Work Text:
Time moved as sluggishly as melted wax, dripping down the outside of a candle and pooling on the desk below it. Alastor could barely say how much of it passed – he was in something of a fugue state: waking, sleeping, eating – and doing none of it at what seemed to be a regular schedule.
And always – Lucifer was there.
Lucifer was the one constant, the flame burning the candle of time down. Ready to get Alastor whatever he needed, willing to send others away or let them visit, whichever Alastor seemed to prefer. He was there with soft touches, with murmured reassurances and encouraging smiles whenever Alastor hesitated too long in answering a question – filling the holes in his memory, just as he'd promised to do.
Alastor was starting to feel more like himself again. His strength had returned, bit by bit – he'd even managed to get up and shower under his own steam that very morning, not stumbling on his way to the bathroom once. An achievement for the ages. Somebody ought to present him with a ribbon.
(He would not mention that little jest to Charlie, for fear that she actually would.)
Naturally, as he started to grow stronger – so too did his curiosity. He had a plethora of questions that remained unanswered, and not all of them concerned his own missing memories.
“How go negotiations with Heaven?” Alastor asked, his eyes glued to the sight of Lucifer's hands stitching the rent on the back of Alastor's coat. Sera's spear had left a rather nasty hole through it – and through him, of course, though that one had long since been repaired.
Lucifer glanced up at him, almost immediately wincing when his distraction resulted in him pricking his finger with the needle he was wielding so confidently. The faint scent of baked apples wafted into the room, and Alastor held out an expectant hand.
“Good – I think. Charlie's trying to arrange a proper face to face meeting, one where everyone who wants to can attend. It'll probably be held in the – careful, Alastor,” Lucifer interrupted himself, trying to tug his hand away when Alastor dragged it up to his mouth.
Alastor's eyes gleamed as he tilted his head at Lucifer, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“What am I being careful of, sire?” He shot back.
His claws were wrapped quite firmly around Lucifer's wrist, though there was no way the king would remain in his grasp if he really chose not to. A faint golden stain rose to dust Lucifer's cheeks.
“I – I mean, you said once that my blood is a lot. I don't want you to... to...” Lucifer trailed off, a soft noise echoing in his throat as his lids fluttered. Alastor had slipped that bleeding finger between his lips, mouth flooding with saliva as he wrapped his tongue around it.
Heat rushed down the back of his neck, his own cheeks flushing as Lucifer's blood coated his tongue. Not much of it – the pinprick of a wound he'd given himself had already healed – but enough that his static skipped, memories bursting like fireworks in the back of his mind.
He had said that, hadn't he? That the main reason he chose not to bite Lucifer, though one might expect him to develop the habit, was because he didn't quite trust himself if he had too much of that angelic blood on offer. It was like somebody was zapping his tongue with tiny cattle-prods, his senses twice as effective as usual.
Effective enough that he could hear the way Lucifer's breath caught in his throat – could smell the slight change in his scent, faint apple richness thickening almost imperceptibly. Until it was reminiscent of walking through an orchard during harvest time, apples lining the ground and ripening in the sun. The tips of his ears lowered, lids falling to half mast as he let his teeth scrape over Lucifer's knuckle – as he let the weight of that single claw rest heavy on the cushion of his tongue.
“And – and I think they're gonna bring Pentious. Since he was the... first sinner to get redeemed, and all. Emily said he's become something of a c-celebrity. Up there,” Lucifer stammered, brows furrowing slightly as he tried to concentrate.
Alastor swallowed, humming a vague sound of confirmation, his grin stretching as his tail twitched against his back. Warmth curled through his chest – and it was naught to do with the strength of Lucifer's blood, not any longer, because that taste had already faded.
At another slight tug, Alastor let Lucifer drag his hand back. The other man pulled a face as he wiped it on the sheets, his cheeks still shining a delightful burnished gold. Alastor grinned easily at him – and recalled what had been bothering him that very morning.
His mood sobered, just a fraction, as he shuffled forward in the bed. One long leg folded under the other, shifting closer to where Lucifer was sitting on the edge of the mattress – Alastor's half repaired coat still in his hands.
“There is something I've been meaning to... talk to you about,” Alastor muttered. The slightly glazed look in Lucifer's eyes vanished, his attention snapping back to Alastor with an alacrity that bordered on addiction.
His attentiveness was far from off-putting.
Alastor darted a look at the workbench in the corner, his grin twisting a little on his face and his ears lowering even further. Lucifer did not appear to catch the direction of his gaze – he merely pinned the needle he was working with into the back of Alastor's coat and waved a hand, sending coat and needle and thread to hang on the rack by the door.
“A memory you need help with?” Lucifer asked softly, guilt clouding his eyes.
He wasn't the one who needed to feel guilty. Alastor could recall with perfect clarity his behaviour over the days leading up to his near-death experience, and knew he'd acted reprehensibly. Lucifer's whispered admission of hatred still haunted him, no matter how little he'd believed in the truth of the words – both then and now.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Alastor stalled. He fiddled with the sheets under his hand, heart drumming out a brand new percussive melody against the insides of his ribs as his stomach fluttered with nerves that had no place in him.
Lucifer waited, not rushing or pushing. He only tilted his head a little bit, one hand landing on Alastor's outstretched leg under the duvet. Even through that barrier, the pressure of his palm was heavy and firm, Alastor's mouth going dry as heat prickled up the back of his neck, embarrassment reddening his face once more.
