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“Have fun on your date, baby,” Valentino crooned from the backseat, tapping his nails along the partition glass in a soothing, spidery rattle. “You’re richer than god, you own this whole city, and you’re a fine, respectable young man with a bright future ahead of you. You’re irresistible. All the girls are swooning.”
“I’ll take the first two, but I have issues with the last three fifths of that sentence,” Vox said, inspecting himself one last time in the sun visor mirror. Spotless, of course; Velvette was never anything but. Still, he couldn’t help the thrum of nerves that pooled in his gut as he fruitlessly adjusted his bowtie for the fifth time in the last thirty seconds. “Also, this is a PR stunt, not a date.”
“Whatever you say.” Val chuckled. Pink smoke wisped through the open partition, coiling loosely around Vox’s throat; he waved it away affectionately, grinning at Val in the mirror.
“Don’t wait up,” he said, dusting himself off one final time and reaching for the limo door. “I’ll probably be out late depending on how this goes.” He paused halfway out of the limo, glancing back. “Oh, and Val? I’d better see you and Velvette online speculating about wedding cake toppers within the hour.”
Val was still laughing when Vox shut the door, stepping out onto the sidewalk in front of the Happy Hotel.
This place really was a dump. It wasn’t so much the visage that made it that way; all the renovations and finery in the world couldn’t scrub away the sad, decrepit soul of the place, like a rotting corpse festooned with Christmas lights. At least it was less immediately offensive on the eyes now.
Vox chose to walk the rest of the way up the winding cobblestone path to the front, using those few seconds to settle himself and get into character. He knew this would be more important than just getting under Alastor’s skin. His chances of running into the princess were high, and charming her would go a long way towards normalizing relations between the Vees and the hotel, especially since Val’s… unfortunate encounter with the little royal brat at his studio some months back. Vox hadn’t cared overmuch then, but circumstances had changed. He was in cahoots with her father now.
I’d have to check with Charlie first—the hotel is my priority, you understand.
Yes, Vox understood. There was an opportunity here. Getting the King of Hell in his back pocket, extracting the goodwill of his naive daughter, and destabilizing the Radio Demon’s power over the hotel, all in one fell swoop. He already had his foot in the door with the king—as well as some other things—and now it was time to capitalize.
As far as he was concerned, pissing Alastor the fuck off was just a wonderful bonus.
Circling around the fountain with the hideous statue of that dragon goat thing in the middle, Vox cast a glance up at the neon, gaudy shine of the hotel facade as he strode under the tented marquee. It was glitzy and glamorous in a Vegas kind of way, something he’d expect from the entertainment district or the defunct casinos down south, certainly a far cry from the run-down husk it had been before. The only blemish on the picture was the dark, jagged radio tower emerging from the rooftop like a cancerous growth, antennas forking unevenly into the air and deep ruby paneling that did not glow in quite the same way as the rest of the building.
An eyesore, really. He’d mention it to Lucifer, see if something could be done about the visual incoherency. Preferably while Alastor was standing right there.
He passed by a large stand set up along the walkway to the front doors. Framed with bouquets of hellish flora, a gold-rimmed portrait of Sir Pentious overlooked the courtyard. Vox stared at it for a second in quizzical silence before moving on.
Yeesh.
“Showtime,” he murmured to himself, stopping in front of the obnoxious pink doors. He straightened his posture, tugged at his lapels, and plastered on a wide, warm smile. Being nervous was for suckers and Vox had never doubted himself a day in his life.
He rapped his knuckles against the frosted glass.
A soft patter of footsteps, and then—
“Oh, shit!” Angel Dust said, and slammed the door in Vox’s face.
Vox’s mood immediately soured, but he kept his smile firmly in place. A smile is a valuable tool, he thought bitterly, and raised his fist to knock again.
The door swung back open, nearly hitting him and forcing him to take a quick step backwards.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here,” Angel demanded, crossing his top pair of arms while the bottom ones held the door in place, blocking Vox from seeing inside. “I swear to fuck if Val thinks he can start sending his fuckin’ boyfriend to come harass me now—”
“Fortunately for you,” Vox interrupted, sneering, “I have no interest in being party to whatever war of attrition you’re locked in with my business partner.”
Angel scoffed. “Yeah, right. Look, you ain’t welcome here. And if Alastor sees you sniffin’ around then we’re all gonna be in deep shit. Whatever you want ain’t worth the trouble.”
“I’m sure Alastor will be relieved to know that I’m not here for him, either. Have you seen the king around, by any chance?”
“Wh—Lucifer?”
Vox struggled for calm. God, he hated this fucking pornstar. “The one and only. We have a reservation and I prefer to be punctual.”
Angel balked, aghast, but before he could carry on wasting Vox’s valuable time, another voice rose up somewhere in the lobby, high and curious:
“Angel? Is someone here? Oh my gosh, hi!”
Relief flooded him as Charlotte Morningstar wriggled into the doorway despite Angel’s best attempts to keep the entrance narrowed. Vox immediately refocused his attention on her, dismissing Angel entirely. It mattered very little what some coked up whore thought of him, so long as he could get the first word with the princess.
