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Alastor wasn’t sure why he had agreed to Charlie’s idea. He had no idea it was a trap. A trap with his worst enemy.
Television.
His eyes narrowed at the flat screen mounted on the wall.
“What are you doing?”
Oh yeah. Lucifer too.
“Nothing.” Alastor acted like he was checking his nails.
They were what in a small cabin on a campground around by trees and wildlife. Alastor didn't even know that the Pride Ring had forests and such.
The demon walked further into the room.
Clean.
A bathroom. Good.
But... a single bed. And two bodies.
“Why are you here Lucifer?” Alastor pointed his cane towards the smaller man, who huffed and flicked the edge of his cane away with one hand.
“Well… Charlie said she booked this for me. Why are you here?” Now Lucifer pointed at Alastor, but with a finger.
“Charlie said the same to me.” The red haired man said. Now he felt stupid for looking forward to this and packing an entire suitcase.
But Lucifer had three. “Are you planning to live out in the woods? Why so many bags?”
The blond defensively protected his luggage. “None of your business!” He declared.
This was ridiculous. Alastor was NOT sharing a cabin with this man. But hell if Alastor was going to leave so Lucifer could enjoy it. And the angel thought the same.
So there they stayed. They didn't talk or interact, they were both too busy with their own activities. Lucifer spent majority of the day at the beach while Alastor seemed to content to stay in nature. He took walks, sat in the sun and read a book.
When Lucifer returned from his busy day at the beach, he found Alastor at the front of the cabin, sitting on a chair, reading.
“Uh, I'm.. taking a bath. So don't come in the bathroom.” They finally interacted since the morning. Alastor pretended he didn't even hear him, just smiling while turning a page.
Actually.. that reminded him. Lucifer had yet to unpack. Maybe he could snoop and find something to embarrass the King enough to make him leave before they had to share a bed.
When Alastor picked up the sound of the water turning off and Lucifer stepping in, Alastor took that as his sign to begin.
The first suitcase was neatly folded clothing of all kinds, beach wear, causal wear... wait is that a.. bikini?
It was hot pink. He held it up with two claws and sniffed it out of pure curiosity. It smelled a lot like Lucifer.
Well… this is odd. Definitely something he could use against the man.
In the second one he found.. rubber ducks... lots of rubber ducks. Some of them looked like they were based off people. Nothing of use in that one.
But surely the third held something of value.
He zipped it open.
Oh.
There was a long pink dildo.
Alastor audibly gulped, then quickly zipped the suitcase back up before Lucifer could catch him snooping in his stuff.
The sudden, sharp click of the bathroom door unlocking made Alastor snap upright, his shadows swallowing the evidence of his snooping just a millisecond before the door swung open.
Lucifer stepped out, enveloped in a cloud of warm steam. He was wearing nothing but a loosely tied silk robe that hit him mid-thigh, his damp blonde hair clinging to his forehead. He was rubbing a towel over his neck, completely unaware of how his stuff had been tampered with.
"Ugh, finally," Lucifer sighed, stretching his arms up. The movement made the robe part slightly at the chest, revealing white skin still flushed from the heat of the bath. "The water pressure in there is a crime, but at least I feel human again. Or... well, you know what I mean."
Alastor stood perfectly still, his grin fixed but entirely rigid. His mind kept flashing back to the contents of that third suitcase. A long, pink...
"What's wrong with you?" Lucifer asked, squinting as he noticed Alastor's unusually tense posture. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Which is stupid, considering where we live."
"Nothing at all, Your Majesty!" Alastor’s voice crackled with a bit more feedback than usual. He forced his hands behind his back, gripping his cane tightly to keep from glancing at the luggage. "Just... contemplating the absurdity of our current predicament."
"Right. The bed situation." Lucifer groaned, walking over to the edge of the mattress and plopping down. The mattress gave a soft bounce. He looked up at Alastor, his eyes narrowed with defensive pride. "Look, I'm the King of Hell. I'm not sleeping on the floor. And frankly, you look like you'd snap in half if you slept on the rug, so..." He patted the space next to him. "Just stay on your side. Don't touch me, don't breathe on me, and don't make those fucking radio noises in your sleep."
Alastor walked over with slow steps. The air in the small cabin suddenly felt heavy, thick with an unspoken tension that hadn't been there that morning. He placed his cane against the nightstand and sat on the opposite edge of the bed.
"I assure you, I am a perfectly quiet sleeper," Alastor purred, though his eyes dragged down the length of Lucifer’s throat, tracing the dip of his collarbone where a few stray drops of water still glistened.
Luckily Lucifer was staring out of the window, captivated by a particularly odd-looking moth fluttering against the glass. He didn't see the way Alastor’s gaze lingered on the curve of his shoulder, nor did he notice the shift in the demon's posture. For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall and the distant call of a bird.
It was peaceful.
"I'm exhausted," Lucifer mumbled, finally turning away from the window. He shifted, his robe sliding further up his thigh and revealing the pale, smooth skin and the subtle curve of his leg. He let out a long, dramatic sigh and began to lean back into the pillows
Alastor shifted his weight, the mattress creaking under him. He found himself wondering if Lucifer had brought the toy because he intended to use it tonight, or if it was simply a staple of his travel kit. The thought sent a strange, buzzing current through his chest. He wasn't used to feeling this particular brand of curiosity—one that wasn't based on a desire to ruin someone's reputation, but rather a sudden, visceral interest in the logistics of the King's private pleasures.
The mental image took root with a stubbornness that Alastor found irritating. He imagined the King of Hell curled up in the quiet of the night, the soft glow of a bedside lamp illuminating the room as he pumped that long piece of silicone into himself. It was an image of vulnerability, of private, desperate need—something that appealed to Alastor’s inherent desire for leverage, yet sparked a warmth in his gut that felt far too much like desire.
