Alastor groans into his pillow, stuck between sleep and wakefulness. A peculiar, somewhat discordant piano melody drifts in the air, accompanied by a tell-tale crackle of a record being played. He cracks a single eye open, feeling his face half-smothered by a pillow. Muted light fills the left side of the bed, where a blanket-covered body is resting in an upright position against the headboard, peering into a vaguely familiar book. It takes Alastor all of five seconds to comprehend what he's looking at, as this decidedly isn't his bed, and the person next to him is not a fixture in his life in any capacity save being an utter pain.
But as he groggily observes the soft golden sheen of Lucifer's hair, the way his elegant fingers flip a crisp page, the bared slant of his pale shoulder… it's not an altogether unpleasant sight.
As if summoned by Alastor's errant, half-awake thoughts, Lucifer turns his face to Alastor and offers a soft smile.
"Had a nice nap?"
Ordinarily, Alastor would meet such an inane question with a vicious barb, but he's too out of it to think of a suitable one.
"What time is it?"
Lucifer leans out of his bed to peer at a grandfather clock that Alastor doesn't recall being there before.
"Just after four."
"At night?"
Lucifer snorts quietly. "Think I would have let you laze in my bed all day?"
Truthfully, Alastor doesn't know what sorts of things Lucifer might or might not allow him to do.
"Point taken," Alastor groans anew, burying his face in the pillow.
"You look very comfortable there," Lucifer remarks wryly. His smile is teasing and infuriating in equal measure.
"M'sure you drugged the pillows," Alastor mutters as a dig, as they smell faintly of apples, that supremely annoying crisp and sweet scent that follows Lucifer everywhere he goes.
Lucifer chuckles. "I'm not that desperate for your company."
Alastor cracks a single, baleful eye open. "Then why didn't you kick me out like before?"
Lucifer looks momentarily abashed, and returns his gaze to the book. For a long moment he says nothing, and right before Alastor makes peace with the fact no comment would be forthcoming, Lucifer murmurs: "You fell asleep. I wasn't going to touch you – it's not like you can consent while you're out."
"You seem awfully concerned with consent."
Lucifer looks mildly offended. "Yeah, well, one of us has to be. It's not like you were going to do it."
"I didn't consent to being mangled either," Alastor points out venomously.
Lucifer grips the covers of the book tighter.
"Look… I didn't want to cause permanent damage. I'm really sorry about that."
Alastor huffs in unconcern. "No harm done, at least of the permanent variety." He's not sure he entirely believes his own words.
"If you say so." Lucifer lets the matter drop and goes back to his book.
Alastor may be tired and marginally fuzzy around the edges at this late hour, but he deems that probing further on the subject wouldn't be of any help in the long-term. A distraction is in order.
"The music, what is it?"
"Pièces Froides, Satie."
Satie again? Lucifer must really love the guy.
"Cold…what?" Alastor mutters.
Lucifer hums. "Nobody's sure. Cold cuts? Cold pieces? Cold rooms." The way he says it is nonchalant, but the implication is as clear as a gong smash. "Satie lived in a cupboard for awhile. Slept on a cot fully dressed with all his clothes piled on top to try and stay warm."
Alastor pays attention. This is exactly the kind of opening he was hoping for, the gaping wound he can stitch himself into.
"Are you cold?" Alastor asks, as softly as an assassin's footsteps.
Lucifer glances back at him and his small smile looks slightly forced. "Of course not, I keep my rooms toasty."
The deflection is sweetly inept, and Alastor gently brushes it aside.
"I wasn't talking about the rooms."
Lucifer offers a wry smile and returns his attention to the book. "I know," he says, and leaves it at that.
Alastor decides not to push while he's still fighting off sleep.
Looking at him like this, Lucifer doesn't seem overly lonely, satisfied to be reading a book, all tucked into his covers which reach up to his chest, uncovered arms holding the book slightly aloft. The black fades as Alastor's gaze travels from jet black fingertips to the middle of Lucifer's slender upper arm, where the color turns perfectly pale like the rest of him. Observed up close, it looks like a pair of long opera gloves.
