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“I head over and talk to the elf sitting by the fireplace.”
“The elf by the fireplace has nothing to say to you,” Alastor ground out, fingers pressing into the edge of the table as he glared over his DM screen at the newest player Angel had brought into their group – although 'player' was likely too generous a term.
Lucifer blinked at him, a smirk on his face as he pointed at the board with its miniatures and paper cut-outs. The elf in question was one of those paper cut-outs, added to give the tavern a little more realism, and Alastor was already regretting his efforts. It would have been better to leave the tavern empty of all but the grizzled ranger they actually needed to talk to, a lesson he ought to have learned by now.
“Then why's she there? Come on, let me roll charisma, I'll see if I can get something out of her,” Lucifer grinned. He leant forward, propping his forearm on the table as he wobbled his own miniature back and forth, hopping the model over to the exceedingly untalkative elf.
This had been a regular occurrence ever since Angel had brought him. It was difficult to find new players, and as they'd been down a party member thanks to Mimzy's ill-advised decision to get with child, Alastor had agreed to meet the man Angel said he'd bumped into during his photography course. He'd been expecting somebody polite, creative, like-minded...
Instead he'd gotten this.
Lucifer was everything that grated on Alastor's nerves. He was impulsive and easy-going, and the first time he'd shown up to their games his character sheet had been scrawled on the back of a convenience store receipt. He dressed like he still thought it was the nineties; like he was about to walk into a whiny music video full of adult men singing about teenage problems. Black, distressed jeans, a T-shirt with some faded logo on the front, sometimes a wristband or choker or something similar – and his blonde hair was always hanging over his blue eyes. Eyes that were ringed with smudged eyeliner, and Alastor was convinced he didn't bother taking it off of a night before applying it again the next day.
He supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised, given Angel had been the one to recruit him.
Angel made no secret of his own flamboyance, and it had taken a long time for Alastor to even bother remembering his name. In his defence, Husk often brought a new partner around, swearing this would be the one that stuck, so Alastor had quite a firm 'two-month rule' when it came to learning who they were.
It made for some awkward mornings in their shared apartment when a woman – or a man, Husk didn't discriminate – walked out wearing nothing but Husk's shirt, and Alastor couldn't put a name to the face.
Or other body parts.
But at least Angel was willing to follow along with the carefully curated story Alastor had created for them. He demonstrated respect for the game, his miniature even now positioned next to the ranger. But he didn't try to interject when Lucifer deliberately derailed things – again – by insisting on talking to a character Alastor hadn't named, didn't have a personality for, and had truly not planned on utilising at all.
Still. He was a veteran dungeon master, and thinking on his feet was a skill he'd honed through years of practise.
He smirked, one canine flashing as his own brown eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Very well. Make a charisma check, and we'll see if this elf is willing to talk to a lowly human bard.”
Dice rattled as Lucifer plucked out his D20 and held it over the tower. He caught Alastor's eye and tilted his head.
“DC?”
Alastor's smile widened. “Twenty.”
With his plus three bonus, Lucifer needed to roll a seventeen or higher. It was incredibly unlikely, and he knew it. His face face twisted, his nose wrinkling as he let out a huff – but he let his dice fall, clattering through the slide within the tower until it bounced into the tray at the bottom. Angel stood up to get a look, pressing his hands into the table despite Husk trying to grab his sleeve and pull him back down, and his teeth were bared in a grin wide enough to show off the gems in his canines as he looked up and caught Alastor's eye.
He let out a bark of laughter, pointing down at the dice. As if Alastor couldn't see the cheerful red 'eighteen' on the glittery white resin. He might need glasses, but he certainly wasn't blind, and he swallowed back his displeasure as Lucifer propped his chin on his fist and shot Alastor a wink.
“Alright. So, fair elf maiden – might I be so bold as to ask your name?”
Alastor might as well ball up his notes and set them alight, because he doubted they were going to be making as much progress tonight as he'd hoped. He gave Lucifer a thin-lipped smile in return, suppressing a sigh as he combed through his mind for an appropriately elvish name.
A faint smirk curved his lips as he thought of an amusing way to twist the scenario, and perhaps discourage Lucifer from pursuing the traditional path of bardic debauchery. Honestly. It was like every new player had listened to the same podcast, deciding that the bard was the playboy of the fantasy world. It was so uninspired.
