to see the king annoyed because of him, angry because of him, sad because of him, whatever the king feels is all due to his actions and that brings nothing but joy to the radio demon; it gives him the feeling of control over the king.
And perhaps that addicting ecstasy led to his own demise.
Soon, the bubbling satisfaction he feels when bothering the fallen angel becomes.. something else. Something very unfamiliar to him. His reckless vitriol that always results in bloody fights between him and the fallen, albeit merely harmless, has a different feel of satisfaction when he gets the fallen’s attention.
These subtle signs that he once thought were merely nothing quietly amplified as the squabbles goes on, he doesn’t notice the change of his attitude, his pattern of banter he has with the king of hell, he doesn’t notice anything until a thought suddenly spooked him.
It was a quiet, passing thought when he looked at the king. It was a thoughtless ponder, really, he mused the idea of what it would feel when those hands that were once punching his face felt when held by his own hands.
And that thoughtless ponder he had made him freeze. He felt perplexed— no, he felt confused when a thought such as that came into his mind so suddenly. The static buzz that erupted in his brain, the confusion switching to mortification about such a thought in an instant.
‘What was that thought?’ He could never dare repeat such a thought again, it horrifies him to think of such an out of character thought he had.
He felt disgusted of himself, nauseated by the fact that a thought such as that crossed his mind. Never in his life or even in his death had he thought of anything such as that, and he wished it remained that way.
‘It was due to my long exposure.’ He reasoned, mostly a reassurement to himself.
Thus, it lead to where he is now, avoiding Lucifer and ignoring the little itch to confront the man and pester him to no end. It’s an arduous task when he already made it a habit to pester the fallen since they’ve met.
But it seems however attempts he did to avoid the fallen, some god seems to find the hilarity of his suffering(or perhaps it was encouraging him to bite the fruit hanging merely above his head).
Alastor couldn’t help but be annoyed when he faces Lucifer the moment he got out of his lair.
“Good morning, you highness,” he forces out a greeting, much to his chagrin, “what brings you here in front of my room?”
“Trust me, I also don’t want to be here.” He retorts back with a sigh of annoyance, “Look, can we just, I don’t know, try to be close for Charlie? She says she wants us to be closer because, after all, she cares both of us.” Said person who prompted it is clearly already dishearten at the idea. The radio demon couldn’t help but laugh at the king’s silly antics.
“Realy, sire? Attempting to form a kindling of acquaintanceship with me when you yourself hate the idea as well? Clearly, even if the cause is all for your dear Charlie, your hostility towards me seems to far outweigh it compared to your daughter’s happiness.”
“Listen here, Bambi, I am trying my best here okay??” Lucifer snaps back in annoyance as he pokes the deer’s chest.
“Hm, I suppose your tone of clear disinterest is indeed your ‘best’ attempt.”
“Oh just shut the fuck up!” He grabs his collar, clearly angry at him once more. “Try to at least act like you’re cooperating bastard.” The fallen grits out, their foreheads practically bumping each other. There goes the odd sense of satisfaction and glee that swells in his chest when he knows he pushed the right buttons to annoy the king of hell himself.
“I shall try my best, your highness.” Lucifer pushes him away and clears his throat.
“Glad we’ve come to some agreement.” He grunts, walking away from the radio demon finally.
He missed this banter with the fallen so much.
..
He pauses. The scene repeating itself and processing the recent events. He lets out an annoyed groan whilst facepalming himself.
He truly can’t get himself out of the habit of pushing the king’s buttons.
He quietly curses himself as he smoothens down any wrinkles left on his blazer after the small feat that the fallen angel has done, he also touches his forehead to fix his hair in case it was messed up, ‘his anger is quite adorable.’ A pleasant grin that’s plastered on his face and his hands animatedly fixing his appearance suddenly, they all stopped.
..?
What did he just think..? He couldn’t help but shudder, the disgust eating him up— why would he think that was adorable? That’s such a revolting thought— he wants to gag at his own thoughts so badly.
Never mind going to meet the tenants and coworkers if he’ll see that god-awful fallen angel that’ll trigger.. whatever these repugnant thoughts are.
Maybe Rosie can help fix something wrong in his out of character thoughts. A little counsel from her wouldn’t hurt anyways.