Alastor wonders, idly, whether Lucifer would look nice in a sleeveless dress, something black or deep crimson, slinky and form-fitting and floor-length, trailing lightly behind him…
"You're staring again," Lucifer murmurs slyly.
"Deal with it," Alastor says unrepentantly.
Lucifer gives him a highly entertaining look of outrage, mouth open at Alastor's daring.
"I would ask if you like what you're seeing, but I'm not sure I actually want to know the answer."
"You can ask. If you hold onto the question until tomorrow." Alastor states calmly.
"Hah, and use it as one of my three questions quota?" Lucifer quirks his eyebrow, insinuating that the question would be wasteful to pose.
"I can't stop you, can I?" Alastor harrumphs into the pillow.
"You're aware I wouldn't have to use such measures if you were forthright more often, right?" Lucifer points out.
Well, that was true…but how dreadfully dull that would be!
"You want me to be honest more often?" Alastor asks, dubious. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure, you ass."
Alastor stretches under the covers (ah, Lucifer tucked him in, did he – how sweet) and turns on his side to be able to see Lucifer with both eyes. "Because the last time I was honest, you exorcised me."
Lucifer sighs and snaps the book shut with both palms.
"I already apologized for that. How about you take some responsibility too, for pushing me past my limits? Or is that too much to ask?"
Alastor makes a grumbling noise beyond pressed, smiling lips.
"And don't think I haven't noticed that you mentioned wanting to apologize when you came in and have failed to do so. Handing me a bribe doesn't count as apology."
"Fine," Alastor sighs. He will apologize when Hell freezes over. "You want the truth?"
Lucifer floats the book to his desk and then turns to Alastor. "Yes, that would be much appreciated."
An easy truth that doesn't reveal much of anything seems like the way to go.
"Your arms look like you're wearing long opera gloves."
Whatever Lucifer was expecting him to say, it certainly wasn't this.
"Err," Lucifer mutters.
"I was trying to imagine you in a slender, floor-length evening gown."
Lucifer covers his face with the palm of his left hand, in a poor effort to conceal his flushing skin. Oh yes, compliments definitely work on Lucifer.
"In midnight black… or deep blood red." Alastor continues in an alluring drawl. "With a thigh slit in the front, perhaps? And a pair of strappy high heels to match. What do you think?"
Lucifer covers his mouth and turns away, his blush deepening.
"Would you like that?" Alastor purrs, relishing Lucifer's discomfort and wondering whether one could spontaneously combust from sheer embarrassment. "We could dance in this room – there's plenty of space."
"If this is another one of your little ploys, Alastor, you can stop playing now." Lucifer mutters through his fingers, still half-turned away in shame.
"Who's playing?"
Naturally, that's a lie, but the fact Lucifer seems this flustered about it is incredibly delicious to Alastor. With but an errant, throwaway thought, he can influence Lucifer this much? Perhaps speaking the occasional half-truth has some merit, after all.
"Look, don't arouse me if you don't plan on following through – that's just rude." Lucifer pouts, burrowing deeper under the covers until he's covered up to his neck, only the tips of his fingers peeking out where they're gripping the downy duvet to his chin.
"Are you?" Alastor grins at him, relishing Lucifer's mildly panicked look. "Aroused, I mean?"
Lucifer throws the covers over his head, only the tip of his golden hair peeking out and lets out a loud, only partially muffled groan. It sounds positively tormented. A delicious thrill skitters down Alastor's spine.
He grasps the covers and pulls. Lucifer yelps, startled, unable to put forth any effective kind of protest as Alastor flings the duvet off of that pristine alabaster body.
"Oh?" Alastor notes with satisfaction. "It seems that you are."
Lucifer buries his face in his arms, dark elbows spread outwards.
"I've been celibate for too long, don't flatter yourself." Lucifer whines, deeply embarrassed at being caught out.
"What, ashamed to be aroused by a lowly sinner demon?" Alastor needles, savoring the peerless form stretched out before him.
