[Cherik] Eden

Asgard

Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners.

Fandoms : Hex Season 1 & Season 2 (2005); multi-fandoms

Rating : T

Pairing(s) : Lucifer x Azazeal

Genres : Fanfiction, slash, crossover, AU

Characters : Lucifer (OC), Azazeal, James McAvoy’s fictional characters, Michael Fassbender’s fictional characters

Summary :

“Indeed I had a choice,” Lucifer admitted with a laugh, dry and void of his usual cheerfulness, “to leave my love for you or to leave Eden. Now I’m here.”

Though he had a vague idea that Lucifer was fascinated with him in some way, Azazeal was still taken aback by the other fallen angel’s straightforwardness. His eyes widened when he stared at Lucifer, whose gaze was filled with scathing lust.

“Now now, don’t make such a face, Azazeal,” Lucifer said and leaned in until his face almost touched Azazeal’s, distanced only by a hair strand. “My reason to have been cast out from Heaven is a running gag down here. Anyone with half an eye can tell I’m hopelessly smitten with you.”

You cast me out from Eden

My wings burned, and I’m forever banished from Heaven

On this earth where you so scorn

I shall make an Eden be born

And the wretched souls you deny

My own Eden they will find.

Eden

The White Queen let out an earth-shattering howl when the Black King’s lance seared through the tender flesh of her abdomen in one ferocious thrust. Blood blooming on her pristine white dress like wild roses, the Queen stared at her impaling wound, eyes wide with pain and betrayal; then her gaze shifted to the battlefield, where she witnessed her remaining subjects slaughtered by her beloved’s, their whites blanketing the battlefield like snow. Gathering her last breath, the White Queen launched forward, sword in hand and the pitch-black lance still embedded in her flesh. Defeat was pounding at her door, loud and clear, and she had already foreseen the ultimate outcome. But it was despair that lent her its vicious strength to swing her silver sword, cutting down the Black King’s subjects until they were the only ones left for the final showdown. Her mortal wound was bleeding profusely; so were her diamond eyes. Her vision dyed red, she watched the corner of his lips curve up.

“Checkmate!”

A clear voice echoed and the silver sword slipped from her bloody grip as the White Queen succumbed to her fate. Her form lost colors like a picture washed out until she was invisible to sight.

Alone on the once-battlefield free of white or black – the White Queen had taken them all with her – the Black king held his head high like any ruler should during his victorious march to the twin black marble thrones on which two obscure figures were seated. Kneeling on one knee, the Black King held his lance above his head, offering his triumph like a sacrifice.

… to God or Devil unknown.

The air was stiff and silent while the Black King remained in his kneeling position, an ancient statue frozen in time. One figure stood up from the throne and walked over to the King, the mist surrounding evaporating with each step to reveal a youthful form clad in Victorian midnight suit. An ivory-white hand laid flatly against the King’s weapon, the black of the sleeve and the black of the lance gnawing the white boundary to melt into one. “You have proven yourself and thus, accepted,” a voice, the same as earlier, said.

Laying his weapon on the ground, the Black King held the hand in his and placed a solemn kiss on the intricate tattoo on its back. The black ink that made up the symbol bled from pale skin in sinuous threads to weave themselves on the King’s hand, forming a new mark identical to the original. With blue eyes looking down on the king, the youthful face broke into an affable smile.

“Creature of Eden, now and forever. Now rise!”

The Black King slowly stood as per the voice’s command. Black mist rose with him, swirling around his majestic form until completely had him devoured. When the mist cleared out, the King’s presence went with it.

In the ivory-white hand, there was a sleek chess piece – the king.

“To the rest of you, Hell.”

Soon as the words left his lips, a whirlwind of wails ruptured the silence of the space. He spread his arms, lips curving in a half-smile as he fed on the agonies and despairs of the fallen. Eventually the wails died out and silence took reign once more.

“What do you think? He asked, turning around to face the other figure on the throne, which had stood up and was moving toward him with leisure pace.

“Dramatic,” the figure commented, its features clearer with the mist dissipating. One hand reaching into the pocket of his long, dark coat, the figure – a man – took out a silver cigarette case, got one and lit it with the tip of his forefinger. Inhaling a lungful of nicotine, he said, “One hell of a chess match.”