“I can't remember...” Alastor started, taking a breath. He lifted his gaze, determined not to shy away from this – because to do so now would be utterly ridiculous, what with everything they'd already been through.
“I can't remember what it feels like to have you inside me.”
Lucifer blinked, his mouth going small as his head tipped ever so slightly further to one side. Static hummed in the air between them, Alastor's ambient noise whining like a theremin as Lucifer's thumb stroked reassuringly over his shin.
“That's – that's probably for the best. Devil possession isn't really something your mind's equipped to handle, not for long, anyway. And besides– ”
“No, sire,” Alastor interrupted, brows pinching as he shook his head. Again, he looked away, frustrated at himself for not being able to express this any better. Why did Lucifer persist at misunderstanding him? He ought to know his mind, by now.
Especially now.
“Not like that. I can't remember how it feels when you're inside me,” he tried again, the red hue on his cheeks burning hotter by the second.
Was he really going to have to spell things out so plainly?
Silence, then. Silence from Lucifer as he processed what Alastor was saying, his thumb stilling over the blanket and a heavy breath escaping between his lips. Alastor risked a glance up, to see how Lucifer might be receiving this knowledge. Perhaps the idea of sex was something that repulsed him, now? Considering the last time they'd been together, Alastor couldn't say it wouldn't be reasonable.
“You – you're not at full strength, yet,” Lucifer offered up, a halfhearted protest if Alastor had ever heard one. His ears straightened, twisting towards Lucifer as the heat in his cheeks crept down his neck. “It wouldn't be – um – responsible.”
Alastor huffed, a quick blat of static breaking up the rising tension stretching between them.
“Ah. And as the Devil, you're particularly well known for how responsible you are, yes? If you're so worried about me, simply go slowly. I don't mind,” Alastor assured him. His hand ventured over the duvet, claws curling over the top of Lucifer's fingers and brushing against the inside of his wrist as he tried to tug him closer.
He might as well have been trying to pull a boulder using a string of dental floss.
“What about... you know. What happened with – uh. Are you sure you're ready to try something like that again?” Lucifer asked earnestly, his flush spreading over the centre of his face – where it would dust the bridge of his nose, if he'd been in possession of one.
“You stripped the memories of that event,” Alastor reminded him, his stomach tightening nonetheless when he considered the subject of arousal. Something about it had been tremendously off-putting to him; some rotting kernel of disgust at himself for ever reacting to the touch of another still seemed buried in the far recesses of his mind.
But he would not let Vox have that, of all things.
That flat-faced fool didn't deserve it.
“Let me have you, Lucifer. I won't break,” Alastor murmured. Static rolled over his words in a purr, ears lowering once more as self-consciousness tried to push past his determination – to spread its ugly tendrils over his heart, planting dark seeds into his thoughts.
They were all doubts he'd had before – but they had no place in him any longer, not knowing how dedicated Lucifer had been to saving his life. Still – it was difficult to push them down completely, words harassing him in his own unfiltered voice.
Weak. Unwanted. Pitiful.
“I know you won't,” Lucifer interrupted the gale in his mind, shifting forward to press a hand against Alastor's cheek. Calloused skin at the base of his fingers brushed over Alastor's jaw, sharp claws creeping up into his hair as he tilted his head into the touch. “And I've missed you, so much. I just don't want to do anything that might... well, hurt you.”
He hesitated on the word, apology glimmering in the depths of his yellow eyes. Alastor lifted his hand to curl his fingers around the other man's wrist, his heart performing an interesting little double-thump in his chest.
“I have already told you that I trust you. Be careful about it, if you must – but have me. Let me remember what that feels like. Perhaps I wouldn't be so insistent if you hadn't crashed through my memories with the grace of a drunken–”
His words were cut off in a sputter of static as Lucifer ducked forward, smothering Alastor's voice with his lips. He could always continue his insult, of course – but what point when he was getting exactly what he wanted?
Sharp teeth nipped at him, Lucifer's claws tightening their hold in his hair – catching strands of it between his fingers, sharp tips scraping against the back of his head. Alastor let out a quiet sound, something like the noise a radio might make when first switched on, parting his lips to grant Lucifer's tongue entry.
His breath quickened as Lucifer pushed him back, the weight of his kiss giving Alastor no other option than to surrender ground. He sagged back against the pile of pillows he'd been resting against, his own tongue stroking along the underside of Lucifer's as the other man impatiently tugged at the sheets around his hips. Alastor kicked at them, dragging them down until they were bunched in a messy pile at the end of the bed – and his breath caught in his throat when Lucifer pushed himself up to settle in between Alastor's thighs.
“Alright?” Lucifer muttered, breaking their kiss and pulling back just far enough to catch Alastor's eye. His breath fluttered over Alastor's lips, warm and wet and still tingling faintly from the impression of Lucifer's teeth.
In answer, Alastor merely shoved his own hand into the hair at the back of Lucifer's head, delighting in how his touch stripped it of all styling – and tugged him forward again. Their lips slotted together, a soft grunt echoing up from Lucifer's throat as Alastor pulled him into a kiss hard enough to bruise.
How could he have forgotten this? How solid Lucifer felt between his legs, the weight of him – far heavier than one might expect, all that power stuffed into such an unassuming package – pressing against Alastor's hips as he planted a hand on the mattress, losing his forearm somewhere in the depth of those stacked pillows?