Lucifer peers between his black fingers. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?"
Alastor blinks in incomprehension.
Lucifer moves the hands from his face and casts an angry glare in Alastor's direction. "My own wife was a sinner. Are you implying she's lowly? I'd choose my next words very carefully if I were you."
"Apologies," Alastor states neutrally. "That inference was not my intention."
"You think your breeding matters to me?" Lucifer says with disgust.
Alastor understands perfectly well that Lucifer was talking about status, but that particular word seems rather loaded in current circumstances. It invokes the image of cattle and ranches and nothing particularly pleasant.
"You seemed to imply you regarded sinners in the streets below as inferior." Alastor points out reasonably.
Lucifer's eyes narrow in anger. "I implied it's their ACTIONS that disgust me, not the fact they were once human!"
Alastor blinks. "I must have misunderstood."
"Yea, I'd say!" Lucifer huffs and turns his face towards the canopy of the bed. He throws his left hand over his forehead and Alastor notices that Lucifer's ardor seems to have cooled during their little exchange. His fingers twitch.
Should he touch Lucifer? Or ask for permission first? Decisions, decisions…
He runs the tip of his index finger over Lucifer's hip. It elicits a shiver and a look of warning with no actual bite behind it.
"Did I permit you to touch me?" Lucifer asks poignantly.
Reluctantly, Alastor withdraws his hand, but only so it's no longer in contact with Lucifer's smooth skin. It hovers just beyond reach.
"May I?"
"May you what?" Lucifer asks obstinately, even while his manhood offers signs of revival.
"May I touch you?" Alastor asks in a low tone. It makes Lucifer shudder. "Well?" Alastor prompts.
Lucifer gives him an incredulous look. "You're so pushy when you want something, I swear."
"Better pushy than endlessly indecisive," Alastor says.
"Is that a dig at me?" Lucifer deduces accurately. "Are you seriously trying to convince me to have round two with you while you insult me?"
"By round two, do you mean intercourse?" Alastor asks at a head tilt.
"Duh," Lucifer says eloquently, rolling his eyes.
"I'm afraid that's not currently on offer," Alastor clarifies. "My lower half isn't terribly interested in the proceedings, you see."
Lucifer looks like he'd love to throttle him and it's more satisfying than railing him a second time would be, as Alastor wasn't lying – his libido remains steadfastly near non-existent.
"What is on offer then?" Lucifer asks with irritation.
"I could give you a hand with that," Alastor points towards Lucifer's erection with a nasty smile.
"A literal hand? Or– 'cause, no offense, I'm still not comfortable with the thought of your teeth being anywhere near there." Lucifer explains, mildly mortified at having to vocalize his thoughts on the matter.
Tempting.
"Pity," Alastor drawls. "I wanted to have a taste."
Lucifer face flushes, whether with embarrassment or arousal, Alastor cannot tell.
"Just your hand?" Lucifer asks once he's regained his wits.
Alastor wriggles his bared fingers in the air above Lucifer's milky-white hip. "Just my hand. For now."
Lucifer groans in exasperation and rubs at his eyes. "Fine!"
Alastor's anxious digits descend on the slender curve of Lucifer's waist and linger in a protracted caress.
"And no bloodying me in any way! If I see as much as a drop of blood, I'll throw you out the window."
"Threats of defenestration so early in the morning?" Alastor chuckles with amusement. "Is it my birthday?"
"I'm not joking, asshole."
"I heard you loud and clear," Alastor says dismissively and refocuses on the sinfully soft flesh he isn't allowed to mar – not this time, anyhow. With how permissive Lucifer has been in the past few hours, Alastor hopes he will be given the opportunity soon enough.
Lucifer makes a swallowed noise of what Alastor presumes to be enjoyment. Alastor continues to trail avid fingertips down Lucifer's hip and thigh. It makes Lucifer's back arch in a delightful bow. How starved for touch must he be for this to be so easy?
And when Alastor finally caresses a stripe down Lucifer's length, it elicits a shuddering moan.