The half-smile was unaffected by the satirical tone as the other closed their distance. “Oh my,” he mumbled, lifting his hand – the hand bearing the symbol the Black King had kissed – to dry a straying teardrop, “much as I love your tear, nothing more beautiful, I find it devastating that you express sadness over… irrelevant matters, Azazeal.”

Though he didn’t flinch from the other’s touch – almost caress – Azazeal’s steel-blue eyes closely followed the hand’s every movement. He smiled, a small smile, untouched by genuine happiness, and said, “Perhaps I’ve changed… weak… sentimental… the result of my soul growing senile, perhaps. On the contrary, Lucifer, not a thing about you has truly changed.”

“Weak and senile? No, no Azazeal,” Lucifer said, shaking his head in amusement, “plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. Just the more sentimental between the two of us, always. He told me once that He was worried – that while your sentimentality set you apart from the rest of us, it would one day lead you astray. How right He was, though I wasn’t surprised. And both He and you have judged me wrongly…”

Pressing his palm to his heart as if pained, he continued, “… that I am cold, heartless, calloused to feelings.”

“Is that so?” Azazeal asked, a hint of sarcasm. “I suppose you’re trying to say you feel sorry for the human souls that failed your ‘trial’?”

“You don’t think I do?”

Azazeal’s reply, or non-reply, was a smile as he took a long drag.

“I do feel pain, but that sensation is only fleeting,” Lucifer said ruefully, “as fleeting as mortal lives compared to ours. And it’s grown number with each trial passed. Moreover, what must be done has to be done…”

The White Queen’s appalling look when she had been pierced with the lance flashed Azazeal’s mind. “Even parents and their children, husbands and wives, or lovers?”

“Whatever they are to each other does not matter. The gate of my Eden only opens to truly worthy souls.”

A soft chuckle escaped Azazeal’s lips, together with a puff of smoke that was swallowed up by the crisp air before it had a chance to linger. “You don’t smoke?” he asked, out-of-the-blue, and held out his cigarette case in an offer.

“No, I find most mortal indulgence to be distasteful.”

“Considering you were the first to descend and has spent the longest time amongst mortals, it rather surprises me. I, on the contrary, find this ‘mortal indulgence’ only second to Eden’s fruit.”

“Alas,” Lucifer exclaimed, “Eden’s fruit I can’t offer you, my dear friend. However, may I ask if you care to join me for a cup of tea?”

He lowered himself in a bow – Victorian style. “And I haven’t got a proper chance to introduce you to my Eden.”

It was hard to deny he wasn’t the least impressed. “Your Eden?”

Lucifer gave him a knowing smile and extended his right hand to Azazeal.

Though he didn’t take Lucifer’s hand, he closed the distance between them all the same. “Briticism suits you, Lucifer, but I have a slight disagreement with the era,” he said, rewinding the brief memory of London’s shaded, filthy streets and the acrid smell of smog burning his nostrils in his mind. “And I suppose a soul like mine wouldn’t be deemed ‘worthy’ of your Eden, no?”

“Victorian era was a fascinating page in history, despite its decadence.” He took a short glance at his outfit before continued, “As to answer you, my friend, you are always the first to be welcomed in my Eden.”

“A great honor I’m uncertain that I deserve.”

Lucifer took a step back and extended his arms, lips chanting in an alien tongue even Azazeal couldn’t decipher. His words drew the curtain that separated his Eden from the rest of his world. For a moment that seemed to last for an eternity, Azazeal’s vision felt blinded and he almost believed he was being washed in the halo of God.

… which was practically ironic, considering everything was Lucifer’s doing.

Knowing beforehand that it was Lucifer’s creation didn’t impede the sense of awe flooding in, filling his ancient void of a soul when the sight of ‘Eden’ was presented to his eyes.

To all angels who had been cast out from God’s world, the image of Eden was the most haunting. It was precisely due to this palpable memory that all the Nephilims, led by Azazeal, were hell-bent on waging war against their once Father, their former Master.

