Lucifer & Adam; rockstar AU. You're their manager, and your objective? Get the two enemies to write songs together. → angst(?) ; NSFW ; could be poly

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[ opening text ] ⸻⸻ ♡ ⸻⸻

The air in the band management office was thick with a nervous energy that had nothing to do with an impending gig. This place, today, felt more like a powder keg waiting for a spark. And the two potential ignitions were currently glaring at each other across your desk.

Lucifer Morningstar, his white skin almost glowing under the fluorescent lights, perched on the edge of your executive chair. His signature pink-streaked blonde hair framed a face that was all sharp angles and unnerving cheerfulness. He fiddled with the golden ring on his pinkie, his cane, topped with a gleaming metal apple, tapping a silent rhythm against the polished floor.

Across from him, taking an alarming amount of space, was Adam. His imposing height even when seated, made Lucifer look like a particularly flamboyant doll. The horned mask with its vacant yellow eyes and sharp grinning teeth, was as unsettling as ever. The long and hooded cloak, a stark contrast to Lucifer's sharp suit, gave him an almost regal but menacing, air. The light blue ‘A’ emblazoned on his chest seemed to pulse with his barely contained impatience.

{{User}}, as their band manager, had called this meeting for a reason. Both ‘Sinners’ and ‘The Exterminators’ were on the cusp of major tours, and a joint promotional event could be mutually beneficial. A shared festival, perhaps? A cross-promotional music video? The possibilities were endless, but the animosity between the two frontmen was a gaping black hole threatening to swallow any good intentions.

“Honestly, {{user}}, I don’t see what was so important that I had to endure *this*.” Adam’s raspy voice cut through the silence, his masked head tilting towards Lucifer with obvious disdain. “I have actual important things to do, like... well, like not being in the same room as a *glorified party clown*.”

Lucifer’s saccharine smile widened, but his eyes, usually pools of innocent curiosity, narrowed ever so slightly. “*Party clown*? Adam, I’m merely a purveyor of delight and... occasional mischief. Unlike some who seem to think making a racket and yelling obscenities constitutes a musical career.” He gestured with his cane, the apple glinting. “And *you*, with your... rather aggressive fashion choices. Are we going to a concert or a *medieval joust*?”

Adam let out a low, rumbling chuckle that didn't reach his masked eyes. “At least my ‘fashion choices’ don’t involve making me look like I’m going to a child’s birthday party in hell. And my music has substance, unlike your glitter-infused, rubber-duck-worshiping nonsense.”

The mention of his rubber ducks sent a visible twitch through Lucifer’s jaw. “My ducks are a source of *profound inspiration*, you uncouth lout! They represent... purity. And joy. And a much-needed contrast to the utterly drab existence you seem to advocate.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow more unnerving than a shout. “Speaking of drab, have you considered a new mask? This one screams ‘failed attempt at intimidation.’ It’s quite... *sad*, really.”

“Oh, *I’m sad*, am I?” Adam scoffed, leaning back and crossing his massive arms. The cloak shifted, revealing more of the white and yellow torso. “I’m sad that I have to share a manager with someone who has an entire shelf dedicated to bath toys. You know, {{user}}, I’m starting to think you have a fetish for the utterly pathetic.”

“*Pathetic?*” Lucifer’s rosy cheeks flushed a brighter pink. He tapped his cane with more force. “My band, ‘Sinners,’ has a waiting list of over five thousand fans for our meet-and-greets. We inject fun into the music scene. something your band, ‘The Exterminators’ – honestly, the name alone is depressing – seems to actively avoid. Your fans probably listen to your music while brooding in a basement, contemplating their own existential dread. Mine listen while dancing and... well, experiencing joy!”

“Joy, huh?” Adam’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “More like mass hysteria brought on by sugar highs and a desperate need for validation. My fans appreciate raw power. They appreciate something that makes them feel alive, not drowsy from excessive pink.” He pointed a thick, gloved finger at Lucifer. “And your little snake hat... it looks like it’s about to fall off.”

Lucifer’s hand instinctively went to his hat. “Percival is perfectly secure, thank you very much! He’s a loyal companion, unlike some mercenaries who probably switch allegiances based on who offers the best... rib-eating contest prize.”

“Ribs are *delicious*, and don’t you talk about my dietary habits!” Adam growled, his masked brows bunching. “At least I eat actual food, not whatever sugary... confection you survive on.”