Alastor can't help but focus on Lucifer's facial expressions – for every time he moves his fingers, feather-light against Lucifer's flesh, there's a reaction so vividly expressive that he finds himself invested in producing more of them. It gives him an unexpected burst of pleasure, just like he used to get from stalking and disposing of his victims. There's just something unparalleled about gathering information on a mark, and then executing a meticulous plan to ensnare them utterly.
And who could be a bigger mark than Lucifer Morningstar himself?
The piano plays a discordant melody, none of the harmonies resolving in an expected direction while Lucifer fills the bed with his reluctant little moans. While he claimed he wasn't ashamed of lying with a sinner, this probably doesn't extend to a sinner like Alastor, who has antagonized him so thoroughly.
Alastor decides to up the ante. It wouldn't do to have Lucifer so hesitant. By the time he's through with him, Lucifer's room will no longer be cold in any sense.
He grips Lucifer's scalding length in a gentle fist and performs an experimental pump. Lucifer twitches, one of his bared legs kicking out reflexively.
"What did I say?" Alastor purrs. "You kick like a fawn."
"That's pretty–ah!–ironic considering–!" Lucifer trails off, lost in a lewd groan.
Alastor grins unrepentantly as he continues to stroke Lucifer, who's trembling next to him like he's been left out in the cold. There's a soft golden swoosh and the cover is ripped off of Alastor as well, the fabric flying to the foot of the bed where it makes a messy pile.
"Damn, you really weren't kidding," Lucifer motions while staring at Alastor's flaccid penis.
"Surprised I told you the truth?" Alastor quips.
"Disappointed, too." Lucifer admits with a pout.
So, Lucifer does want to be lied to, provided it strokes his ego? Good to know.
Instead of allowing Lucifer to dwell on his disappointment (it's not like Alastor can simply will the damned thing into standing upright), he squeezes Lucifer a bit harder and picks up the pace.
Lucifer arches his back again, legs falling open wider and to Alastor's satisfaction, Lucifer grips his pillow in an attempt to preserve his sanity.
A perverse part of Alastor hopes that Lucifer's moans are audible beyond the closed doors, and would give any hapless passer-by an earful.
If Alastor is to be completely honest with himself, the sensation of stroking Lucifer, if purely the physical aspect of it is considered, isn't especially pleasant – Lucifer's leaking all over his fingers, lukewarm and slightly sticky, and Alastor's wrist it getting a bit tired, but the way it makes Lucifer react? That makes it worth both the inconvenience and the effort. As long as Lucifer keeps writhing for him like a hooked, hapless little fish… Or serpent, as it were.
There is something definitively serpentine about the way Lucifer undulates underneath him, desperately seeking the pleasure Alastor is trying to dose for him, like a silver filigree dropper dispensing deadly poison into Lucifer's favorite tea.
"Please–"Lucifer entreats, with a nearly gone expression, "–can I kiss you?"
Alastor doesn't feel terribly enthusiastic about the prospect. The instances when the mood strikes him are vanishingly rare, but something about the sweet desperation of it, the expectation of being turned down and denied… how would Lucifer react if Alastor acquiesced?
"I don't know," Alastor drawls. "Can you?"
Lucifer groans and half-crawls to Alastor's side of the bed to kiss him, careful not to touch anywhere else, despite his right hand hovering somewhere nearby, yet not daring to make contact. How delightfully obedient!
Alastor allows the lip-to-lip contact and breathes through his nose through the interminably long press of Lucifer's lips. At least they're soft and dry this time. Without the taste of Lucifer's blood, the experience remains a vaguely distasteful one.
He attempts to speak to tell Lucifer that's enough, but the second his mouth cracks open, Lucifer licks inside. Unable to help the reflex, Alastor turns away with a sound of disgust – tongue was not part of the deal.
Lucifer whimpers at both points of broken contact, Alastor's hand having withdrawn as well.
"I'm–sorry–" Lucifer stammers, and when Alastor looks at him again, is giving his best impersonation of a kicked puppy. "You hated that."