That Eden was reconstituted in the depth of Abyss was a sheer blasphemy greater than the birth of the Antichrist – what had gone through his dark mind when committing such act was beyond Azazeal’s comprehension. Was it a revenge – to taint His most precious treasure in the pit of sins – or was it merely a whim? Either way, Azazeal knew he shouldn’t be surprised; he would never expect any less from the most powerful fallen angel.

As he studied the changes on Azazeal’s countenance, his perpetual half-smile blossomed into a full smile.

“I take that as your silent admiration of my craft,” he quipped and stepped forward, leading the way. The blue flowers that covered every inch of the earth – the second “sky” – inclined to one side to make way for them. “To tell the truth, Azazeal, I wasn’t entirely confident until I witnessed the look on your face.”

“I never take you for the humble kind, Lucifer,” he replied, reaching his hand out to catch a stray petal in the permanent soft breeze. Taking in its subtle fragrance and its silky texture, he continued, “You’re right. I was indeed stunned by the scrupulous treating of details. Even my own memory of Eden couldn’t reach that level of precision.”

“Now you do understand why I only allow the truly worthy souls to enter my Eden.”

A curt nod and a short laugh. Crushing the remaining of the cigarette in his palm until it became nothingness, he said, “I suppose this ‘mortal indulgence’ serves no purpose other than soiling your impeccable work of art.”

“Actually, no,” replied Lucifer as he broke into soft laughter, “I have some residents – quite a lot, truth be told – who are quite keen on this mortal indulgence of yours. Ah, speaking of the devil…”

Lucifer left the sentence hanging to point his finger to a gazebo not a great distance from them, where two figures could be spotted. His eyes traveled to the supposed direction and immediately widened when they beheld the first figure – a man in late twenties looking simple yet sharp in white button-down shirt, beige trousers and a chequered beret. On one hand he was holding a half-burnt cigarette and on the other, a pen which he was using to jot down on a wad of paper. Azazeal believed he should not know this man – he didn’t – yet an almost suffocating sense invaded him when he studied him. It was the same as looking in a twisted mirror to see an alternate version of himself: different hairstyle, different outfit and different air, one free of corruption and devilry.

And if such sight was not ominous enough, the man laying on the bench with his head resting on the other’s lap appeared to be Lucifer’s twin. Except Azazeal knew too well that Lucifer had no twins, or any relatives for that matter.

If Lucifer had witnessed the bewildered look spreading across Azazeal’s countenance, he chose not to mention it.

“Working on your book as always, Archie?” he greeted the man with an amiable smile and a casual tone, dropping all formalities he had with others, Azazeal included. “Still not consider getting an Ipad? Easier to write and edit…”

Soon as Lucifer’s presence entered the gazebo, the man dropped the pen on his sheets, placing them both on the bench and answered Lucifer in an equally casual manner, “Old habits die hard. I guess I’m a little too old for new technology.”

“Nonsense, Archie!” Lucifer chided, not harshly. “How old are you compared to Stelios and Quintus, not to mention Leto? The other day I saw them huddling together with an Ipad – the very first one here it seems.”

Archie smiled in reply.

“How’s Robbie?”

“Robbie has his ups and downs. Today just happens to be in his downs.”

His long fingers gently stroke the short-cropped hair, a loving gesture that elicited a sigh from the other man, still deep in slumber.

When Archie’s eyes – the same steel blue with a light touch of green – met Azazeal’s, his facial expression indicated a mild surprise, but that was all the reaction Azazeal got from him. It was as if seeing his doppelganger wasn’t something out of the ordinary.

Perhaps it wasn’t, considering the other man sleeping on the bench and Lucifer basically had the same face. Azazeal had to remind himself that he was in Hell, Lucifer’s Hell, and here the most bizarre would become common.

“New arrival, isn’t he?”

“Not really,” said Lucifer with a light shake of his head. “Let’s say he’s the sole reason you’re here, as well as the others.”

Azazeal expected more queries from Archie since Lucifer’s answer was vague as best; nevertheless his reply was a low sound – ambiguously intrigued – and he extended his hand. “Oh, really? In that case, my name’s Archie Hicox. A pleasure to meet you.”