“You're mistaken, my good man,” Alastor pitched his voice a fraction higher, though not into the cadence he might use when roleplaying the conversation from the perspective of a female character. “My name is Lorsan, and I am no elvish maiden.”
Lucifer's eyes briefly darted down to the paper cutout, one of his brows lifting as he looked up again. Surely this might deter him? There was nothing of interest for his bard if the elvish maiden he'd thought he was approaching turned out to be–
“My mistake, then,” Lucifer purred. “Forgive me. Your kind is endowed with such otherworldly beauty, my foolish human eyes were deceived by the ambiguity. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lorsan.”
A slight flush stained Alastor's cheeks at the intensity of Lucifer's stare. He cast his own gaze down, affecting to flip through his notes, scrambling to think of some new way to steer Lucifer – and the others – back on track.
“You're mistaken again, good sir. I am no maiden, nor am I a lord. I am but a humble traveller, though rumour has it that the gentleman over there–” Alastor gestured, briefly tapping on the head of the ranger's miniature just in case Lucifer had failed to pick up on his meaning. “Might be some kind of noble. At the very least, he navigates this town shrouded in mystique. I'm sure an adventurer like you could figure out his story.”
It was more information than he'd wanted to impart so soon, but Lucifer's eyes were boring into him. His years of experience seemed to have fled his mind, his thoughts all twisted and his stomach rebelling when the man's tongue poked between his lips to wet them.
If he was thirsty, then they could stop for a drink break – there was no need for him to go slobbering on himself.
Maybe Alastor was getting sick. He had been feeling uncharacteristically warm that evening, his usually organised thoughts gone all scattered.
“But I'm interested in you, master Lorsan. I couldn't help but notice how the firelight reflected off that melancholy glint in your eyes. You have a story of your own, and I'd wager it's a far more interesting one than some dusty old fellow in a beat up coat.” Lucifer's voice had dipped even lower, and Alastor shook his head.
He truly hadn't prepared any additional lore for this part of the quest – he hadn't expected to need it. Perhaps Lucifer was used to dungeon masters with a little more flexibility, but Alastor only had so much time in a day to dedicate to his craft. He could write two, maybe three branching options, and embellish them as needed, but this elf really was nobody.
There was no secret for Lucifer to uncover here.
“Then I'm afraid you'd be walking away with your purse lighter than it started, for my story is so bland as to put even the bartender to sleep. Thank you for the conversation, traveller. Good luck with your evening.”
It should have ended the interaction. It was as clear a sign as any Alastor could give, but Lucifer pursed his lips and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes a fraction. He dropped both hands to the table and pushed himself out of his seat, just a little bit – just enough that Alastor felt the need to curl his fingers around his DM screen and tip it towards himself, paranoid that Lucifer was trying to get a look over the top of it. That this was all some ploy to figure out where the story was going, and what exactly they needed to do to get the best of its rewards.
“You're so eager to try and get rid of me, master elf. Would it really be so bad to spend the evening enjoying a drink and listening to my poems? I could surely use the company.” Lucifer glanced over at Husk and Angel, the former of whom was fiddling with the label on his bottle of beer, whilst the latter was scratching something into the corner of his character sheet, his attention in no way focused on his pen. “No offence to my companions, of course, but there's only so much time you can spend with the same two people. If I have to watch Stepan polishing his axe for another hour, I think I might lose my mind.”
Husk shot Lucifer a look, even as Angel snickered. Angel nudged Husk's shoulder with his own, wriggling his brows suggestively.
“Oh, I dunno. I'd watch him polishing his axe any day, if you know what I mean–”
“We all know what you mean,” Alastor interrupted, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leaning back in his chair.
The collar of Lucifer's T-shirt was far too stretched out, the front of it gaping open where he leant forward. Completely inappropriate. He cleared his throat, trying to find the voice for Lorsan again. If gentle discouragement wasn't going to work, then he would have to try something harsher.
“I'm afraid you're seeking a drinking companion in the wrong place, mayfly,” he hissed, his voice turning cold. He turned his nose up, affecting all the haughtiness of a high-born elf. “I don't spend my evenings drinking with humans.”