He ratcheted up the brightness of his grin by eighteen percent to better match her energy. “Ah, just the demon I wanted to see! It’s an honor to finally make your acquaintance in person, Princess Morningstar.” He extended his hand—an offering, not a demand, as he thought back to Val grabbing her and rolling her sleeve up—and placed the ball in her court, ignoring Angel’s unhappy look of distrust. “Vox, CEO of VoxTek and representative of the Vees.”
She shook his hand firmly but warily, enthusiasm warring with caution on her face, and Vox smiled harder.
“It’s great to meet you! We’ve heard a lot about—um—haha,” she finished lamely, probably realizing that anything she’d heard about him skewed extremely negative. “Anyway! Can we help you with anything? Oh! Oh! Are you seeking redemption?” Her eyes shined at the possibility, bouncing on her heels even as Angel rolled his eyes, muttering, “Where’s Vaggie when ya fuckin’ need her,” under his breath.
Vox held up a hand to stop her. “No, no, your highness, I’m afraid I’m irredeemable. I am fascinated by your project here, though—I would be more than happy to welcome you to network 666 to pitch your venture again if that’s something you would be interested in. And might I just add, we at VoxTek are sincerely apologetic for Miss Killjoy’s behavior during your last interview. You can trust that we accept full responsibility for her actions and are always striving to live up to our values, not down to our worst impulses.”
He’d rehearsed that during the drive.
Charlotte’s understandable caution sloughed away as she warmed to him, totally ignorant to Angel’s deepening frown. “Oh, wow! That’s really nice of you! I don’t know if we really need more publicity, Alastor’s been doing a lot of promotion on his radio show, but here, come inside anyway! Angel, let him in—let me give you a tour!”
That was about when Vox was unceremoniously dragged into the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel by his wrist, stumbling after the overexcitable princess as she towed him over the threshold and into the gleaming interior.
Great. Awesome. Dear Lucifer, partner in petty hijinks, if your brat tries to walk me through the twelve-step program for her demon rehab I won’t be accountable for what I do next.
“So I know you said you think you’re irredeemable, but I really don’t believe that,” Charlotte chattered on as she escorted-slash-herded him over to a lounge area, lavish with deep red and gold furniture and gratuitous apples. Lucifer’s inclinations were consistent across all areas of his life, then; Vox recalled apple-patterned pajama bottoms. “I think everyone deserves another chance, no matter what they’ve done. You might end up changing your mind if you see for yourself the wide variety of resources we offer here for sinners.”
“Aha, I highly doubt—”
“Because,” she continued forcefully, and suddenly Vox knew that he was somehow losing control of the conversation. “It’s one thing to hear about it in theory, but another to actually participate! Right, Angel?”
Angel Dust, who’d been trailing behind them, looked like he would much rather be getting waterboarded at the studio then have to halfheartedly help pitch Charlotte’s passion project to Vox. That can be arranged. “Yeah, Char. But I don’t think mistah Vox here wants to sit in a circle and sing kumbaya with us, so why don’t we just send him on his way?”
“But I really think that—”
“Princess,” Vox interjected, setting a light hand on her shoulder. She peered up at him, a little dismayed, and he softened his tone. Angel was bristling, but neither of them paid him any mind. “How about this: take my business card, and when you’re ready, give me a call and we can schedule a meeting for another day. I see a mutually beneficial arrangement on the horizon between your hotel and my company, and I always make time for the royal family.” He pressed his business card into her palm, her uncannily human fingers briefly curling over his claws to accept it. “And speaking of, I am actually here for a reason. Is your father—?”
“Oho! Isn’t this a quaint picture!”
Vox bit back a groan.
All three of them glanced up towards the wide, sweeping staircase that connected the lounge to the mezzanine with varying degrees of exasperation (Angel), an awkward, full-body cringe (Charlie), and thinly-veiled hatred (Vox) as Alastor strode down the stairs, eyes locked on Vox and his eager grin alight with danger. Vox quickly took his hand off of Charlie’s shoulder. For unrelated reasons.
Like a happy-go-lucky bastard, Alastor practically skipped down the last few stairs without missing a beat, steps light and quick as he zeroed in on Vox with all the stark intent of an understimulated lion watching a toddler through viewing glass. Vox struggled with the urge to backpedal under all that heavy, focused attention, but he wasn’t a pussy. He held his ground, folding his arms behind his back to greet Alastor with a narrow-eyed glare.
“Alastor!” he exclaimed with a hefty dose of false cheer. “What an unlucky coincidence! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Funny, because I have been very transparent about my patronage of this establishment,” Alastor said, coming to hover overbearingly at Charlie’s elbow like the world’s most unwanted chaperone. “One would think someone as attuned to current events as you wouldn’t be so terribly slow on the uptake. It’s unfortunate what television is doing to people’s brains—first your father, now our friend here.” He curled a hand over Charlie’s shoulder and clicked his tongue sadly. “But then, I’ve heard that cognitive decline is an inevitable side effect of—”
Vox cleared his throat loudly, kneecapping Alastor’s momentum with a dry, “Wow.” Vicious satisfaction tore through him at the irritated creases forming around Alastor’s eyes. “You do love the sound of your own voice, don’t you? I really can’t blame you; I’d fixate on my only good quality too if I had to wake up and look at that ugly mug in the mirror every morning.”
“So says the man with no ‘mug’ at all to speak of! Ha-ha!”