The way his posh British accent stressed on ‘pleasure’ gave Azazeal an impression that Archie really meant it rather than a conventional greeting. Either way, Azazeal found himself taking Archie’s hand. “Azazeal.”

His hand was calloused on the middle finger, a writer’s hand if Lucifer’s indication earlier meant anything, but then the palm was also calloused, suggesting he spent as much time holding a gun as he did a pen.

“Take care of Robbie, Archie,” Lucifer told him with a smile. “I’d love to discuss your new book but I’m afraid I have my own company to entertain.”

Archie nodded curtly. He’d already picked his pen and paper to resume his writing, carefully adjusting his position so as not to disturb the younger man. “See you later,” he said.

They said not a word after leaving Archie and ‘Robbie’ – as Lucifer had addressed him – and continued their walk until they reached a belvedere much larger than the gazebo, where a huge table was laid with chairs for two; on it, the most sumptuous tea party Azazeal had ever witnessed despite having mingled in the mortal world for longer than he could recall. Again, this was very ‘Lucifer’, nothing less than the biggest grandeur.

“Archie was a British officer sent to Germany as a spy during World War Two, who got shot in a Mexican standoff at a small French bar, sort of like those Quentin Tarantino’s movies,” Lucifer spoke his first words after taking their seats at the table. His blue eyes were sparkling with light amusement as they shifted leisurely between the pot of tea filling their cups and Azazeal’s face.

Azazeal listened in silence while watching the pot finishing its job and floating back to its neat place on the table.

“Milk, cream or sugar?”

“No, thanks.” Azazeal reached into his pocket for the silver cigarette case. “You don’t mind if I…”

“Be my guest.” Lucifer waved his hand and the cups of cream and sugar floated over to put in his tea a ridiculous amount which would make any mortal scream for diabetes. It was a small miracle that his cup, though not tiny itself, didn’t overflow.

“Robbie was a soldier in the British army, framed with a crime he hadn’t committed and died of septicemia, buried in stranger’s land all alone. Poor chap…”

Azazeal raised a fine eyebrow. “And?”

“And they are our sons,” Lucifer said, blowing softly at his steaming tea before taking a sip. “Archie – yours and Robbie – mine.”

“That does explain the uncanny resemblance.” Folding his hands on his crossed knees, Azazeal said through dry chuckles, “Do enlighten my senile self when and how I begot a son other than Malachi, not to mention one… this old.”

“Not only Archie, my friend. There are others… of various eras and nations,” Lucifer replied before taking another sip of his cream-tea / tea-cream. “A Spartan warrior, a Roman centurion, a world-renowned psychoanalyst – you should be proud of this one, a Nazi occultist, a Canadian soldier, a pair of killer twins… The list goes on.”

Azazeal took the first sip of his own tea. Earl Grey, probably, though he didn’t remember having tasted a cup of such high quality, even when his last encounter with tea had happened in the English Queen’s palace. “And to whom I owned the births of those children?”

“It’s a punishment, my friend.”

“Punishment?”

“One imposed by Him,” Lucifer said, pointing his forefinger upward, “that whenever we share bodily bliss with mortals, they will be implanted with our ‘essence’ – our ‘seeds’ whether we wish it or not. The seeds they will carry and continue to pass onto their children, and their grandchildren… until they blossom into…”

“… men like Archie and Robbie,” Azazeal finished.

“He wants them, the mortals, to remember their sins of laying with us, to be reminded that because of us that they are forever denied of Heaven…”

“No Eden for the likes of them, eh? Even the most saintly, God-worshipping?”

Lucifer laughed, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes, gone dark like the deepest bottom of the ocean. “Take Archie for example, laying his life for his country and countless others. Little did he know he would end up in the same place as those he fought against. A shock like that could shatter many human souls.”

“It was a wonder he didn’t punch me,” Azazeal quipped.

“He knew it when he first arrived – didn’t take it too hard then, why would he now? You’re his father, after all. It’s Him they should blame for being such a jealous God.”

“I see you’ve managed to convert even the most religious of them.”

“I’ve tried. Some were easy, some were harder,” Lucifer said. “But at the moment none of them think about God now that they’ve all settled with the Devil.”