"I didn't hate it." Alastor lies through his teeth. "It simply wasn't appreciated. Or expected."
"That…was definitely disgust." Lucifer says, annoyingly perceptively.
"I simply wasn't in the mood for your tongue in my mouth."
"I'll ask in the future," Lucifer promises, earnest and contrite.
"That would be much appreciated," Alastor concedes. "Now, would you like me to continue?"
Lucifer blinks about ten times before blurting out: "You would? I mean…I thought you wouldn't want to."
Alastor rolls his eyes. "Please, I am not so squeamish as that."
Lucifer narrows his eyes at him but holds his tongue (good).
"Now lie back the way you were so I can get my hands on you again."
Lucifer bites his lower lip again (without drawing blood, what a pity) and all but collapses back on the bed. "Am I allowed to touch you at all right now?"
Alastor makes a ponderous noise. "Hmm…no."
"You're still in your corset…aren't you uncomfortable?"
What a peculiar question. Why would he be? And more importantly, why would that matter to Lucifer?
"Remove it? With the way you're looking at it?" Alastor prods. Oh, he's noticed how much Lucifer likes it. He would be a fool to relinquish the unexpected advantage the garment provides him.
Lucifer flushes, but says nothing, likely afraid to embarrass himself further. He attempts to mouth something but gives it up as soon as Alastor's hand grasps his length once more. Lucifer throbs for him, mouth opening around a dissolute moan.
Upon further inspection, Lucifer does look like he needs something in that insolent mouth of his.
Alastor opens with a leading question. "What were you trying to do with that serpent tongue of yours?"
Lucifer looks at him in confusion. "You mean–kiss you?"
No, that was decidedly not what Alastor had meant.
"I propose a trade," Alastor serves the bait.
"Huh?" Lucifer asks, wits clearly too addled to muster an intelligent response.
"Would another appendage to lavish appease you?"
Lucifer goes wide-eyed like a blushing bride on her wedding night. Then he looks down at Alastor's still disinterested cock and looks confused.
"Um, are you sure–"
Now, Alastor would ordinarily love to watch Lucifer flounder about, but the arousal is more enjoyable to watch than idle bumbling, so he cuts it short.
"Wrong appendage." Alastor smirks. "That won't be on the menu."
Lucifer whimpers in utter mortification and Alastor relishes it.
"Fuck me, why do I have a thing for domineering personalities?" Lucifer whines and smacks the back of his head into the pillow as a sign of protest.
"You are speaking about your lovely wife, I presume?" Alastor ventures.
"Please don't mention her right now." Lucifer implores.
"Why?"
"Do you really want me to tell you how often she would fold me over like a lawn chair and rail me until I passed out?" Lucifer asks, dubious.
The visual seems…wildly impractical. Though, to be fair, human body OR lawn chair, either hold about the same amount of sexual appeal for Alastor.
Instead of a trite answer, Alastor allows one of his tendrils out to play. It caresses Lucifer's cheek.
"This is what's on offer."Alastor says smugly, allowing the tendril to pass over Lucifer's slightly parted lips. "Should you wish, of course."
Lucifer gives him a slightly panicked look. Is that embarrassment or arousal Alastor spies?
Alastor gives Lucifer's shaft a few vigorous pumps, and with a full-body tremble, Lucifer's mouth drops open, spilling a litany of lewd little noises. Alastor uses the opportunity to dip the tip if his tendril into Lucifer's moaning mouth, where he flicks against his forked tongue. Lucifer's eyes are closed, brows knit and for a while, it seems Alastor's plan was a step too far for Lucifer.
Deeply disappointed, Alastor begins to pull his tendril back, when Lucifer's eyes crack open and he licks the retreating tip. Unknowingly, Alastor's grip tightens.
"Show me…what would you have done with that tongue?" Alastor asks with a crackling burst of static.