The warmth of Lucifer hovered at the edge of Alastor's senses. Brushed against his skin, crept through the silk weaves of his pyjamas to spread like the hot wax Lucifer's flame melted away with his presence. This man was his – and he was utterly lost to Lucifer in return.
His power twined under his skin, black threads of shadow darkening his veins as if it were trying to cross the space between them. The blackness behind his lids started to lighten, a faint golden glow penetrating the thin skin until his vision was awash in red. He pressed his thighs closed, clamping them against Lucifer's hips and wrapping his other arm around Lucifer's back as he tried to pull him closer.
They'd been one, for a time. Something in him still craved that completeness, that closeness. That utter surrender of the self as Lucifer took control.
A vague noise rumbled up from Lucifer's throat, vibrating against Alastor's lips. He swallowed, tongue plunging into Lucifer's mouth again as though he were trying to extract the last dregs of sweetness from a jar of peanut butter. Though the muscles of his arms tensed, trying to keep Lucifer in place – he found his grip dislodged as Lucifer once more pulled back.
He looked beautifully dazed. His pale cheeks dusted with gold, his eyes glowing with a hint of that inner fire. Blonde hair hung in his face, purple lids hooded and his lips shining and faintly swollen. He blinked, lashes fluttering against his face for a moment as he gave a tiny shake of his head.
“I'm gonna need you to talk to me, Alastor. We've come too far to fuck it all up now,” Lucifer mumbled, his voice husky and thick. Alastor hummed a noise of disagreement – talking was not the objective, here – but Lucifer's gaze sharpened, the gravity in his expression impossible to dismiss.
“I'm serious. I'm not just worried about hurting you – but about those... those memories, coming back. It could happen. You know that, right? You have to tell me if something is starting to be too much. Promise me,” Lucifer emphasised, the hand not propping up his weight brushing Alastor's bangs away from his forehead, the touch as delicate as the brush of a butterfly's wing.
Alastor had not considered that.
Another example of failing to think of the consequences – why wouldn't the experience trigger those stripped back feelings to return? – But he wanted this. That intimacy, the knowledge he was still capable of such – that he still held that part of Lucifer, even after all of his missteps.
“I'll tell you,” Alastor said lowly. It felt all at once like the first time he was doing this – though it was a far cry from the actual first time they'd had sex. Then, Alastor had been determined to keep every discomfort to himself, to hide his uncertainty as best he could. His inexperience.
He hadn't wanted to trust Lucifer with anything, putting on a show of bravado and disinterest. As though the king could never have any kind of effect on him.
The edge of Lucifer's mouth twitched, relief melting onto his face. He leant in and captured Alastor's lips in a kiss that was altogether too brief, the temporary warmth of his mouth vanishing almost as soon as it appeared.
“Thank you. Do you want me to avoid touching you anywhere? Do you want to stay soft?”
The question was so abrupt, Alastor choked on a sound that was halfway between a disbelieving laugh and a cough. Lucifer's brows pinched with concern, drawing back as Alastor shook his head.
As if it thought itself a party to this conversation, his tail wiggled against his back.
“No,” Alastor answered, decision made by his mouth before his brain had even finished considering the question. It was an answer stripped of thought, and it was true – though his own pleasure wasn't at the forefront of his mind, not in the same way Lucifer's was, at least – he had no particularly strong desire to avoid arousal.
That may well change, if what Lucifer said was accurate – but they would face that difficulty if it arose.
If Lucifer doubted his certainty, it didn't show. He only gave a short nod, lowering his head again to press a kiss against the corner of Alastor's smile. Alastor's hand tightened in the back of Lucifer's shirt, bunching the fabric in his claws as the other man peppered kisses along the sharp line of his jaw.
He tipped his head, baring his throat – and Lucifer descended on that delicate skin, his mouth hot where it pressed over his fluttering jugular and his teeth sharp enough to take Alastor's breath away. His lids closed again, lashes tickling his cheeks as his senses honed in on that touch. Until it seemed like the world narrowed to nothing more than the feeling of Lucifer's tongue, forked tips flicking against his neck and pausing over his thrumming pulse.
“Fuck, I missed you,” Lucifer huffed into Alastor's skin – and Alastor got the impression he wasn't only referring to the time he'd spent unconscious. Those days without his heart, where he'd been little better than a shell of his former self – well, it wasn't the time to be thinking of them.
“Then show me. Show me how much, Lucifer,” Alastor murmured back, sinking even deeper into the heat Lucifer was emitting, shadows spilling like ink stains from his back and spreading out over the bed. “Let me feel you again. Make me feel how much you missed me.”
And Alastor would give him the same in return – he knew that. Knew it as surely as he knew his heart was racing in his chest, his nerves tingling where Lucifer's teeth grazed his skin, or the weight of Lucifer's body pressed down on him.
Lucifer let out a whine, a breathless little noise against the curve of Alastor's throat as he slipped a hand between them, fumbling one-handed with the buttons on the front of Alastor's pyjama shirt. Seconds later, he sat back – removing the delectable warmth of his body from Alastor's chest, and a quiet bleat escaped Alastor at the absence of it.
“Why not just...” Alastor waved a hand, eyes locked on the forked tips of Lucifer's tongue protruding between his lips as he patiently undid those buttons, one by one.