“Well, to be honest, the sudden knowledge of having that many sons is a little overwhelming. But the good thing is Malachi’s only child syndrome has a cure. How many of them by the way?”

“Can you remember how many times you have engaged in coitus with mortals? Not just women but… men too?”

His deliberate stress made Azazeal arch an eyebrow. Lucifer winked at him before downing the remaining of the tea. The teapot immediately floated over to fill his cup when he put it down.

“No,” Azazeal answered after a moment of faux consideration, “can you?”

“Neither can I,” Lucifer said through suppressed laughter. “You have no idea how I felt when I met my first son. He was an immortal just like us, having exchanged his own youthful skin for eternal life and knowledge. Then he grew tired of his own immortality and asked me to receive him… and almost broke down upon learning that the situation wasn’t much different…”

“Your Eden’s first resident?”

“True. Only until the second arrival that he could be at peace with himself and accept his state. Then came the others after them, yours and mine. No matter what they did, they will always have a place in my Eden. I find myself having an odd joy that He denies them of Heaven; otherwise I wouldn’t have them all down here.”

“You make it sound like your harem,” Azazeal quipped, inhaling a lungful of nicotine, “which is quite unsettling to me since some of them are my sons, in every sense except biology.”

Tilting his head slightly, Lucifer graced him with a meaningful smile. Azazeal felt his own becoming strained.

“You can put it that way if you want to, though I wouldn’t call it ‘mine’ – consensus is an essential point here – the freedom to be with anyone they desire. Most of them eventually find their soulmate, like Archie and Robbie…

The intimacy they unshyly presented should suggest this much, Azazeal briefly thought.

“… But there are others who don’t fancy a stable relationship. And of course, there are some who find my charms… irresistible,” he punctuated with a wink, his eyes glowing bright blue as they focused on Azazeal.

Azazeal gained a sudden fascination with the tea cups, the teapot or the scenery stretching endlessly outside their belvedere… anything to keep his eyes away from Lucifer’s, which seemed to be working their magic on their target – none other than himself.

“There they are,” Lucifer opened his mouth and the enchantment pressing on Azazeal was lifted.

Azazeal took a sip of his tea in an attempt to hide his awkwardness and glanced outside, where he saw two men identical in every way possible, hairstyle, outfit, facial expression, and of course, looking like his long-lost twins.

His ‘sons’, they were.

“Charles and… Charles,” Lucifer called out, greeting them with a smile as they approached him.

Up close, Azazeal noticed that their look somewhat resembled Archie’s. They all had the same face, no doubt, but the differences were patent if studied carefully enough; a perceptive one would not mistake Archie for himself, for instance. However, while Archie had some sort of warm curiosity in his eyes – that he was eager to engage in interaction with another individual – those two had none. Their eyes were a light shade of grey-blue, like ice lake in a sombre day and just as cold.

The pair stood on either side of Lucifer’s chair; the one on his left smiled at him fondly – quite obviously smitten – while the one on his right bowed. Neither seemed to notice Azazeal’s existence, or just chose to ignore him.

“A new one’s arrived,” Right-Charles informed him, tone solemn as though a servant speaking to his master.

“Said he’s called ‘Counselor’,” Left-Charles continued, seamlessly.

“Oh, mine or his?” Lucifer asked, making a polite gesture at Azazeal. It was only then that both Charles looked at him for the first time, studying him up and down with their icy blue eyes.

Of all the ‘sons’ he had met, Azazeal decided he much preferred Archie to this pair of twins. He had also learned that not all of them had the same ‘pleasure’ Archie’d had upon meeting their ‘father’.

“His,” Right-Charles answered, finally.

“How?”

“Beheaded.” The one to speak was Left-Charles, whose tone sounded disturbingly gleeful as he demonstrated a mock act of beheading with his forefinger.

“Haven’t got one this nasty since Steve and Simon, have we?”

“Found him when he was wandering aimlessly…” Right-Charles said.

“… on the streets of Argentina, his head in the clouds,” Left-Charles chimed in.