“Thank you for noticing, it’s the newest model patented by VoxTek, currently at bargain prices of $959.99. Now with a pre-installed subscription to Voxcast, our premium company podcast delivering everything from the latest Pentagram news to relevant trends directly to our listeners.” Vox framed his face with a flourish, smirking. “Trust us with your audio dramas! No need for consumers to go trawling the landfills for old zeniths anymore. Isn’t that convenient?”
“It never ceases to amaze how profoundly you miss the point as always, old pal! Anyone with a modicum of good sense understands that quality programming has never existed in the same universe as your hyper-stylized monument to trash.”
“Jesus Christ,” Angel muttered, dragging his hands down his face, but Charlie was glancing between them with dawning hope.
“Do you guys know each other?” she asked, startling them both out of the staredown they’d fallen into. A certain redemptive gleam was entering her expression that made Vox feel abruptly hunted. “Oh, oh, that’s so exciting! So, you used to be friends?”
“It was a long time ago, my dear,” Alastor said, and for some reason the bland dismissal cut Vox to his core.
It was nothing new, and certainly one of the kinder ways to describe their tumultuous relationship, but something about Alastor’s tone—indifferent, casual, the same way you might say, huh, it’s going to rain tomorrow. Like it really was no more important than an inconvenient thunderstorm, waylaying your route to work. It tore at him. Vox wanted to pummel the smug look right off his pointy fucking face.
Fuckface McMurder was continuing, “Certainly one of my more ill-advised liaisons, but you can’t win them all.”
“And thank god it’s over,” Vox said. He was not bitter. He was not bitter. “Your highness, please know that if at any moment you decide you’re tired of being this asshole’s laughingstock, I will gladly help you kick him to the curb, free of interest.”
“Oh, um…” Charlie laughed a little nervously, eyes darting back and forth. “Thank you…?”
“Don’t listen to him, dear,” Alastor said cheerfully. “He wouldn’t know the curb from the road, if all the times I dragged his limp carcass out of the gutter speak to anything, ha-ha!”
Before Vox could blow a fuse and/or half the city’s power, Charlie flailed her limbs in wild slicing motions and yelped, “Well! That’s, um, well—I appreciate the offer, Mr. Vox, and Alastor, it’s nice to see you reminiscing fondly about good times with a former friend. You know, I think I have a booklet around here somewhere about resolving relationship conflicts, maybe you guys can—”
Terribly, they both automatically looked at each other to commiserate over Charlie’s naivete, and then just as quickly pulled their eyes away with reticent self-consciousness. Vox resisted the urge to shoot Val a text begging to be rescued, PR stunt date be damned. This was not going well. Where the fuck was Lucifer?
Vox took a deep breath, slowly blew it out, smoothed his palms over his lapels, and then—
Speak of the devil.
A sparkling pop! of red flurries spat Lucifer out into the lounge, making everyone but Alastor jump as he briefly went tumbling limb over limb like a cartoon pinwheel, rocketing upright before ducking around Alastor. “Alfred,” he acknowledged haughtily, then swiveled to regard everyone else. “Woah-hoh, hey there! We’ve got a party out here, huh? Your king has arrived, please, hold your applause.”
There was a beat of silence. Even Charlie seemed to have lost the wind from her sails, looking at her father with strained cheer. Lucifer yanked at his shirt collar and laughed uncomfortably.
Vox took pity first. “Lucifer! How kind of you to join us. I was just looking for you.” He made a show of scanning Lucifer up and down, taking in his appearance—and didn’t have to fake his appreciation.
Lucifer had switched up his entire color scheme, going for eggshell blues, silvers, and blacks instead of his usual crimson-gold-white ensemble. In a twist of fate, they matched perfectly: the pale blue suit and silver tie Velvette had snapped Vox into went hand in hand with Lucifer’s change of pace. Most compellingly, there was nary a hint of red accentuation to be found.
He lowered his voice to an unsubtle undertone. “You clean up very nicely, your majesty.”
A flicker of genuine pleasure slipped into Lucifer’s expression. “Oh, you like it? I figured we should match, you know, and everything—you seemed like the type to appreciate something a little fancier.” He winked.
Vox chuckled and bent at the waist, reaching down to slide his fingers under Lucifer’s palm and lift it up to his screen, kissing his knuckles in the least offputting way he could with a TV for a head, and was rewarded by the low thrum of annoyed static that suddenly flooded his senses as Alastor clocked the obeisance. Lucifer flushed an appealing canary color, which reminded Vox very starkly of other places he’d seen that lovely golden tint.
“What the fuck,” Angel whispered. Charlie made a strangled squeaking noise.
“Dad! Um! I… didn’t know you and Vox knew each other!”
“What? Oh, uh,” Lucifer stammered, shuffling his feet like he wanted to bolt, but he didn’t let go of Vox’s hand. Vox laced their fingers together smugly as Alastor tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Yeah, we know each other. I helped him out with some branding for his company, and it turned out we actually have a lot in common. One thing led to another, and, well—” He shrugged sheepishly. “It’s been a while since Lilith left and I’m, uh… giving this a shot. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Char.”