Lucifer groans and uses his tongue to suck at the tip of Alastor's tendril. Just like a few hours ago, the visual of it is rather incendiary. There's a subtle stirring between Alastor's legs. It's not quite arousal, but… interest perhaps? He directs his tendril to tangle with Lucifer's slick tongue and realizes he doesn't mind the sensation when it's experienced second-hand. In his mouth, it was slimy and awful, but on his tendril it feels…downright pleasant?
And when Alastor pulls back, Lucifer arches desperately off the bed, chasing after his shadow with utter abandon. Alastor racks his brain for a fitting descriptor and falls short. A pedestrian word for it would be…hot? Attractive? No… None of these quite fit the bill. He flips through a mental dictionary and after a particularly whimpering noise of pleasure, Alastor's brain lands squarely on erotic.
Any other body performing this action would look like a cheap prostitute (hence why Alastor cannot stomach even a single look at pornography), but with Lucifer, it comes across as beautifully obscene. Alastor doubts the All-Father had this in mind upon creation of angelic perfection and grace.
Alastor is so tempted to bite Lucifer's pretty waist, but he isn't allowed to break skin, so he refrains. His hand speeds up and the tendril fills Lucifer's sweetly moaning mouth, growing thicker. He slides deeper into the slick warmth and watches Lucifer lose what's left of his mind as he gulps and pants around Alastor's thickening tendril.
His entire body goes rigid and with a helpless, whining gasp, Lucifer spills in two long stripes over his bare belly. Alastor removes his dirtied hand with a noise of displeasure, noting how Lucifer is still licking at his tendril despite Alastor's efforts to withdraw it.
"That's enough," Alastor forewarns, and his spit-slickened tendril withdraws down Lucifer's lips and chin, caressing a wet trail down his stretched out neck before disappearing altogether.
Lucifer is looking at him, but doesn't really seem all there, his stare being one of the thousand-yard variety. He blinks a few times and then flops onto his back once more.
"Was it as good for you as it was for me?" Alastor needles him.
Lucifer cracks one eye open and looks down. "And you're still not hard. Fuck you."
"Why does that matter?" Alastor asks, genuinely confused.
"Because it's an expression of desire?" Lucifer explains.
"Is that the only metric?" Alastor asks dubiously.
"I mean… I guess not?"
Alastor looks at the mess left on Lucifer's skin and gets a perverse urge to smear his fingers through it and leave invisible traces on Lucifer's skin.
"Still won't let me have a taste of your blood?" Alastor attempts.
"Hah!" Lucifer sighs. "No, I don't think so."
"Hmmm…" Alastor ponders, his feet swinging playfully behind him. "How about this?"
"How about what?"
"Will you let me sample your seed?"
Lucifer bolts upright. "Huh?!"
"You heard me."
"You want to…"
"Taste you."
"My…"
"Your seed, yes."
"You're utterly incomprehensible."
"Is that a no?"
"If course it's not a no, you idiot!"
"Wouldn't dare presume…" Alastor says slyly.
Lucifer groans. "You're going to be the death of me."
Ah, how lovely of Lucifer to go straight to the best case scenario!
"Should I just help myself?" Alastor asks and without waiting for an answer crawls closer on all fours and leans in, dipping the very tippy-tip of his tongue into the mess Lucifer's made of himself.
Into the mess Alastor caused.
Lucifer straight up whines when Alastor starts to lap up the pearly liquid, its thoroughly pleasant bitter and musky taste tingling across Alastor's palate. For a glorious moment, he imagines burying his face deeper into Lucifer's flesh and tearing him open.
"Wait- wait!" Lucifer tries to say, but Alastor pays him no mind, thorough in his clean-up, licking long stripes up his stomach.
Once he's done, he looks up at Lucifer and gives him a self-satisfied smile.
"I believe I'll make my exit now if you don't mind."
"Alastor!" Lucifer cries out in indignation, but Alastor only melts into his shadow, dashes towards the table to meld with his discarded clothing and is half-way out under the door when Lucifer shouts:
"When were you going to tell me you had a tail?!"
His shadow cackles as it flees down the corridor.
Always leave them wanting more!