Yellow eyes darted up to his face, raking over him as if Lucifer might be able to devour him through sight alone.
Lucifer smirked, carefully running the pads of his fingers down the strip of skin he'd already exposed, raising goosebumps as the very tip of his claw brushed carefully over Alastor's chest – before he slowly unfastened the next button.
“Somebody once taught me the virtue of enjoying the whole process. I'm not just about to fuck you, Alastor – it's more than that, now. So long as you're still okay with that?” Lucifer glanced up again, gaze swapping between Alastor's face and his buttons, fingers lingering on every scar he revealed.
Alastor shivered, the fine network of nerves under his skin jolting as Lucifer's claws brushed over clusters of them that had been twisted or damaged. The edges of some scars were numb, others almost painfully sensitive, and Lucifer walked a fine line between which ones he touched.
“By all means. Enjoy me as you'd like,” Alastor conceded, a quiet squeak bouncing against his teeth as Lucifer finally finished undoing his buttons – and spread open his shirt, peeling away that silk as though revealing some kind of priceless artefact.
Exposed skin pebbled at the combined weight of Lucifer's gaze on him – and the brush of cooler air, rushing over his chest. Sensation skittered away under his skin, heat prickling down his ribs and curling around his thighs as though it had a mind of its own. An echo of his own heartbeat pounded in his ears, warmth starting to trickle south.
Alastor's stomach turned over, nervousness brushing a sobering hand over the surface of his mind as he felt himself start to stiffen. Lucifer's palm against his stomach was an anchor point, his chest stuttering as the other man hunched down and pressed a kiss to the thin skin over his ribs.
Like flashes from a once forgotten film, colour burst in Alastor's mind – memories of lazy, indulgent touches of a morning, of tongue and teeth marking every inch of skin they could reach. His blood pounded hotter, chest arching off the bed as Lucifer kissed up his torso. His head was swimming with the sudden press of Lucifer against his thoughts – because there was just so much of him.
“I – oh–!” Alastor gasped, feedback ringing around his ears as Lucifer stroked a thumb over the scar in the centre of his sternum, tongue darting out to brush over a nipple. Alastor whined, his guts tightening as pleasure raced over his skin. Like a window shattering under the onslaught of a thrown rock, it spread over his chest like cracks through that glass, his nipple peaking under Lucifer's mouth.
“Okay?” Lucifer asked, lifting his head. His heavy exhale sent fresh flurries of pleasure dancing away under Alastor's skin, breath ghosting over his saliva and cooling Alastor's flesh in a way that might well be electrifying.
Alastor could only nod, butterflies bouncing off the walls of his stomach as he felt the fabric of his pyjama pants grow tight, his cheeks stained as red as his hair as Lucifer glanced down between them. The other man returned his gaze to Alastor's face, a soft, delighted smile on his lips and his lids hanging low over the simmering heat in his eyes.
“You're so gorgeous like this. I mean – always, but like this especially. Absolutely stunning,” Lucifer said lowly. His hand skimmed up Alastor's chest as he ducked his head again, tweaking his other nipple between thumb and forefinger, and Alastor's shoulders pressed into the bed, his spine cracking with the angle of the obscene shape he was making of himself.
Pleasure beat like a second pulse in his chest, pride curling around delight curling around an aching sense of want that was starting to drum in his ears. It was as if he were losing himself – spreading over the mattress just as his shadows did, warm and pliant under Lucifer's touch.
Alastor cracked open a lid when Lucifer lifted his mouth, flicking his tongue one last time against that peaked nub of flesh and wringing a squeak from Alastor's throat. The man was gazing down at him as he sat back on his haunches, hands sitting possessively on Alastor's middle and thumbs stroking over the sharp jut of his hipbones. Alastor let out a roll of static, a smooth rumble tangling with a soft moan.
He had always enjoyed having Lucifer's attention fixed on him – and, later, his desire – but for the first time since they'd started this, he thought he recognised the glimmer of some emotion past the bounds of adoration and affection, something deeper than mere possessiveness or lust.
Far less careful than he'd been with Alastor's pyjamas, Lucifer crossed his arms over his stomach and dragged his own shirt off, the collar catching on his head for a moment – before he yanked it past the barrier of his ears, hair fluffing out into a ridiculous halo around his head as he tossed it over the side of the bed. The lean muscles of his stomach and chest shifted in the dim glow of his string-lights, shadows dancing around in the hollows of his collarbones and throat.
With a growl, Alastor sent his own shadows sweeping up Lucifer's body – banishing those in the room that thought they might intrude on what could only be his. Darkness coiled over porcelain skin, tracing patterns as Alastor watched – and Lucifer sucked in a breath, looking down at the shifting shapes of those shadows, shivering slightly when they skimmed his ribs.
Lucifer's lips curved into a grin, one hand slipping under the curve of Alastor's back to tug him up – only for long enough to let him shrug his shirt off, chuckling when one of the sleeves got caught on Alastor's elbow.
“Let me,” he said, hands sweeping up Alastor's chest and over his shoulders, mouth following the path they mapped out. Alastor's legs tightened around Lucifer's hips, struggling not to fall back again – he wasn't the most balanced, not in this position.