Charlie wavered, eyes glimmering, before abruptly throwing her arms around Lucifer and driving a wheezy oof from him as the strength of her embrace drove him backwards, forcing Vox to drop his hand. Lucifer hugged her with equal ferocity, patting her back.
“I’m so, so happy for you,” she proclaimed wetly. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me!”
Jesus. Vox slipped his hands into his pockets and scrutinized one of the light fixtures overhead. Shiny golden inlay, check. Apple patterns, check. Stylized snakes forming the swooping arms of the candleholders, check. While Lucifer and Charlie blubbered over each other like sniveling children, a cool shadow fell over Vox. Alastor quietly moved to stand a half-step behind him.
Out of the corner of his mouth, Vox asked casually, “Are they always like this?”
“What are you playing at, old friend?” Alastor murmured.
Gotcha.
“This may come as a shock to you, but when normal people like each other, sometimes they want to go on dates. Romantically.”
“And you expect me to believe that your intentions are honest? Please. You are a con man of the highest order.”
Vox smirked. “Aw, trying to butter me up with compliments? For shame, Alastor.” Static prickled threateningly against his awareness, but he just walled off his signal as firmly as he could, filtering out the worst of Alastor’s oppressive noise. “What can I say? I’ve always had expensive tastes. You should be proud of me—at least now I’m not forcing myself to settle for less.”
Before Alastor could interrogate him further, or take catastrophic offense to the implication that he was the ‘less’ in this situation, Lucifer and Charlie finished up their sapfest of familial affection and finally separated, smiling at each other. Vox stepped away from Alastor and slid up beside Lucifer, pressing his palm against Lucifer’s lower back just to see the king of hell flinch, shoulders jerking with surprise. His cheeks were bright yellow.
Time to get this show on the road.
“Well, it was lovely to meet you, my dear,” Vox said to Charlie, smiling benevolently. “But I’m afraid your father and I have a dinner reservation, and we have to get moving if we don’t want to be late.”
“Oh, of course, don’t let me keep you! Have fun!”
Charlie clasped her hands under chin and beamed as Vox guided Lucifer away, back towards the front entrance—of course, not without casting one last glance back at Alastor, who tracked their departure with his hideous scarlet eyes all the way. He was still staring after them, smile unreadable, when Vox let the doors swing shut in their wake.
“So…” Lucifer began, once they were a safe distance down the street, “do we actually have a dinner reservation, or was that just part of our cover story?”
“What do you take me for?” Vox scoffed. He’d kept his arm loosely looped through Lucifer’s since leaving the hotel, and since Lucifer hadn’t tried to shrug him off yet, he saw no point in disentangling them now; besides, it was better optics if they were seen in close contact as much as possible while in public together. He’d laid excellent groundwork with Alastor so far, but this game was only just beginning. He was giddy at the prospect, and when he glanced down to gauge Lucifer’s feelings, he saw his own pleased excitement reflected there. “Of course we have a reservation. All-exclusive, VIP access—my name carries quite a lot of clout down here, as you know.”
“Uh-huh. I mean, I could just—” Lucifer made a vague fluttering motion with his free hand. “And ferry us down to Lust if you want to go to a real exclusive restaurant, but I guess whatever… quaint little spots you sinners have built here is fine too.”
Insecurity grated at Vox. “We do try.”
The restaurant he’d chosen was top of the line even by overlord standards. Downtown Pentagram City hosted some of the more expensive and finer dining opportunities than most other districts, as well as generally being safer, which some surmised was because the presence of the Heaven Embassy seemed to irradiate the district with holiness or some bullshit. In reality, it was mostly because hell still remembered a time when the royal family actually cared about being active presences in the city where their denizens lived, and downtown used to be a hotbed for paparazzi to catch a glimpse of the Morningstars going out for coffee, or strolling hand-in-hand by the plaza fountains.
Basically, there were certain upper class associations with the district that tended to stick around, even though Lilith and Lucifer hadn’t been seen here together in decades. Money lingered, entrenched in the character of a place like a seeping rot, and when you could live forever if you were smart enough, that mattered.
Anyway, Vox had chosen this place not only because it was guaranteed to be more expensive than usual and therefore gave him a chance to show off, but also because it was a nice, clean way to slot himself into the space Lilith had left behind, at least in the eyes of the media. He’d be shifting downtown’s reputation into a prime date location for all of Lucifer’s paramours, not only his ex-wife.
Now Lucifer just needed to actually be impressed, like Vox had planned.
They arrived at the restaurant fairly late for their reservation, but it wasn’t as though the hellborn waitstaff was going to deny service to overlord Vox and the King of Hell. Vox idly admired the slick, clean architecture as they were escorted up to their table on the third floor, modern and sharp and reeking of excessive wealth, exactly how Vox liked it. Alastor used to only take him to places that were annoyingly claustrophobic, choked with cigar smoke and rustic decor that always reminded Vox of his dad’s country club in the worst possible way. At least on earth, that type of establishment had a purpose—mostly for keeping out the Jews—but down here, they were tacky vestiges of lives long-discarded.
Vox focused on radical inclusivity these days. Everyone could feel included, whether it was with Vox’s security systems in their homes, parasocial relationships with Velvette, or jacking off to Val’s films—their target demographic was everybody, everywhere, all at once!
