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Alastor knew he was watching.
Seemed to be a trick of his, he always seemed to know when someone was watching while at the same time giving off an air of uncaring nonchalance. For all that he was the terrifying Radio Demon, it was also infuriatingly charming, fucking maddening the way he talked to the guests in the hotel bar; the consummate hotelier, he teased, he flirted, flashing that sly smile at anyone, from the drunks slouched and drooling across the bar to the giggling young sinners on the dance floor. He’d have a drink with anyone, anyone at all.
Anyone but Lucifer.
Lucifer sat at his table in the corner, nursing a single glass of expensive brandy as he watched Alastor work the crowd and Alastor knew, he fucking knew. It was obvious in his body language; the way his lean form curved as he sprawled in a chair, the way he rose up on his toes to reach behind the bar for another bottle, ass in the air, the stark angle of his hips softened by the drape of his coat.
It was in the way he tossed back his own drink, no expensive liquor for him, Alastor drank cheap rye, rotgut, bathtub gin, his throat working as he swallowed and the oh, so brief flick of crimson eyes to meet Lucifer’s burning red ones, checking to see if he was still watching.
As if it were even a question.
Alastor’s smile widened as he licked his teeth, then he turned to the demon on the barstool next to him. Whatever he said, she tittered a laugh and set a hand on his arm. Only that single hand and Lucifer ground his own teeth so hard they ached, the taste of brimstone gritty on the back of his tongue.
Whatever else he said, she made a moue of disappointment as Alastor slipped from the barstool to his feet. He swept down in an extravagant bow, patting her shoulder and the drift of his fingers across her bare skin made red bleed into Lucifer’s vision. Alastor seemed oblivious, a last pat and he stepped away, strolling across the bar to the storeroom where glasses and extra liquors were stowed. The door swung shut behind him and Lucifer sat watching that closed door as he counted in his head. He got to one hundred before he stood to follow him.
The little room was dim, lit only by a single bare bulb, and claustrophobically small. There were shelves built into each wall from floor to ceiling, all loaded with cans and jars and liquor bottles. Alastor was standing in front of one of those shelves, leaning back against it, his coat missing and his eyes glittering in the dimness.
Lucifer stopped a foot away from him, arms crossed over his chest. "Aren’t you a social butterfly tonight."
“Goodness me, your majesty.” Alastor’s smirk widened. He blinked slowly, the sweep of his lashes demure against his cheeks. Then he took a step forward, reaching out to straighten Lucifer’s tie, let a single finger trail down the front of his shirt the same way it’d trailed over that woman’s bare shoulder, their red and black stark against the white cloth. “Is something wrong? I’m supposed to be keeping our guests happy while they seek redemption and yet, you’re here make it sound like some sort of problem.”
It was a big fucking problem as far as Lucifer was concerned. “Keep them happy, sure, not make them think they have a chance at fucking you.”
“Who says they don’t?” Alastor said lightly and Angel Dust could have learned lessons from the teasing sweetness in those words.
Lucifer made a sound like a growl, bitter and low, and Alastor laughed brightly, “I have always been one to attract attention, I’m hardly to blame if others make assumptions, am I?”
It was that laughter that broke him, so sharp and cruel, so Alastor. It cut through the last of his restraint, blood-red falling across his vision. He grabbed Alastor by the front of his shirt and swung him around, shoving him hard against the liquor rack, bottles rattling as he dragged Alastor down, slammed their mouths together, hard enough that their teeth clicked painfully.
Alastor only laughed again, the gleeful sound caught between their lips as he met that fierceness with his own. Lucifer could only snarl between kisses, driving his tongue against Alastor’s as if he could steal that laughter away, choke him with need and desire and for fucking once, shut him up.
“You’re mine,” Lucifer growled at him and Alastor giggled wildly, shaking his head in denial.
He started to talk and the words were muffled by Lucifer’s hand suddenly over his mouth. He didn’t want to hear it, already knew what Alastor would say.
Those bright crimson eyes danced above Lucifer's silencing hand, mocking and amused. Not yours, they said, not at all, I’m my own and no one else’s.
His rage drew to a fine point, a stiletto of fury jabbing into him. Lucifer stepped back to yank Alastor away from the shelves far enough to whirl him around, then shoved him back against them, hard enough to feel his breath leave him in a pained huff. A bottle rocked off the shelf and shattered on the floor, filling the room with the eye-watering stink of cheap gin as Lucifer crowded in against Alastor’s back, pinning him to the shelves as he dug a hand into the front of his pants, sliding his searching fingers between his legs.
Alastor shuddered when Lucifer found what he was looking for, the hiss of static joining the stench of booze in the air as Lucifer pressed hard against the wetness of cunt, slicking a finger between his pussy lips.
“Not mine?” Lucifer growled. It was unsteadier than he would have liked, fractured and raw. He pushed another finger inside, wetness drenching them. “This thinks you are.”
“You think getting me wet makes you special, darling?” Alastor rasped out. His voice broke as Lucifer worked a thumb against his clit in tiny uneven circles. “Do you think my… ah!… my cunt is dry for… ah, fuck!... ah… ah… any—anyone else who… who tries.”