A firm hand splayed against his back, under his shirt – even as the other dutifully untwisted the cuff from Alastor's elbow, dragging smooth silk over the slim length of his arm. It joined Lucifer's shirt in an unceremonious pile on the floor, and Lucifer's lips found his again as he wrapped both arms more tightly around his back.
The faint prick of Lucifer's claws between his shoulder blades was like the jolt of a poorly insulated power socket – the way callouses brushed over scars like the feeling of static in the air after a storm. Alastor's tail swayed back and forth over his back, the fluff of it trying to will a hurricane into existence – and Lucifer's fingers caught in the fur at the tip, claws tangling in tiny knots and tugging at those silky strands.
Alastor let out a startled bleat, the sound caught between their mouths as fire raced up his spine. Nerves tingled as if each one had been plucked by some invisible hand, the strings of them vibrating with a note nobody could hear. As heat flowed out from the touch – as it danced over his hips and thighs and beat in the hard line of his cock, now pressed quite insistently against the front of his pants – Alastor squeezed his eyes tightly shut, ears trembling against his head as he fought down a sudden wave of nausea.
“S-sorry. That was an – do you want to stop? Alastor, are you–”
Alastor held up a hand, imploring Lucifer to stop talking as he struggled to get his breathing down to something manageable. As he tried to claw his way past the sensation of an unwelcome hand down the back of his pants, the memory the most recent – but not the strongest, not by any sense of the word.
And not the most important.
If he could just push past the curtain of that invasion, he could see other instances crouching in the back of his mind. Could feel the phantom touch of a silk ribbon, jolting over his hips and tightening around the base of his tail as Lucifer tugged at it. Could feel far slimmer fingers pushing past the plush red fur of his tail and stroking along the soft, velvet-covered skin beneath.
He could remember the way that touch liquefied his bones and muscles, the way Lucifer had always been so careful – had never grabbed at his tail until Alastor had told him he could do so.
It was as if the puzzle pieces of his memories were slotting into place, and the incident with Vox was amongst them, yes – but there were so many others. Pieces that shone with the glimmer of soft golden light infusing Lucifer's skin, dulling the sickly blue glow of that singular, unwelcome memory.
“It's alright,” Alastor murmured, his filter thick and his voice clogging in his throat. He still had his eyes closed – and blinked them open, meeting the wide-eyed gaze of Lucifer, staring earnestly at his face as he chewed on his bottom lip and clutched his hands close to his chest – as if he'd snatched them away, Alastor's reaction scorching his fingers.
Belatedly, Alastor realised that with the loss of Lucifer's hands on his back, he'd collapsed against the mattress once more. He'd not even noticed, so caught in swirling memories as he was.
“Really, sire – I think it's alright. Could you – can you try again?”
Though Lucifer's lip was whitening where he had it pressed under his teeth, he nodded, cautiously reaching out for Alastor's hip and sliding his fingers under Alastor's back as he braced himself over the sinner. Alastor pushed his shoulders into the bed, creating a space between his lower back and the mattress, his claws curling in the sheets.
“You know you don't have to – if it's too much, or...” Lucifer trailed off at the disparaging blat of static ringing in the air, Alastor's eyes narrowing slightly as his smile tightened. He waited, an air of expectation hovering around the both of them – and Lucifer blew out a breath, an expression of fond exasperation spreading over his features.
“Stubborn thing.”
“You wouldn't have me any other w-ay.” Alastor hissed out the word, specks of light swimming in his vision as the very tips of Lucifer's fingers pushed past the fluff clinging to his back and scraped against the base of his tail, pleasure coursing through his frame as his legs trembled and the sheets tore under his grip.
Like some kind of whirling carnival ride, those memories clamoured for his attention – but it was Lucifer's hot mouth pressing against his bare chest, Lucifer's weight settled between his legs. A feedback-heavy whimper crawled from Alastor's throat, his chest fluttering as he panted through his teeth. Blood pounded in his ears and thumped against the back of his throat, and Alastor sucked in a breath – a breath that was laced with the scent of apples and cinnamon, warm and familiar and comfortable, banishing the memory of blood and the taste of ozone.
Alastor squirmed, hips rocking up against Lucifer of their own accord, butting his erection against the firm planes of the other man's stomach – and another breathless moan escaped him, his senses sinking into the thick mire of pleasure Lucifer's gentle, careful touch sent coursing through him.
“Si – Lucifer,” Alastor gasped, eyes flying open as Lucifer's mouth pressed against the skin below his navel, the points of his teeth digging into Alastor's skin as his tongue trailed circles through the thin line of fur leading to his nether regions. His fingers were still tangled in the fur of Alastor's tail, the pressure of his mouth on Alastor's stomach bursting blood-vessels and bruising his skin as he sucked. “I – oh, you need – have me, sire. You must–”
“I will,” Lucifer muttered, his fingers abandoning Alastor's still twitching tail, the other man sitting back to admire his handiwork as Alastor sagged down against the mattress, dazed and out of breath. His dick throbbed against his pants, begging for some kind of attention – which Lucifer seemed more than willing to grant.
Not enough, though – barely a tease as he trailed a single finger up the hard line Alastor's dick made against his pyjamas, a staticky whimper only making Lucifer's grin widen and his eyes gleam with the sort of mischievous intent Alastor hadn't seen in – in weeks.