“And yet you're sitting here in a tavern run by one of them,” Lucifer countered without missing a beat. Alastor wanted to punch him. Couldn't he see he was derailing the entire game? “Which just makes you all the more interesting. You're saying you don't like humans, but you're in a town where they make up the majority of the population? What is your story?” he purred out, leaning even closer.
Alastor's back pressed into his seat, his cheeks starting to burn. He hadn't considered the contradiction – hadn't realised how weak an excuse it would be. He'd just given this irrelevant character a contradiction Lucifer was going to want to chew on, because of course he was.
He always did.
“As I told you, my story is of little consequence. I really think you ought to speak to – oh, dear!” Alastor exclaimed, his eyes widening. He pointed, aiming his finger over Lucifer's shoulder. “Has the ranger's jacket caught on fire? You'd best help him!”
A panicked ploy. A desperate attempt to divert Lucifer's attention. Lucifer's, not his character's, and Alastor wasn't sure the man even knew the difference. Blue eyes blinked, even as Angel held up a dramatic hand.
“I cast create water!” he announced, twirling his wrist and flicking an imaginary dress away from his ankles. Alastor reached out and turned the model of the ranger towards Angel's.
“You drop two gallons of water onto this stranger's head. He demands to know what you're doing.”
As Angel launched into an explanation, Lucifer shot Alastor a wink. He didn't know what it was about, but he was relieved to see that the party was finally striking up a conversation with the only NPC worth talking to in the entire tavern. Maybe that was on him – maybe he should have woven a few more threads into this place, but stories took time to craft.
He flicked his notes and forced his voice into a lower octave, finally getting into the meat of tonight's session.
* * * * * *
“The innkeeper offers you two rooms at a fair price, five silver pieces in total. He makes it clear that you'll not find a better deal elsewhere. You can roll to see if you think he's lying, but–”
“Nah,” Husk grunted, scrawling down a note before flexing his fingers out and putting his hand on Angel's waist. “So that's, what – one room for the two of us, one for Tippin?”
“I don't want to room alone,” Lucifer pouted. He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, his foot bumping against Alastor's leg where he stretched out his own under the table. He looked up, a glint in his eye that cut straight through Alastor's chest, like the bright blue gleam of them was the rotation of an emergency siren. “Is Lorsan still here?”
Alastor's eyes flicked down to the board before he could stop himself. He hadn't removed the paper cutout of the elf, so he supposed...
“Yes,” he sighed. “Lorsan is still here.”
Straight white teeth flashed in a grin as Lucifer's face lit up. He uncrossed his arms and planted his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers under his chin and cocking his head Alastor's way. Alastor's stomach sank, and he cast a pleading glance Husk and Angel's way – but the one was busy packing up his sheets while the other was barely suppressing an excited smile.
“Then I approach Lorsan. If he's distracted, staring at the fire, then I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder–” Alastor drew back, half expecting Lucifer to do the same to him. The other man's smile twitched, amusement shining in his eyes as he went on. “And I say to him...” he cleared his throat.
“Our conversation earlier got interrupted. Have I had enfeeblement cast upon me, or have you been stealing glances at me all night?” His voice was lightly teasing, pitched low, and there was a slight emphasis on the word 'you.'
For a second, Alastor bristled – before recalling the role of Lorsan, shaking his head in a polite denial.
“You're mistaken. If my eyes have been wandering, it has been absentmindedly. My apologies for any offence I might have caused.”
“No offence!” Lucifer answered. “None at all, in fact. I've been informed that I'm to have a room to myself this evening, and I would spend the entire night castigating myself if I didn't take the opportunity to invite you to join me.”
For a man who looked like he'd walked out of an industrial estate and lost a battle with a bag of charcoal, Lucifer was surprisingly eloquent. The pink tip of his tongue slipped out to wet his lips again, and Alastor made a mental note to check the thermostat in the apartment, because the backs of his ears were starting to feel uncomfortably warm.
“You know, me and Angel are gonna head out, get some drinks,” Husk cut in.
Angel let out a squawk, something that sounded like an argument, but he cut himself off as Alastor pushed himself to his feet and gritted his teeth at Lucifer in an expression that might charitably be called a smile.