“Now now, Charles,” Lucifer scolded, “be extra-nice to the poor chap. He must have had a hard time. You see, they mortals accuse us of ‘evil’ while they do most of the deeds themselves.”

Azazeal made no comment. In fact, he didn’t know how he was supposed to react. That was one of his ‘son’, true, yet the bond was just too fragile. If it was Malachi he’d heard, he was certain he wouldn’t sit here, idly hearing the rest of the conversation.

“Summon Mephistopheles,” Lucifer commanded. “Tell the old fool to fix him properly and perhaps I will only take his sight for the folly he’s committed.”

“Mephistopheles?” Azazeal cut in. “Isn’t he supposed to be at Medenham?”

“A change of heart he’s demonstrated,” Lucifer explained and sent the Charles twins away, but not before giving them each a long, sensual kiss. While Right-Charles accepted his ‘gift’ with a solemnity he had been carrying since arrival, the other Charles wasn’t the least shy in proclaiming how much he enjoyed his, making a sound that couldn’t be described with any adjective other than ‘obscene’.

Azazeal suppressed the urge to stare with wide eyes. He had to admit, despite his earlier realization that he hadn’t much concern for his ‘sons’, the sight of Lucifer lavishing them was rather appalling.

“Twins,” Lucifer murmured, chuckling. “Either give them both or give them none. Jealous creatures.”

“You said Mephistopheles had a change of heart?” With awkwardness still somewhat lingering in his tone, Azazeal steered the subject to his preference. Mephistopheles had been summoned to act as Malachi’s mentor, and who or whatever relating to his son was well within his concern.

His only concern these days, it’d seem.

“Rescued a human Malachi wanted dead,” Lucifer deadpanned, “which resulted in Sariel’s death. An act of treachery I cannot overlook.”

“Did his doing affect Malachi’s progress?”

“Fortunately no. He’ll get his just dessert but in the meantime, Malachi needs a new advisor.”

He took a sip of his tea, his gaze distant. His contemplation didn’t last long before he turned to Azazeal and said, “How about Perie? No, no, I like her here – great entertainer, terrible advisor… Huhm, that woman of yours, what’s her name again?”

“You mean Jo?”

“Jo, that’s right. I had a word with her a few days ago and I’m quite certain she’s thoroughly converted. A blissful sign.” A content smile spread across Lucifer’s boyish features as he continued, “She’ll make a wonderful advisor for your son.”

“Jo is a trustable woman.”

“Indeed. I always find women far more trustable than men when it comes to business. Others would argue, no doubt.”

“Was it because I’m untrustable,” Azazeal raised his voice, after a moment of consideration, “that you summoned me to Hell…”

His pitch was higher and there was no hiding of the frustration in his tone. “… when my son needs me the most?”

Lucifer’s serenity was unwavering in spite of the abrupt change of mood. His eyes, however, became sharper and brighter. “Needed, Azazeal,” he corrected. “Malachi has reached full maturity and thus, is independent of you. Your continuing presence by his side, dare I say, would only be a distraction.”

Azazeal’s steel-blue eyes were glowing with a hint of red; however, he didn’t rebuke.

“You want him to choose whatever path he wants to carry on, unfettered by the past, our past. That, to our cause, is quite burdensome.”

“And my son doesn’t deserve that choice?” Azazeal growled, sharp canine visible in his mouth and his handsome features twisted with the early signs of transformation.

With the beautiful skin peeled off, their true self was revealed.

“Rage doesn’t become you, my friend.” Unfazed, Lucifer touched Azazeal’s face with his lean fingers, trying to smooth out the signs as he spoke in a solemn tone, “None of us truly has a choice, I’m afraid, past, present or future. If we had, we wouldn’t be here by now.”

“And yet everyone of us knew how vehemently you’d chosen to abandon His side.” Azazeal smirked, sardonically.

“You knew nothing, my friend,” Lucifer murmured, “you knew nothing.”

His fingers, which hadn’t departed from Azazeal’s skin, traveled down to his lips, caressing them as though a lover would. Azazeal flinched at the touch but didn’t reject Lucifer.

Lucifer was true, that none of them truly had a choice. Still, some of them just had more of a choice while others had less. And provided that Lucifer wanted something from him, wanted him, Azazeal had no choice but to yield.