“But we're doing this slowly. Plenty of chances for you to tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” Lucifer asked, hooking his claws into Alastor's waistband, tugging until Alastor lifted his hips from the bed, a choked mess of white noise catching in his throat as his dick snagged on the elastic – before dropping heavily to sit against his stomach, flushed and leaking, smearing wet through the spit Lucifer had already left below his navel.
He was not going to ask Lucifer to stop. Not only because he was determined to have this again – but because there wasn't a shred of anything in him that wanted that to happen. Silk rustled over his legs, the mattress dipping as Lucifer shifted back enough to tug his pants over his hooves. Alastor's legs quivered slightly with the urge to press his knees together, particularly with the way Lucifer's attention was so fixed on him.
The fire simmering in Lucifer's eyes banked, his gaze softening as he slipped a hand under Alastor's knee and pressed a kiss to the inside of it. A squeak jumped into the air, delicate skin humming under the touch – and the shadows pooling on the bed raced back into Alastor's person, spreading through his veins once more. His skin looked as though dark lightning were flashing just below the surface, lightning that chased Lucifer's touch as he ran a claw up Alastor's inner thigh.
The scrape of it left fire in its wake, though he wasn't pressing hard. Still, it warmed Alastor's skin, a line of gold glimmering where Lucifer touched. He tucked his chin to his chest, glancing down his own torso – and huffed at the way light shone wherever Lucifer had dragged the tips of his fingers over Alastor's body.
Almost as if it remembered the feeling of Lucifer wielding it, Alastor's power was spreading out along those lines. Slotting in against it as tightly as possible, dark below and light above; how fitting, for the pair of them.
“I can think of far more satisfying ways for you to mark me, sire,” Alastor remarked drily, noting the way Lucifer's pants strained at the seam.
Lucifer glanced down, following the line of his gaze – and his teeth flashed in a smile as he snapped his head back up, his finger skimming the side of Alastor's shaft as he gently nudged it aside – despite the startled, breathless whimper he got in response – to drag his claw idly around the bruise he'd left.
“Don't freak out – but I'm not actually doing that on purpose.” He shook his head, something like wonder shining on his face. “It's like my... it's like there's something of me that still wants to be in you. Not that,” Lucifer hastened to clarify, tightening his grip on Alastor's leg when he snickered.
Alastor nodded, tipping his head back with a sigh when Lucifer fastened his lips to the inside of Alastor's knee, sucking another bruise into it and setting off more fireworks under his skin.
“I think I know exactly what you mean. Though I don't particularly relish looking like I've been to one of those tacky rave events Cherri's always trying to convince everyone to go to,” he muttered, shuddering as Lucifer lapped over the new bruise he'd made.
Lucifer hummed against his thigh, kissing slowly down the long line of it even as Alastor wriggled and tried to tilt his hips up. Offering Lucifer his body; but Lucifer was far too fixated on his determination to take things as slowly as possible – almost tortuously slowly, whimpers fleeing Alastor with every second breath he took as the ache of his cock got increasingly difficult to ignore.
“I mean – I think you're one of the only people to survive having me possess you. Wait – no, there was one other, but that was... that was centuries ago. And I'd never met them before, never spoke to them again afterwards. He went completely mad, of course – didn't seem to stop him being king, though. Charles... something. A number. I can never remember the order of them. This is all new territory.” Lucifer managed to halt his tangent, calling his mind back to the task at hand.
“Not so new,” Alastor countered, his hand twitching as he lost the battle against his own will – as he slipped it down his body, trying to relieve some of that ache pounding through him. Lucifer caught his wrist before he was able to curl his fingers around his dick, a squeal of microphone feedback echoing around the room as Alastor protested the interference.
“Some of it's new,” Lucifer argued, tugging Alastor's hand forward and pressing his palm against Lucifer's still pyjama-clad cock. Alastor sucked in a breath as Lucifer groaned, head falling back as his hips bucked against the pressure. Alastor's tongue darted out to wet his lips, his attention fixed on the way Lucifer's eyelashes splayed over the golden flush on his cheeks – the way Lucifer's cock pressed into his hand, hard and hot, his heartbeat thrumming softly through a vein.
“Alright. Some of it's new,” Alastor agreed – if only to get Lucifer to focus.
The other man huffed a laugh, the half-moon glow of his eyes making a reappearance as he forced his lids open. Lucifer tossed his head, flicking hair out of his face – and wrapped his fingers around Alastor's wrist again, switching his grip so that he could lean forward and press his arms into the bed. Alastor bit into his lip as his cock rubbed up against Lucifer's, the friction of his pants somehow both far too painful – and the most satisfying thing he'd ever felt.
He pressed his wrists up into Lucifer's hands, testing the strength of them – and whined anew as he found he couldn't budge, not even an inch.
“Still okay?” Lucifer muttered, letting go of one wrist to finally – finally – slip his hand down between Alastor's legs, thumb resting against his balls as one suddenly slick finger pressed up against his hole.
He hummed a confirmation, trying to shift himself down the bed, to push himself onto Lucifer's hand. Absolutely shameless, wanton behaviour – but if he couldn't indulge in that sort of thing by now, with Lucifer – when else would he ever feel so free?
Lucifer pulled his finger back, Alastor's blood drumming up a symphony under his skin at the denial.
“Words, gorgeous. Remember?” Lucifer murmured – and Alastor whined, long and low, the sound called up from somewhere deep in the pits of his mind.
