devils don't fly (don't expect me not to fall)
“Did it hurt, Your Majesty?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did it hurt?” Alastor repeats, leaning closer with a leer.
“Did what hurt?” Lucifer replies, thoroughly perplexed. He tries to remember if he’d done anything that might be considered painful, recently.
Alastor’s grin turns mean—sinister, even, as his voice crackles with static. “Why, when you fell from Heaven, of course!”
—
Alastor gets cocky about harassing Lucifer, flies a little too close to the sun, and they both learn some things about themselves.