And if people wanted to go the way of the dinosaur by clinging to their radios instead, well, that was their choice. The wrong, stupid choice, and one easily circumvented by a little bit of hypnosis, but that was neither here nor there.
“An apple elixir for the king,” Vox said to the quailing imp waiter as they settled into their seats, “and I’ll have a bourbon on the rocks.” The imp’s eyes pinged wildly between the two of them as he slipped them two menus, bowed hastily, and scurried off.
“So, you like to take charge in and out of the bedroom,” Lucifer mused, leaning forward on his elbows with a shit-eating grin. “Okay, okay, I like it. How’d you know I’d want an apple drink?”
“Lucky guess,” Vox lied. He’d given Lucifer a VoxTek phone after their last encounter, insisting he upgrade from the plastic brick he’d been using, and had loaded it with enough spyware to have the USSR licking his boots. “More of a whiskey man, myself.” Another lie. He wasn’t overly fond of whiskey. He really didn’t drink alcohol much in general, beyond what was required for socializing; it just made him feel secure, like a pacifier, a respectable man with his respectable glass of bourbon, made people think to themselves, nothing can faze a man like that.
At least, that was how he’d felt watching Alastor sip on Sazeracs back in the day.
Lucifer bobbed his head distractedly, scooping up the menu to flip through it. “Uh-huh, yeah. Ooh, they serve sushi from Envy here, that’s fun. Nothing beats appetizers from Gluttony, though—Bee used to make these little jalapeño popper boat things, and man, conjured food just doesn’t compare. But it’s easy, you know. Gets the job done.” He gave a little wheezy laugh.
“I completely understand. I’m far too busy to cook on a daily basis, so ordering in is a matter of convenience. And besides, once you’re at the top, you can just delegate. That’s what servants are there for.”
“I was mostly talking about being too depressed to do anything but conjure up a bagel and tea every once in a while, but yeah, that too.”
Vox didn’t know how to respond to that, so he changed the subject. “So, Envy, you say? As I haven’t had the opportunity to visit, I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar—would you recommend the sushi?”
“Oh—yeah, of course,” Lucifer said, flipping the menu over. “Anything here that’s sourced out of Pride is probably better. This place is kind of the worst, you know that? I thought I could make it work, a long time ago, but…” He blew out a sigh. “Sinners suck. No offense. Well, not really, you’re all horrible, but—”
“It’s meant to be a punishment, your majesty,” Vox interrupted, before Lucifer could spin his wheels into oblivion. “Of course it’s the worst. Everyone who comes here is.”
“Don’t I, uh, don’t I know it. I keep trying to tell Charlie that, but it’s hard. I don’t want to crush her spirit any more than I already have.”
Vox feigned toothless interest as he commented, “She has an impressive ambition. You and I may not believe that redemption is possible, but it can’t hurt to entertain her. Who knows? Maybe proper guidance is all she needs to turn that ambition into something real. It’s what I needed.”
Lucifer frowned, shoulders hunching. He picked at the corner of his menu with a fingernail. “Yeah. Unbridled creativity is dangerous. But, uh, hey—I don’t know. She keeps surprising me. Maybe this whole crazy project, redeeming sinners, maybe it’ll be something. Anything’s possible.”
Vox conceded to this, folding his menu and setting it down. He lifted a finger to flag a waiter. “Very true. A word of advice, though?” He smiled thinly. “If you don’t want her to crash and burn, I’d try to pry Alastor’s claws out of her as soon as possible.”
Lucifer’s eyes darkened and Vox felt a rush of vindictive satisfaction. It wasn’t playing fair to leverage the devil himself against Alastor in their rivalry, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Alastor could dither pointlessly about even playing fields and equilibrium to the end of time, but the truth was that Vox had only gotten this far by means of gratuitous cheating. It was why he was the face of the future and Alastor was withering away into irrelevant dust. Winners didn’t play fair.
Conversation paused briefly while they received their drinks and ordered matching platters of Envian sushi. The location of their seats, nestled into a private French balcony overlooking the plaza square, allowed a warm breeze to tousle the drawn curtains framing their table, wisps of deep purple gauze rippling in the tepid evening. The balcony railing glimmered with silvery lights, offsetting the harsh glow of the clocktower to the east.
It wasn’t often Vox got the opportunity to come to places like this. He didn’t go out much in general, and when he did, it was with the other Vees, who only ever wanted to go to nightclubs or on shopping sprees where they temporarily converted to communism—suddenly it wasn’t me, my, mine, but we and ours, at least where Vox’s credit card was concerned.
Vox usually spent those outings drafting emails or filling out spreadsheets on his phone, bored out of his mind by the grimy, neon-lit debauchery where Val and Velvette thrived. But this, with Lucifer… this was far more his style.
It was a power play, of course, but perhaps it was more revealing than he’d intended; as always, Vox couldn’t help but warp his surroundings to reflect him as much as possible, a narcissistic compulsion not altogether dissimilar from Alastor’s habit of sculpting places and people in his image, or even the trite apple motifs that followed Lucifer everywhere. All the world was set dressing for their bottomless egos.