“Okay,” he huffed, a clatter of feedback skipping from his throat when Lucifer dropped a kiss on his chest and pressed his finger up against Alastor's entrance once more.
His stomach writhed, nerves exploding under the surface of his skin – and Alastor let out a squeak when Lucifer pushed that finger into him, breaching the tight resistance of his hole in one smooth motion, slippery and certain in his actions. Alastor panted, the hand Lucifer had already released burying itself in the other man's hair – clinging on for dear life as Lucifer shifted his mouth over Alastor's nipple, teeth pressing against sensitive, peaked flesh.
Again, there were other memories clamouring for his attention. His own tense body, suspicious of the intrusion of Lucifer's fingers as he worked them into him for the first time. Sparks of pleasure darting over his frame as Lucifer's weight pressed against his back, his movements lazy and indulgent of a morning – the grounding pain of being stretched too quickly, his own anxiety jumping from him to Lucifer, begging the other man to make him real.
There was no other, for him. Lucifer was the only one to have been inside him, and few could say that as fully as he could. Alastor's teeth clenched, his brows furrowed beneath the strands of his bangs that were clinging to his forehead as he felt Lucifer add a second finger, the faint ache of being worked open singing through his bloodstream.
“Lucifer,” he said, dazedly, even as Lucifer pushed a third finger into him and wrenched a bleat from his throat, his back curving off the bed and his cock weeping against his belly. His blood was on fire – soaring through his veins, the golden lines on his skin thrumming in time with the shadows sweeping under them.
Clumsy, uncoordinated – Alastor tugged Lucifer's head up, seizing his mouth in a kiss that was as much a theft of Lucifer's air as it was any sort of act of passion. Open-mouthed, desperate, huffing against his face – if Lucifer dragged this out any longer, he might end up with exploded Radio Demon decorating his walls after all.
“Don't make me plead. Not today,” Alastor uttered into Lucifer's mouth, his need echoing plainly through his words. He couldn't handle that right now – his mind was already overwhelmed with the onslaught of memories Lucifer's touch had stirred up, his hole throbbing around the steady push-pull of his fingers.
He felt robbed, when Lucifer withdrew them – when he shifted back, confiscating his mouth from Alastor's, removing the temptation of lips and tongue and teeth. But it was for the barest moment that Lucifer was gone – before the head of his cock snubbed up against Alastor's hole, Lucifer finally releasing Alastor's other wrist to brace himself once more against the mattress.
A wordless, desperate sort of sound rumbled in Alastor's throat, his claws curling in the sheets at his side – and Lucifer pressed his hips forward, the tip of his cock pushing past the sensitive nerves clustered in Alastor's rim, lightning shooting up his spine as he gasped.
It was difficult to focus on what was happening now – when there were so many other instances flashing in his minds eye. Lucifer groaned as he shifted, pressing into the tight, slick heat of him – and Alastor sucked in a breath, colour blurring in his vision at the feeling of Lucifer filling him, entering him – joining with him again. He felt like an addict who'd just gotten his first taste of his drug of choice after weeks spent in deprivation, his antlers cracking as tines popped from them.
The pressure of Lucifer's hips pushed Alastor's up, canting him upwards, bending him at angles that any contortionist would envy – all so Lucifer could stretch his neck and search out Alastor's throat, tongue flicking over beads of sweat and his breath rushing over flushed skin as he panted.
For what seemed like an age, they stayed like that.
Alastor's legs trembled against Lucifer's sides, his hands abandoning their hold on the sheets in favour of clawing into Lucifer's back – pricking into his skin, drawing the scent of baked apples into the air as droplets of blood welled under his grip. Lucifer couldn't get any deeper, but the way his hips quivered where they were pressed flush to Alastor's rear certainly made it seem as if he'd like to.
Which of them moved first, neither of them could say. The room was simply filled with the squeal of static, of broken radios sputtering in the night – and of Lucifer's soft words, whispered and gasped out between moans and whimpers. Words like missed you and stunning and – of course – Alastor spilled from his lips, tumbling into the air like priceless pearls thrown into the waves.
And it was those waves they were riding, pleasure washing over their senses with every slow roll of Lucifer's hips. Every movement, every grind – brought Alastor closer to the sensation of drowning, revelling in the claim Lucifer made on him, delight blooming in his chest with every dark bruise blossoming on his skin. Lucifer laved his tongue over a nipple, fastened his teeth over a rib – pressed the pads of his fingers into Alastor's hip, shifting him, angling him – until it seemed as if the sun itself exploded in Alastor's skull, bursts of white light blinding him when Lucifer snapped his hips forward.
“Ng – a-ah–! Lu– you... oh...!” Alastor stuttered, nonsense vowels and half-formed words dying on his lips as Lucifer did it again, every thrust like a hammer shattering Alastor's psyche. He whimpered, poised on the brink of climax, his dick so hard between them that it hurt – and Lucifer buried his face in the centre of Alastor's chest, panting desperately into his skin.
Not so loudly that Alastor couldn't make out the faint words muttered against the scar over his heart, though, his thighs clamping against Lucifer's sides as a wail of feedback ripped from his throat, hips twitching out of his control in tiny, awkward little thrusts – pulsing forward, pressing back, his orgasm tearing through him like thunder as Lucifer's words seared themselves into his brain.
“I love you.”