“Do you truly think that an elf like me would jump to spend the night with a humble bard? You insult me,” he hissed out. Lucifer thumped back into his seat, tucking his hands behind his head as his smile widened.
Angel muttered something, and Husk jabbed him with his elbow, shoving everything into his satchel and practically dragging his partner towards the front door. Angel strained to look back over his shoulder as Lucifer reached out and pushed Alastor's DM screen over, an action that was so insulting it had red thumping in the front of his skull.
He didn't need a player like this, one who treated the game as though there were no greater arc than his own immediate amusement. He would tell Husk and Angel that they would have to pause their sessions while they found another, because running a campaign for two people alone was not impossible, but it was not how he'd balanced things. He supposed he could always–
The door slammed, and Lucifer stood up with a relieved sigh, his eyes briefly rolling towards the ceiling.
“I thought they'd never leave. I wasn't joking, you know. I'd love to have you spend the night with me.”
Alastor blinked. The game was over, the others had left. Why was Lucifer still insisting on this part of it? Was he truly so interested in this elf, this character that Alastor had named on the fly? He straightened up and started to pick up his notes, shaking his head.
“Fine. Lorsan the elf spends the night in your room. You find out that elvish constitution is a lot more impressive than you'd bargained for, and wake up with a–”
“Not Lorsan,” Lucifer corrected, cutting Alastor off before he could tell Lucifer he was going to be taking a penalty on all of his rolls for the next two sessions; presuming he even let Lucifer come to their next two sessions. “You.”
That made no sense. Alastor looked up, brows furrowed behind his bangs. Lucifer's character had been flirting with an elf in-world, there was no reason to bring Alastor into it. He paused, papers splayed in his hands, his stomach turning over when Lucifer stepped around the corner of the table and crossed the meagre distance between them.
Alastor's DM screen was a poor shield, but he held it up regardless. Lucifer's gaze was focused, predatory – determined, and Alastor hadn't the foggiest clue as to what was going on in his head but he wasn't about to entertain any nonsense.
“If your purpose in attending these games has been to poke fun, then consider your invitation revoked. How tragic for Tippin – the others found him with his throat slit and his coin purse gone. A lesson in inviting strange elves into ones bedchambers,” Alastor warned.
He was the DM – he could do that. Besides, this was his apartment, and if Lucifer was going to tease, then he certainly wasn't welcome.
“Are you kidding?” Lucifer asked, taking another step closer.
Though he hated giving up ground, Alastor backed away, circling the table as he tried to put it between them once more. Maybe he was the one who ought to be considering whether he should invite strangers into his home, no matter how fervently Angel vouched for them. Perhaps his warning about Tippin's potential fate was an uncanny bit of foreshadowing.
Husk would be furious if Alastor bled out over their floors.
“We can discuss it. Tomorrow. If you still want to play–”
“Oh, you are adorable, you know that?” Lucifer grinned wide. Alastor froze, his brain stuck on the word, heat creeping into his cheeks.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don't have to beg for anything,” Lucifer countered.
In the time it had taken Alastor to kick his mind into gear, Lucifer had taken advantage – he'd circled the table and stepped up to box Alastor in with his arms, the both of them gripping the edge of the table. The DM screen felt like a flimsy shield indeed where Alastor clutched it against his chest, acutely aware of the flecks of eyeliner that had smudged in the heat, dark spots littering the highest points of Lucifer's cheeks. His throat felt dry, his heart beating as quickly as if it were trying to burst against his ribs, and he wished he had the confidence of a character or the comfort of being the DM to hide behind, but the game was over.
Alastor was not naïve. He'd lived with Husk for years, and though he couldn't account for the man's taste in partners, there was no denying he'd had a slew of them. Alastor had just never been particularly interested in trawling the clubs or creating a dating profile, preferring to don his headphones and work on his campaigns when he could – when he wasn't scraping out a living publishing meaningless clickbait articles, appealing to the lowest common denominator of reader intelligence.
The few people who had approached Alastor had not done it with nearly this much misplaced confidence. They'd not grinned up at him, trapping him against the table that his maps and his dice were still scattered over. They'd not insisted upon flirting with NPCs that weren't even meant to be that much. They certainly hadn't put their fingers on his sternum, walking them up his DM screen and hooking over the top of it, plucking it from his grasp as easily as one blew the seeds off a dandelion.