When their food arrived and the waiter retreated, leaving them alone once more, Lucifer rocked back in his chair with enough force to rattle the table, scowling. “Ugh. Can’t stand that guy. Thinks he can just swoop in and steal my daughter from me, insulting me at every turn like he’s worth more than a cockroach to me—I could literally snap my fingers and poof! Erased! But nooo, Charlie likes him, and I promised I’d let her live her own life and make her own choices. It’s really, ah… the least I can do, at this point.” He wilted, guilty, passion dimming. “If I hadn’t been so unsupportive in the first place, he wouldn’t have even had the chance to worm his way into her life.”
Vox chewed a morsel of sashimi thoughtfully. “We’ve already talked about this, but it’s worth reiterating that Alastor is little more than an attention-seeker. Getting a rise out of us is what he wants. He’s nothing without his audience or his enemies.”
“Yeah, yeah, so we ignore him to freak him out, I remember. And, uh, I wasn’t gonna mention this,” Lucifer said, fiddling with his thumbs, “but it seems kinda counterintuitive to reserve a private table if we’re supposed to be, you know, publically dating.”
“Ah, but this actually works in our favor,” Vox said smugly. He gestured out to the city below, sparkling and smoking in the rising night. “Sure, we’re not putting on a show for those suckers down there, but real gossip thrives on as little concrete information as possible. The restaurant staff knows I booked a reservation for the two of us, and the implication that this is serious enough to value privacy will be more powerful than any contrived display we could’ve put on anywhere else. This will get people talking.” He grinned, wide and proud. “Also, my business partners are this city’s rumor mill. Velvette will make sure everyone is speculating about us by morning. So relax, your majesty, and enjoy yourself. I plan to.”
Lucifer had raised both eyebrows skeptically at him, but by the end of this little speech, he’d relaxed into a careless sprawl, mischievous humor creeping back into his expression. “You’re a bonafide politician, aren’t you? Was it the smooth-talking that got you down here, or something else?”
“Something like that.”
Vox actually didn’t know. He hadn’t done anything especially egregious in life. Didn’t pay enough attention to his kids. Didn’t help enough little old ladies across the street. No, the heinous stuff came later, once he’d died and realized his sentence was irrevocable. Not much reason to hold back anymore when you had eternity stretching out in front of you.
Oh, well. If he hadn’t deserved hell from the outset, he’d certainly earned his place.
“They used to say I had a silver tongue,” Lucifer said, briefly sticking out said forked tongue and making Vox laugh. “In heaven, I mean. And lemme tell you, they weren’t saying it for the reasons you’re thinking.”
Vox smirked. “And whatever might those be?”
“Anyway,” Lucifer carried on loudly, flushing, “I was a bad influence, heaven doesn’t like change, yadda yadda—got the boot, which, ouch. But I used to be good at talking to people. I built this whole realm from scratch, made it as chaotic and strange as I was, really tried to make the best out of the flaming garbage heap my existence had become. I was a real king. But, well.” He shrugged, a bit helplessly. “I don’t get out much, anymore. So, uh. It’s good for me, you know? To talk to somebody without all the… baggage. It’s fun. You’re not so bad, TV guy.”
Vox was taken aback by the sudden surge of genuine, pleased warmth that flickered to life in him at that. Lucifer smiled at him across the table, fey and handsome in Vox’s colors, dangling a drink from his lackadaisical fingers that was garnished with an apple stamped in a star shape, blond hair curling in soft wisps against his jaw. All at once, Vox wanted to kiss him so badly his chest ached.
He mirrored Lucifer’s smile to buy his heart time to calm, consciously keeping his grip on his chopsticks loose and casual. Get a grip, Jesus. It’s not like you haven’t kissed him before.
“I’m flattered,” he demurred, instead of saying something embarrassing like ‘I’m recording this moment for posterity so I can replay it over and over again while I jack off tonight’. “I’ve been quite enjoying our conversations as well. I realize that your capabilities far exceed mine, so I apologize if this dinner has been… lacking, in any sense. Certainly you could travel down to Envy if you wanted authenticity.”
“What? Oh, I mean, I guess.” Lucifer waved a hand at the plate of sushi in front of him. “I could do anything I want. Pure angelic power, y’know—but this is nice too, even if the scenery leaves something to be desired.”
Wasn’t quite enough to assuage Vox’s inferiority complex, but he knew how to compartmentalize that well enough by now. And then, carefully gauging Lucifer’s reaction, he inched his foot forward under the table, brushing against Lucifer’s ankle. Lucifer stilled, giving Vox a surprised, quizzical look.
“I do hope,” Vox said, lowering his voice into a teasing drawl, “that the company has been more than satisfactory.”
He watched Lucifer swallow, eyes widening. Then he felt pressure increase against his foot as Lucifer leaned into him, shifting to tangle their legs together, and the warmth in his chest flowered into a brilliant flame.
“Hey, no complaints here,” Lucifer murmured. His mouth quirked into a sly grin as he lifted his drink to his lips, his gaze never leaving Vox’s face.
Somehow, this exchange felt more intense, more intimate than their hookup several weeks ago. He’d had Lucifer writhing and gasping like a whore while he got himself off in Vox’s bed and it was this, playing footsie and talking about how much they liked each other like little kids confessing to their schoolyard crushes, that was getting him all hot under the collar. Vox was equal parts mortified and captivated, spellbound by the contradictions of Lucifer’s everything: guileless and wicked, pathetic and cruel, foolish and clever and terrifyingly ancient.