“Who tried.” Lucifer could taste the brimstone heat on his breath, hate in his soul and murder on his mind.
Alastor laughed unsteadily. “Do you think I’d tell you without a prize? I would nev— ah, fuck!”
He shivered, hips hitching back and the walls of his cunt tightening around Lucifer’s driving fingers. He pulled them free just as Alastor started to come, leaving him rasping out furious curses, static screaming around them as he quivered in the ruin of his orgasm.
“You bast-ard!” Alastor's voice broke in the middle as Lucifer unbuckled his belt, dragging his trousers down to his knees, leaving his wet cunt exposed to the air and to him. He pushed a boot between Alastor’s feet, kicking them further apart.
The sound of his zipper was loud between them and if Lucifer needed to summon a box to stand on so he could reach, Alastor was too furious to mock. Lucifer snugged his cock against Alastor’s slippery cunt, the tip just barely inside. Leaned into him until they were pressed together from hips to chest, the smoggy warmth of their bodies together heating the room, tangling the smell of their sex with spilled gin.
“Mine,” Lucifer told him, low and filthy, and pushed into him. Alastor only shuddered silently, let Lucifer drag his hips back as he slid in to the hilt. There was no time to adjust before he pulled out and back in, fucking him brutally hard, forcing Alastor up onto his toes as he gasped out little whimpers, his sharp fingers clawing frantically at the shelves, scraping up curls of wood.
Always, always so tight, slippery as sin, and the hot clench of him was like a cruel fist wrapped in wet silk. Lucifer wrapped an arm around his hips, tilting them up and it let him sink in deeper, grunting as he drove in hard. He wanted Alastor to feel the ache of this tomorrow deep in his cunt, wanted him to wince when he sat down, wanted everyone who saw him to know someone had managed to get past the mocking and taunts to touch him.
He licked at the back of Alastor's neck, tasted the sweet-salt of his sweat, felt the rumble of his whimpers. Another hard thrust, another, and Alastor wobbled on his toes, cunt tightening, and Lucifer slid his hand back between his legs, circling his clit roughly with two fingers. Alastor jerked like he'd been struck, like pleasure was a blow, and his moan was guttural and pained as he shook his way through his orgasm. Only to whimper louder when Lucifer didn't stop, kept rubbing, ignoring Alastor's hands frantically pulling on his wrist. The ripple of his cunt went tighter even as Alastor sagged against the shelves, Lucifer's arm around him holding him up as he fucked him through it.
“Stop,” Alastor begged, “You need to stop, I can't… uuuughh!” He convulsed again, weakly, a little spurt of wetness falling over Lucifer's fingers, trailing down to his wrist. Lucifer pushed in deep and held, circling his hips in a slow, filthy grind. He heard the desperate catch of his own breathing as he came so hard he felt the pressure of it throbbing inside his skull, crimson light swamping his vision. Too much, too, too much, and Alastor was a beautiful, whining mess against him, Lucifer's come adding another layer of slickness to his cunt.
His vision hazed, graying at the periphery, and Lucifer only dimly felt his knees give. They both gasped as he abruptly slid out, staggering back a step until he struck the shelves on the other wall and sliding down them to the floor as he struggled to catch his breath.
He opened his eyes at the pop of a cork. Alastor was still standing, trousers pulled up but still undone, leaning against a shelf. He took a long pull from the gin bottle in his hand, his throat working as he swallowed. He didn’t offer it, only jammed the cork back in and returned it to the shelf.
“You're mine,” Lucifer whispered. He could feel the cold of the floor seeping through his trousers, chilling him.
“Oh, darling,” Alastor sighed. He reached over and patted Lucifer on the top of his head, condescending as teenager to a toddler. His fingertips were sharp, the pinkie grazing Lucifer’s temple and a golden bead of blood slid down the side of his face. “That isn’t possible, I’m afraid.”
Lucifer grabbed his hand and kissed it, teeth scraping to draw a droplet of blood of his own. He pressed his tongue against that tiny wound and focused his powers there. Alastor held still and let him heal what he’d caused. Let him press a gentle kiss to each fingertip, then his knuckles. Then Lucifer let him go.
“A shame that I love you, anyway,” Lucifer said, softly.
That made Alastor’s smile fade to a bare curve of his lips. He turned away, dragging his trousers up and refastening his belt. “I’d best get back, my audience awaits.”
“Go ahead.” Lucifer lifted his hand to his mouth and licked the remaining slickness from his fingers, clearing away the iron taste of blood on his tongue with the sweet-sourness of Alastor’s cunt, the taste of it flooding his senses. Better than gritty brimstone, better than even expensive brandy. “But while you’re out there, just remember whose come is running down your legs.”
Alastor inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, going white at the corners before he whirled around and walked out of the room with unseemly haste, the door slamming shut behind him.
Mine, Lucifer whispered in his own mind, silver-tongued lies that even he didn't believe.
Mine.
-finis-