This was ridiculous. Lucifer was as close to a clown as one could get in this day and age, with his makeup and his grunge look and his utter lack of respect for either rules or propriety. Alastor ought to slap his hand away and kick him out of his apartment, with a warning that should he come back, the police would be called.
But something in him rebelled. Lucifer was everything Alastor wasn't, and it drove him mad. He turned his face towards the ceiling as Lucifer let the screen and his papers fall onto the table with a slap, his ears burning even hotter as one slim thigh pushed against his own.
“Why are you doing this?” Alastor mumbled, even as heat crawled sluggishly through his veins to bubble low in his guts.
He jerked as he felt Lucifer's fingers tugging at his shirt, his stomach turning over when nails brushed against his bare skin. Another hand settled on his shoulder – then circled around to his nape, pushing insistently at the back of his skull, until he had little choice but to look down and meet Lucifer's piercing stare.
“Because I like you. Obviously. I think you're cute as fuck, and you're goddamn hilarious. But if I've completely misread the vibes, if you want me to leave – just say so. I'll leave Lorsan alone, I won't push, and I'll bring you an entire gift basket of cheese next week to say sorry,” Lucifer said lowly.
His fingers were tracing Alastor's waist, skimming over the flat planes of his stomach and stirring the heat boiling within him like he was nothing more than a furnace to be stoked. His pulse thumped in his throat, his cheeks darkening as he felt his interest stirring between his legs, humiliatingly close to where Lucifer's navel nearly pressed up against him.
“I'm lactose intolerant,” Alastor countered weakly. “You'd be better to offer a bottle of whisky.”
Lucifer smirked. His pupils had swollen in his irises, his lids falling low. His eyelashes were a little clumped, Alastor noticed. A strange thing to pay attention to, but there it was – the caked on residue of makeup that hadn't been removed, sticking those long lashes together.
“I didn't hear a 'please leave' in there,” Lucifer pointed out. His fingers plucked at Alastor's waistband, his other hand pushing up into the hair just above his nape, and Alastor nodded.
Curse him and his traitorous body, responding so easily to such attention. He'd thought himself above it all. That this fool, this man who barely seemed to pay attention to their games–
But he does, a voice in the back of Alastor's mind whispered. He stilled, wondering where that contradiction had come from, forcing his mind to linger on their sessions.
Lucifer always remembered the hints that had been dropped. He spent a lot of time interacting with characters that weren't meant to be anything more than a passing mention, he'd once set a tavern on fire and gotten the party driven out of town, and his character wasn't optimised in the least – but every bit of lore Alastor had revealed seemed to stick in his mind, the puzzles the party came up against falling to his wit.
Maybe Alastor had been judging him too harshly.
“Because I didn't say 'please leave',” Alastor mumbled. His heart stammered on his ribs as Lucifer's fingers tightened in his hair, nerves and uncertainty lighting up like sparks along his spine, but he didn't try to pull back when Lucifer tugged him down.
He was not particularly experienced when it came to kissing. A few drunken explorations in high school had not left him with a very favourable impression of the act, though he'd followed Husk's advice and tried it with multiple candidates of varying genders. It had always felt strangely invasive, that wet press of somebody else's mouth against his own.
Lucifer's kiss didn't feel like that in the slightest.
His lips were warm and smooth and tasted faintly of the single rum and Coke he'd had during their game. They slotted against Alastor's as though they were designed to do it, his own lips tingling a little as Lucifer caught his lower lip between his teeth and sucked gently at it. It stung, just a bit, but it also had Alastor's stomach swooping up to join his heart in his ribcage, as though the two of them were celebrating some success he hadn't known they'd been after, and he let out a quiet, breathless sound as he clumsily followed Lucifer's lead.
“Adorable,” Lucifer breathed against his mouth, pushing up against him more firmly. The edge of the table dug into Alastor's backside, and–
“Oh.” He felt Lucifer smirk against him, his hip undoubtedly feeling the hardness that had been steadily throbbing against the front of Alastor's slacks. His flush returned, an apology for his enthusiasm catching in his throat. “Hello. I guess I rolled pretty high on my seduction check, huh?”