He was fascinating. Vox had gotten only a small taste, and now wanted nothing more than to open him up and see what made him tick.
And he also understood, in an agonizing flash of empathy so potent he could have gagged on it, what Alastor must have felt all those years ago, looking at Vox like he was seeing something for the first time, something entirely wonderful and new.
Dinner went by in a pleasant blur. They bickered back and forth, bouncing from topic to topic at speeds Vox hadn’t enjoyed in years. It was all the clever delight of parrying with words without the mocking bite underneath, without feeling like he was incessantly on the defensive. Lucifer wasn’t a mindless yes-man and they disagreed more often than not, but it was fun, collaborative, a constant assembly and disassembly of ideas that left Vox excited to create in a way he hadn’t been since—
Well.
Furthermore, it was difficult not to feel wholly unthreatened by someone Vox had watched carve miniature birds out of salami in his pajamas, and who was actively deconstructing his sushi to make sailboats out of seaweed—and while Vox wasn’t going to unbutton that much, Lucifer did manage to drag him into a brief, ridiculous chopstick battle over the last bit of soy sauce, which was a deep enough blow to his dignity that he could justify lingering for a while, putting off the inevitable return of the mask.
Lucifer literally glowed when he was happy, it turned out.
Their legs stayed tangled under the table.
When Vox had been doing nothing but fondly watching Lucifer tinker with a rubber duck-shark fusion toy for the better part of an hour, offering advice and ideas as needed, the doors to the balcony inched open and a server peered out anxiously at them, shoulders hunched.
“Um, excuse me,” she whispered, wringing her hands. Vox cast her an irritated look while Lucifer jumped. A panicked golden puff of glitter exploded around the duck, vanishing it. “I—your majesty, ahem, I’m very sorry, but w-we’re closing now. I’m so sorry for—for the inconvenience, um—”
“I’ll cover the check,” Vox interrupted, flicking his wrist dismissively at her. “Thanks, sweetheart.” She ducked her head and slipped back out, easing the door shut behind her. Vox sighed and turned back to Lucifer, who’d gone all nervous and embarrassed in his seat, and offered him an easy smile. “Back in my day, the waitstaff knew their place. But we ought to get going anyway; I have a full schedule tomorrow, and I’m sure you’re quite busy as well.”
“O-Oh yeah, mm-hm, yup. Busy bee, that’s me—didn’t mean to rhyme there, haha.” Lucifer raked a hand through his hair, mussing it irreparably, and abruptly swung to his feet like a puppet jerked to attention, coattails fluttering. He held out a hand to Vox with a vibrant grin. “Gonna walk me home, V? Or have I maxed out your nine percent of goodness?”
Vox suspected Lucifer didn’t remember his name, despite multiple reminders. But that was fine so long as he didn’t remember Alastor’s either. “I can spare a bit more.”
He slipped his hand into Lucifer’s and let himself be pulled up.
They walked back to the hotel at a leisurely amble. Lucifer swung their linked hands back and forth, seemingly without conscious thought, and Vox didn’t protest the childish treatment as much as he should have.
Someone snapped a photo of them across the street. Vox pretended not to notice, though he did angle his body towards Lucifer a bit more obviously, encouraging certain interpretations over others; Lucifer smirked up at him knowingly, squeezing his hand.
“Time for the public show, huh?” he muttered, and Vox chuckled.
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Nah, no, I’m all good for some PDA. Want me to swoon into your arms? I used to roleplay with Lily all the time, I can totally do the helpless maiden.”
Vox thought he did a fairly good job of acting like the thought of bridal-carrying Lucifer in a dress didn’t get him unbelievably hard. “No need, your majesty. I’ll take it from here.”
“Cool, cool, got it.” Lucifer playfully knocked their shoulders together—well, attempted. All he really ended up doing was bumping his shoulder against Vox’s elbow. “Hey, you’re kind of a control freak, you know that?”
“Viscerally aware, your majesty.”
“Awesome. Just thought you should know.”
Vox let that comment go unremarked upon as he assessed where they were. To the right, a low-rise wall of ascending steps began to curve along the hillside that lead to the Happy Hotel, and to the left, a crosswalk where a number of sinners gathered in the unruly cluster that had been following Vox and Lucifer since they left the plaza. Well, if they wanted a show.
“Step up,” Vox muttered to Lucifer, indicating the stone wall, and Lucifer gamely hopped up onto it, bringing him eye-level with Vox. They kept their hands linked as they walked, Vox lifting his arm to keep pace with Lucifer’s rambling steps; Lucifer wobbled a few times, intentionally, treating the narrow path like a wind-up toy crossing a canyon, and despite himself Vox laughed helplessly, screen warming with pink visual snow.
When the bricks plateaued, leveling out, Lucifer paused and swiveled sharply on his heel, drawing Vox to a halt. Lucifer bent at the waist and Vox rocked up onto his toes to meet him, reaching up and grasping Lucifer’s hands in his own.
“This what you had planned?” Lucifer asked smugly, bringing Vox’s knuckles to his lips.
Vox stammered faintly, “I had—concepts of a plan, although—”
“Uh-huh.”
Lucifer’s lantern-yellow eyes danced with humor. Vox swallowed, stepping closer, and before he could summon up a coherent response, Lucifer kissed him.