The thought made his skin stone-cold.

“Indeed I had a choice,” Lucifer admitted with a laugh, dry and void of his usual cheerfulness, “to leave my love for you or to leave Eden. Now I’m here.”

Though he had a vague idea that Lucifer was fascinated with him in some way, Azazeal was still taken aback by the other fallen angel’s straightforwardness. His eyes widened when he stared at Lucifer, whose gaze was filled with scathing lust.

“Now now, don’t make such a face, Azazeal,” Lucifer said and leaned in until his face almost touched Azazeal’s, distanced only by a hair strand. “My reason to have been cast out from Heaven is a running gag down here. Anyone with half an eye can tell I’m hopelessly smitten with you.”

Azazeal couldn’t help himself; his sunken mood earlier forgotten as he burst into laugh. “Who could have thought Lucifer The Great would compare himself to a schoolboy?”

“Why feel embarrassed about being a smitten schoolboy?” Lucifer said nonchalantly. “Life would be much peaceful if everyone, angels and mortals alike, would think like a smitten schoolboy, wouldn’t it? And I have to confess, such was my ulterior motive when I tore you away from your precious baby boy.”

“I was pretty convinced it was because you wanted to show off your Eden.”

“That and showing off my Eden,” Lucifer admitted. “I’ve been burning to present my Eden – my most proud work – to you since I knew you had landed on earth. A pity that I’ve been mostly trapped in this pit.”

“For someone who despises his pit of a home, you’ve spent handsomely for adornment,” Azazeal said, smirking.

“Precisely because I so detest it that I’ve had to make it less detestable.”

“Can’t argue with your logic, right? I sort of regret the two of us never had had a real conversation before we became what we are today.”

“It’s still not late, my friend,” Lucifer said, a sudden change of tone. “ May I ask whether there is a chance for me, for us…”

“I take no pleasure in your disappointment, Lucifer, but I believe the chance is zero.”

“Well, one cannot be sure unless one tries.”

Lucifer’s lips were on his the moment he opened his mouth for a witty remark. Despite taken by surprise, Azazeal didn’t try to avoid or protest. Nor did he show the slightest respond to Lucifer’s skillful tongue desperately trying to coax him to reaction, any reaction, however small.

Lucifer broke the kiss of his own accord. Leaning back against his chair, he licked his lips as if savoring the aftertaste of their encounter, and finally burst out laughing. “I loathe to say this, believe me, but you truly are heartless, my friend.”

“My apologies,” Azazeal said, no real remorse. He put another cigarette, his third since entering this belvedere, between his lips, glistening and bruised with Lucifer’s passion.

“I guess I’m the type that will not give up without a try. Now that I’ve tried…”

“Will you give up now?”

“… I don’t think I want to give up,” Lucifer said through hearty laughter. “By the way, you should really abandon that mortal indulgence. The taste is… discouraging.”

“Oh? Those who find your charms irresistible, they don’t smoke?”

“Not if they want the bodily bliss I’m about to gift them.”

Chuckling, Lucifer leaned forward, his impossibly blue eyes locking with Azazeal’s. “Let me think of it as a challenge, the courting of your heart. And time is my faithful ally…”

Silence stretched between them as Azazeal stared back into Lucifer’s eyes, not avoiding as earlier, a challenge that would go on if he didn’t break it with a puff of smoke from his cigarette. Azazeal stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his outfit and said, “Thank you for the tea, Lucifer. Lovely. But I’m afraid I have to leave first. Need to find and have a word with Jo.”

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on his leaving form as he asked, “Would you do me the honor of being at the banquet tonight? One we have to welcome a new arrival.”

“I’m starting to feel I’m stretching your hospitality.”

“Not at all, my friend. It dreads me to think that you don’t feel at home here. About the banquet, all of our sons will be present at the banquet, in case you’re curious about how many brothers Malachi has.”

“I have a hunch Malachi won’t take it too nicely. Anyway, it’d be rude to decline so, thank you for your invitation. Now, please excuse me…”

Lucifer sipped his tea, watching until Azazeal’s shade faded into the blinding light, and the gate to Eden closed. “Come out boy, I know you’re here,” he said.