Ah – how lost was he, to come so unravelled for something like that? Lost enough that no amount of milk cartons or missing persons posters could ever find him, and he'd tear them down if anyone had a mind to start searching.
He jolted, whimpering again as Lucifer let out a ragged gasp, hips trembling against Alastor's ass as he pressed into him, the hot spill of his orgasm spurting against Alastor's insides. His own climax was smeared over his belly, stuck to Lucifer's chest, his hole still pulsing around the slowly softening shaft of the other man still buried within him.
His mind drifted, swaying on a raft made of feathers and silk, floating impossibly on the slowly calming waters of a recently storm-wracked sea. Static hummed in the air, a low drone as of insects buzzing outside on a hot summer's eve. His chest heaved, nerves still twitching, echoes of pleasure still dancing over his skin – a squeak jolting from his throat when Lucifer slipped from him with a hiss.
Alastor felt himself gathered into a pair of familiar arms, ridiculously sturdy for the size of the man they belonged to. Kisses landed in his hair – were peppered over his ears, legs tangling with his as he curled into Lucifer's hold and tried to burrow into his chest.
As if he might be able to experience what it felt like to be inside Lucifer, just for a moment.
* * * * * *
Adrenaline faded, the sticky remnants of their sex began to cool and drip onto the sheets – and Alastor stirred, pieces of himself that he'd never thought would be so important having slotted back into place. Never would he have considered that something like that would come to mean something to him – something more than mere satisfaction at Lucifer's attention. It was an intimacy unlike any other, a part of himself he'd never before thought of sharing.
Listening to Lucifer's exhausted, heavy breaths rustling the fur of his ears was better than any radio station he could ever tune into.
“Alright?” Lucifer muttered – the fact that he was awake sending a faint prickle of surprise down Alastor's spine. He nodded into Lucifer's chest, shifting as his muscles twitched and he started to grow fiercely aware of the spill of come staining the sparse curves of his rear.
A pointed warble of static was enough to have Lucifer flicking his fingers – leaving their skin as clean and fresh as if they'd just stepped out of the shower. Though no shower had ever left Alastor with the sort of dull ache that was, even now, pounding through him.
Well – no shower wherein Lucifer wasn't also a participant, at least.
“Hmm,” Alastor mumbled into his torso. He knew there was something he'd wanted more information about, but whatever it was seemed as difficult to catch as trying to capture a bee using only a pair of tweezers. “What were we talking about? Before.”
'Before you fucked my brains out' felt entirely too crass to say, but Alastor was thinking it very loudly. It was always worth revisiting the possibility of demonic mind-reading on Lucifer's part.
“Not talking,” Lucifer tried to argue. But Alastor knew they had been talking about something, trying to wind his thoughts back to the conversation they'd been having before they'd gotten so deliciously sidetracked.
“Heaven, wasn't it?” Alastor asked through a yawn – and Lucifer made a little 'mmf' sound of acknowledgement. “The meeting. Are we going?”
“Do you want to?” Lucifer asked softly. His fingers pushed up into Alastor's hair, seeking out the base of his ears as if they were bloodhounds trained to the scent. Alastor let a soft groan of static rumble in his chest as Lucifer rubbed his thumb and forefinger over the soft, delicate skin that connected them to his scalp.
“We don't have to. You've done enough. Honestly – some might even call you a hero–”
“They'd better not,” Alastor interrupted, a record scratch breaking through the tranquillity of their post-coital bliss. The idea sent a chill wind blowing down his spine, abject horror at the realisation that some might consider his behaviour as anything other than selfish. “I acted for myself. And you.”
He added the last part in a reluctant grumble, his cheeks heating at even that much of an admission.
“Nobody else. I don't care if sinners manage to achieve redemption,” Alastor said with a huff.
Lucifer pressed a kiss to the top of his head – and Alastor chose to believe the smile he felt curving against his scalp was merely a result of the sex they'd had.
“Alright. So... do you want to go? I don't think Sera will be there,” Lucifer muttered.
Alastor considered the question – even if Sera had been in attendance, it wouldn't have affected his decision. It wasn't as if he were scared of her, after all – especially not now. Not since her hold on him had been broken – and how wonderful it felt to know such a thing.
“Perhaps,” Alastor offered, not yet wanting to decide. “It might be amusing to see Pentious again. Goodness – he knows nothing about the pair of us. Imagine the look on his face when he realises I've managed to seduce the King of Hell!”
Alastor's grin spread wide, his tail waving merrily against his back as Lucifer's arms tightened around him.
“Egotistical ass,” Lucifer chided him. Alastor pulled away from Lucifer's chest, pushing himself up on an elbow to stare down at Lucifer's pale features, his own eyes glowing a dim red under the heavy hoods of his lids.
“Tell me I'm wrong,” he challenged – and Lucifer only rolled his eyes, his face splitting into a grin as Alastor surged towards him, teeth clamping against the space where shoulder met neck. Lucifer's breathless laugh tickled his ears, one of them flicking Lucifer in the face – and he laughed harder still, his hands splaying over Alastor's back as Alastor's tail wagged with delight.
He didn't bite – not really. But his breath tickled Lucifer's neck, the king's wriggling protests only spurring him on as warmth spread through his chest, the glowing lines on his skin forgotten – but pulsing still under Lucifer's hands.
There would be time enough for those sorts of decisions later.
They had earned a brief reprieve from the world.
~fin~