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Summary
When Alastor had laid another body at his feet, Lucifer thanked him for following through.
The one after that, Lucifer’s eyes had crinkled around the edges in delight, and Alastor had to force himself to look away.
Their meetings were few, but perhaps that only made them feel more electric. It was a balancing act, as all things are, in killing enough to satisfy his newfound patron and also ensuring that those he slaughtered were deserving of his wrath.
If he found himself chomping at the bit to bloody his hands, it was clearly only because he could not stand the idea of such scum wandering the planet freely. It had nothing to do with the way the devil’s eyes lingered on his hands as they gripped a knife, or the way his eyes flickered between a shimmering yellow and an inferno of red with each kill.
Lucifer was, perhaps, simply an ego-swelling side effect.
That’s all.