The angle was a bit awkward, with Vox craning his neck and Lucifer stooped down low, but they made it work; Lucifer’s mouth was warm and insistent on Vox’s, gloved fingers wound tightly with Vox’s claws without hesitation, forked tongue flicking against his shark’s teeth and humming a breathy laugh against his screen when Vox’s antennas sparked happily at the contact. They separated after a long moment, Vox wide-eyed and warm, Lucifer unbearably pleased with himself.
Lucifer quickly pressed another chaste kiss to Vox’s slack mouth. The whole thing was chaste, really, nothing like the lecherous makeouts he and Val indulged in public sometimes, and while this situation was no less manufactured than those, it felt almost… sweet, in a way that Val only was behind closed doors.
Vox… didn’t really know what to do with that.
Thankfully, Lucifer didn’t put him on the spot. He just hopped down from the wall and dusted himself off, flashing Vox a deliciously conniving smile. “That should keep everybody happy for a while, ey?”
Vox made a vague sound that might’ve been agreement, or horny, or a really shitty amalgam pun about silver tongues and snakes, but Lucifer was already grabbing his wrist and merrily chattering away, the unstoppable angelic force to Vox’s very movable, profoundly human object.
“I had a good time tonight,” Vox said, on the hotel’s front steps.
Lucifer straightened out his lapels, avoiding Vox’s eyes; he’d lost some of his bravado on the way, and now muttered absently, “Yeah, yeah, me too, absolutely. I can, um, that shark duck, I can finish it, show you the final product, if—oh, who am I kidding, you were probably just humoring me, nobody likes the themed ducks as much as they say—”
Vox, too, had sunk back into his comfort zone following their kiss, filling the cracks in the façade until it was seamless again. The sense of control that slipping back into the persona brought him was what emboldened him to reach out and gently grasp Lucifer’s chin, silencing his anxious dithering.
“Lucifer,” he said, low. Lucifer’s darting eyes finally snapped up to meet his, nervous and cringing. “I’d like to see you again.”
“I… yeah, I-I’d like that, um, too.”
Vox smiled. He patted Lucifer’s cheek condescendingly. “That’s the spirit. Coffee on me next week?”
Lucifer leveled him with a squinty glare. “What is this? What are you—is this a kink thing for you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Bullshit, you said your boyfriend owns the porn industry, there’s no way you don’t know what findom—”
Vox dragged Lucifer in for a searing, electric kiss, winding a hand into his hair and yanking just to hear his yelping squeak turn into a moan as he melted against Vox. Lucifer went easily when Vox bent him backwards, hitching his thigh up and overbalancing him so he had to flail and clutch at Vox’s suit to keep from toppling over. Vox’s fans kicked into gear, whirring loudly, and Lucifer laughed into Vox’s mouth as his hands roamed up and down Vox’s sides, scraping his vents and making him groan.
They broke apart with twin gasps. Lucifer blinked rapidly, golden flush disappearing into his neckline. Vox tightened his grip on the underside of Lucifer’s thigh, keeping him from getting down just yet.
“So, uh,” Lucifer croaked, licking his lips. “Any chance I could tempt you into a nightcap?”
Vox genuinely resented the fact that he couldn’t say yes. “Unfortunately, I do actually have an early day tomorrow. And it’s… probably too soon. For the plan.”
There was no other word for it: Lucifer pouted. He walked two fingers up Vox’s chest, resting his index finger in the hollow of Vox’s throat, then muttered, “Right, right, the plan, our super smart plan. Alrighty then.” Abruptly, he hooked his fingers into Vox’s collar and yanked Vox closer, stopping mere inches from his face—and tapped him right between the eyes with a dull thunk of gloved nails on glass. Vox flinched, baffled. “Vox! I finally got it! It’s Vox, right?”
Vox stared. Lucifer was grinning, self-satisfied, light as a feather in Vox’s arms and radiating heat like a furnace, and Vox wanted nothing more than to slam him up against those frosted doors and have his way with him, or kiss him some more, or just swallow him whole—
But he couldn’t. So instead he just smiled, indulgent and fond. “Yes, your majesty. It’s Vox.”
Lucifer pumped his fist. “Take that, attention deficit!”
Vox straightened, letting Lucifer down and releasing him, taking a moment to brush through Lucifer’s hair and comb it back into some semblance of neatness. It made a more convincing impression, anyway, to imply that he’d tried to fix himself up but didn’t quite manage. Lucifer peered up at him, grinning like a fool. Vox took a step back.
“Goodnight,” he said, softer than he’d intended.
Lucifer, already halfway through the doors, twisted at the waist to give Vox a little muppet-like wave. “Bye!”
The doors clicked shut. Vox took a breath, turned away, and headed back down the hill to find a streetlamp to vanish into.
Excitement thrummed through him, heady as schadenfreude, and he was too busy luxuriating in the feeling to notice the unusual shadow which had been lurking in the eaves, unnoticed, as it melted into thin wisps of staticky vapor and finally retreated. Vox failed to register any of this. He was too good. Valentino was right—he was richer than god, he owned this whole city, and he had the future of hell eating out of his palm. He was irresistible.
This was going to be even easier than he’d thought.