A huff of laughter escaped Alastor's control, and he shook his head as Lucifer pressed a kiss against the angle of his jaw, his mouth trailing lower. “Seduction isn't a skill.”
“Says you, but I'm pretty sure I'm decent at it,” Lucifer mumbled against his neck. His teeth scraped over a vein, and Alastor swallowed as his vision swam and his head seemed briefly as if it might float away.
His pulse was still throbbing under his skin, a steady drumming through veins that felt too narrow to contain it – and the ache of his erection was starting to grow uncomfortable, one hand shifting automatically to his crotch in an attempt to adjust himself. Lucifer's fingers left his stomach and caught his wrist, shoving his hand back to the table. A flurry of arousal danced over Alastor's thighs and hips, his mouth watering and his eyes too heavy to keep open as he let out a sound he hadn't known he was capable of.
It was pleading, and desperate, and far too raw for his liking. But Lucifer's hand tightened around his wrist, squeezing his forearm before slotting itself back between them and fumbling with Alastor's belt. A part of him knew they ought to move somewhere more private. At any moment, Husk or Angel could return, having decided they'd forgotten something or simply giving up on going out for the night. That door could slam open, and what would they walk in on?
Alastor, pinned against the table by a man an entire head shorter than him, flushed and panting and gripping the table firmly enough that his nails might be leaving dents in its underside, his shirt pushed up and his lower lip undoubtedly swollen, if the slight throb of his heartbeat was any indication.
It seemed difficult to care. Alastor had walked in on worse, ignoring the tie hung on the door and striding past his roommate and his latest partner as though they were invisible. Husk could do him the same courtesy, and–
“Oh!” Alastor gasped, jolting in place as Lucifer's hand pushed his shirt up even further, nimble fingers pinching at his nipple.
Heat flooded his chest, his hips rolling of their own accord. The pressure of Lucifer leaning against him wasn't enough, his dick straining against his zipper. Lucifer dropped a kiss on his neck, fastening his lips briefly over an expanse of skin just below his collar and swirling his tongue over the area as he sucked – before he pulled his mouth away with a faint pop, eyes burning when he looked up and caught Alastor's gaze.
“You're so sensitive,” he muttered, his voice gone low and raspy.
Alastor had nothing to compare himself to, nodding stupidly along as Lucifer rubbed his fingers over that sensitive nub of flesh again. Biting his own lip didn't help stifle Alastor's whimper, and he shivered in place as those fingers dragged themselves down his chest and over his stomach, hooking into the leather of his belt and tugging it free, fumbling briefly with his fly.
Now would be the time to tell Lucifer he had little experience when it came to these things. That he didn't know what Lucifer expected of him; that he wasn't sure he could deliver. He bit his tongue as those questing fingers pushed at the top of his undershorts, brushing over wiry curls. Lucifer took half a step back, just enough that he could slip his hand more fully into Alastor's underwear – and when his fingers bumped up against his dick and splayed around its base, palm pressed firmly against its underside, all thoughts of telling Lucifer anything fled Alastor's skull.
It was as if lightning had just struck his nervous system, his dick actually twitching against Lucifer's hand. He hadn't even known such a thing was possible, like the damn thing had a mind of its own. He huffed a breath through his teeth, his glasses fogging with the heat emanating from his face, but it wasn't like it mattered – he could hardly see past the blur of pleasure hammering his skull, beating through him with every quick thump of his heart.
“Was this in your session notes?” Lucifer teased, his free hand making swift work of the buttons on Alastor's shirt. A whimper caught in Alastor's throat as Lucifer's palm rubbed up to his tip, the heel of his hand teasing over the wet already beading there.
His fingers were not curled around Alastor's dick, not like they might be if he was jerking off on one of the rare occasions he felt the urge. They were spread either side of it, his palm doing most of the work. It was not quite enough. Not a strong enough grip, just the promise of something more, and Alastor felt pre-come leak from his slit again as he tried to suck in enough air so that he wouldn't pass out.
He shook his head, hips jerking as his body desperately sought more friction. At his back, the dice rattled in their tray; those yellow and red, terribly gaudy things Lucifer favoured. No. This hadn't been in his session notes, nothing like this would ever have crossed his mind.