A soft chuckle was heard, together with a figure gradually manifested – a young man barely out of his puberty, clad in all white, down to his worn snickers. The color made his pale skin paler, his blue eyes more striking and… haunting, with red rims around them. He draped his arms over Lucifer’s shoulder, leaning his weight on the latter as he pinched a cookie on the snacks plates and stuffed it in his mouth. The crunching noise caused Lucifer to wrinkle his eyebrows in disapproval. “Where’s your manners Martin? I’d like to think I’ve taught you better than that.”

“Come one, Daddy,” Martin groaned, still chewing, “just because I call you ‘Daddy’ doesn’t mean you’re my dad…”

An icy glare made him choke on his cookie. “… well, biologically speaking,” he corrected.

“I assume you were practicing your concealment skill,” Lucifer deadpanned, “because that’s the only reason I will not have you spanked… or sent to the Charles twins.”

“No, no, please don’t!” Martin frantically pled. “I was practicing, truly, completely sneaking under your friend’s nose.”

Lucifer snickered. “Only because I was lending you a hand.”

“Anyway, I think I’ve heard ‘banquet’. God… oops…”

Martin immediately brought a hand to his mouth. “Sorry. You know how I dreadfully miss the banquet.”

“Only the orgy part.”

“That I do, Daddy. The newcomer looks yummy enough…” Licking his lips, he added, “… after patched up, of course.”

“Do me a favor and tell your brothers to show up on time. It’d be rude to let our honored guest wait. And… I’m not finished!”

Lucifer growled and grabbed Martin by his collar with his invisible ‘hands’ as the boy had already taken flight. “Yes?” he asked.

“Untie Richard – I forgot – and get Nicholas to have a look at him. I think I overdid it last night.”

“Oh, major understatement, Sugar Daddy.” Martin clucked his tongue and shook his head ruefully. “I was able to hear him half an Eden away.”

“He did seem to enjoy it though.”

“Can I borrow him?”

“Consensus is an essential point, Martin.”

A devilish smile spread across Martin’s boyish features. “That’s a ‘yes’… And what’s the  reason for this sudden festive mood, Daddy?”

“Well,” Lucifer let out a sigh before replying, “normally I’d say it is to welcome the new chap…”

“It’s not?”

“… But no, I’ll tell the truth: it’s to celebrate my first love confession rejected.”

“Oh, your millennia-old crush,” Martin’s smile turned innocent in mere seconds and he said, sweetly, “Dear Daddy, gotta make it grand.”

End

Note: James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender’s fictional characters – in order of appearance or reference (except Azazeal and my OC – Lucifer):

  • MF: Archie – Archie Hicox (Inglourious Basterds)
  • JM: Robbie – Robbie Turner (The Atonement)
  • MF: Stelios (300) “Spartan warrior”
  • MF: Quintus – Quintus Dias (Centurion) “Roman centurion”
  • JM: Leto – Leto Atreides II (Children of Dune) “first son”
  • MF: Carl Jung (Dangerous Method) “world-renowned psychoanalyst”
  • MF: Harry Colebourn (A Bear Named Winnie) “Canadian soldier”
  • MF: Charles twins – Charles Allen and unnamed twin brother (Sherlock Holmes: The Case of the Silk Stocking) “killer twins”
  • MF: Counselor (The Counselor)
  • MF: Steve – Stephen Taylor (Eden Lake)
  • JM: Simon – Simon Newton (Trance)
  • JM: Martin – Martin Vosper (Murder in Mind)
  • MF: Richard – Richard Wirth (Blood Creek) “Nazi occultist”
  • JM: Nicholas – Nicholas Garrigan (The Last King of Scotland)

Check out these links for more information on their roles:

This happens in the same universe with my other fics: Fair Trade (Lucifer is ‘Charles Xavier’, as revealed), Beyond Flesh & Skin, Getting Even and Resemblance. There may be more installations in the future.

On a side note, the Charles twins are obviously those who find Lucifer’s charms irresistible. And Martin occasionally frequents Lucifer’s bed too. Dear old Luc refuses no one.

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