A groan escaped him as Lucifer pressed at his hip, urging him up onto the table. It was not a difficult adjustment – Alastor pushed into it with his hands, his feet still on the floor as he settled. He shoved aside his screen and the aforementioned notes, shoulders clicking as he braced one hand at his back and made a grab for Lucifer's neck with the other, scrabbling at his skin as he tried to pull the man in for another kiss.
Lucifer didn't fight it – he let Alastor yank at him, once more catching his lip in his teeth, nibbling gently at already slightly swollen flesh. He switched his hand, twisting his wrist and wrapping his fingers properly around Alastor's dick, squeezing his base for a moment before softening his grasp.
“I cannot tell you how much I want to fuck you. How badly I want to see your head pressing into the mattress and feel your legs wrapped around my hips,” Lucifer rumbled against his mouth, once more tracing kisses down Alastor's jaw.
He put a hand on Alastor's chest again, just firmly enough that Alastor thought he might be planning on pushing him down then and there, though the table was not a mattress and he didn't think they had everything necessary to enable said fucking.
“But I'm not sure you'd last that long. I can feel you throbbing in my hand, Alastor. It's so fucking hot. I could slip down your body, maybe drag your pants down to your ankles. Have you ever been fucked before?” Lucifer's voice was getting increasingly breathless, the hand on Alastor's chest wandering over to his nipple and giving it a hard pinch.
Alastor's arm shook where he held himself up, the pressure below his navel fit to burst. Lucifer's hand was speeding up, his strokes confident and skilled, and Alastor couldn't say he was wrong. He didn't think he'd last long enough for them to take this anywhere else. He'd been asked a question – another one – and he shook his head yet again. Lucifer bit his own lip before closing the distance between them and smothering Alastor's mouth again, a kiss that was as brutal as it was hasty.
“I – fuck,” Alastor cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips jerked into Lucifer's hand. Sweat was clinging to his face, sticking his bangs to his forehead. There was a thread inside him poised to snap, and he did not think it would take much more. “No, I haven't, I – ng–! Fuck, please, I'm... I need...”
His words were untethered and disjointed, his body shoving his mind aside and taking the controls. His hips pushed up into Lucifer's strokes, his chest surging with pleasure when Lucifer pinched his nipple again before pulling back. He looked at Alastor, his blue eyes filled with greed, and swiped his thumb over Alastor's tip before twisting his wrist and increasing the pressure of his grip.
It was too much. It was just enough. It was exactly what Alastor had needed, and he hadn't even known as much. He tipped his head back, his throat bobbing as a moan escaped him, his dick pulsing as he spurted his climax onto his own stomach. Strands of come landed on his skin, hot and sticky, damning in their evidence of his loss of control, and he panted through his teeth as he tried to catch his breath.
Shame crowded at his mind, but Lucifer's fingers – his clean fingers – stroked over his cheek as he sagged and trembled, that greedy light still shining in his eyes. Another kiss landed on his lips, this one far lighter than the others, and Alastor answered it with no small amount of exhausted bliss.
“I think...” he started, pausing to swallow and to wet his lips. He nodded. “I think, perhaps, Lorsan might be open to sharing your bed after all.”
Lucifer gave him a lopsided grin. “I invited him to my room. I didn't say anything about sharing a bed. You've got your mind in the gutter, don't you?”
For a moment, Alastor froze. Then his brows furrowed in a glare as he struggled upright, shoving Lucifer away. The other man went with a laugh, though his hand somehow kept finding places to linger as Alastor cleaned himself up. His hip, his leg, his arm – he seemed unwilling to leave.
“If you're going to hang around, you might as well make yourself useful,” Alastor grumbled. He couldn't admit that he wanted Lucifer to stay, still reeling from what had just occurred. “How are you at painting miniatures?”
“I'm alright with my hands,” Lucifer grinned, holding up his fingers and wiggling them in the light.
Heat flooded Alastor's face anew. He swatted at Lucifer with his DM screen, winning himself another laugh. He did not know what dice to roll to figure Lucifer out, but perhaps it was better that way.
Not everything needed to be in the notes.
~fin~