Lucifer, oblivious to the internal crisis happening three feet away, let out a soft, contented hum and shifted his weight. The silk robe slid further, exposing the pale, rounded slope of his hip. He looked small—almost fragile—against the bed, his eyes half-closed as he began to drift toward sleep.
Did this man always look so appealing?
Alastor found himself staring at the gold-tinted flush on Lucifer’s cheeks, a lingering remnant of the bath that made the King look softer, more malleable.
The demon’s pulse quickened. He hadn’t even gotten undressed to sleep or shifted his clothes into something more comfortable; he was still clad in his full pinstriped suit, stiff and formal, while Lucifer lay beside him in nothing but silk.
The silence of the cabin was no longer peaceful. It had become a vacuum, sucking the air out of the room until every breath felt like a conscious effort. Alastor didn't move, his body frozen in a state of observation.
The man felt his eye twitch. Alastor quickly headed to the bathroom to handle the situation. He closed the door, rested his hands on the sink and sighed. He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was as calm as a still pond, but his lower half was telling a different story. He had a boner. A significant one. And it was all because of the King of Hell, who was currently drifting off to sleep a few feet away in a piece of silk.
Alastor let out a sharp breath, his chest heaving as if he had been sprinting for miles. He leaned over the porcelain sink, staring at his reflection with a mixture of bewilderment and irritation. "Ridiculous," Alastor hissed at his reflection, the word distorted by radio interference.
He stayed in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and staring at the ceiling. But no matter what he did, the feeling in his pants remained insistent. Alastor sighed, his shoulders slumping. He knew that if he went back into the bedroom in this state, the tension would be suffocating.
He leaned back against the cool tiles of the wall, his movements hurried and precise as he dealt with the constraints of his trousers. It’s only for a moment... he told himself.
A hand wrapped around himself, fingers gripping uncertainly. Alastor closed his eyes, his head tilting back against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. Then he began to pump his hand in a rhythmic, frantic motion, the sound of his own breathing becoming a distorted, staticy mess.
He tried to imagine something else—wanted this to be done as soon as possible so he could return to the bedroom—but the mind is a traitorous thing. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lucifer.
Alastor tried to fight against it, but it made the orgasm he was working towards die down into a lukewarm disappointment. He shifted his grip, his long fingers wrapping tighter around his length, and sighed.
The image of Lucifer sobbing and panting into a pillow—not out of sadness, but out of a desperate, hungry need—flashed behind Alastor's eyelids. He let out a shuddering breath. Suddenly, the lukewarm sensation vanished, replaced by a searing, demanding heat. Alastor’s breath hitched, a sharp sound of static clipping in the quiet of the bathroom, as he imagined those small hands gripping him instead of a piece of silicone.
Alastor was now using his hips along with his hand, fucking his own palm like it was actually Lucifer. The friction was a poor substitute for the real thing, but the mental image was more than enough to send him over the edge.
Soon enough, white ropes of heat splattered across the bathroom tiles and his own trembling fingers. Alastor stood there for a long moment, chest heaving, the silence of the cabin returning to mock him. He felt a brief, sharp spike of irritation—not at the desire, but at the lack of control. He cleaned it up, adjusted his suit, and stepped back into the bedroom, his expression once again a mask of polished composure.
Lucifer had shifted in his sleep. He was now curled on his side, the robe having slid completely off one shoulder to reveal the creamy white curve of his upper arm. He looked soft, his breathing shallow and rhythmic.
Alastor didn't immediately climb back into bed. He stood by the edge, his gaze drifting toward the suitcase he had snooped through earlier. The pink toy was still tucked away, hidden from sight, but the knowledge of it felt like a physical weight on his shoulders. He wondered if Lucifer’s appetite was as voracious as the evidence suggested, or if it was merely a lonely habit born of a long, isolated reign.
Slowly, Alastor slid under the covers. He kept his movements minimal, ensuring he didn't jostle the mattress too much, but as he settled in, he realized just how small the bed actually was. Despite his best efforts to cling to his own side, the proximity was unavoidable. The warmth radiating off Lucifer was like a small heater in the cool night air of the cabin, smelling of expensive soap and something faintly sweet, like burnt sugar.
Lucifer stirred, a small, unconscious sound escaping his throat—a soft, airy noise that made the hair on the back of Alastor's neck stand up. The King shifted, rolling onto his back. In his sleep, he seemed to seek out the source of the warmth beside him, his body instinctively drifting toward Alastor. A small hand flopped over the divide of the bed, his fingers brushing against Alastor’s thigh.
The contact was electric, a sudden jolt that made Alastor jolt. His chest heaved silently. The relief he had sought in the bathroom had been entirely superficial, a temporary dam against a rushing river. Now, with the literal weight of Lucifer’s hand resting against his thigh, the dam shattered. The heat returned to his lower half with a vengeance, thick and demanding, stretching his trousers uncomfortably tight once more.
This is absurd, Alastor thought, his grin stretching so wide it felt as though his face might split.
Yet, he didn't move away. He didn't lift Lucifer’s hand and fling it back across the bed. Instead, Alastor slowly turned his head, his gaze sliding down the length of the King’s body. The memory of the pink silicone toy in the suitcase flared brightly in his mind, but it was quickly supplanted by a much more visceral, possessive urge. He didn't want Lucifer to use a toy. He wanted to see how that pale, royal body would react to something warm, something pulsing, something that could actually respond to the King's touch.
As if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Lucifer let out a tiny, congested huff and blinked his eyes open.
Odd.. why.. did he wake up? I did nothing to disturb him, Alastor thought, then pressed his face against the pillow and pretended to sleep.
Lucifer blinked, his red eyes clouded with the fog of half-sleep. He felt the heavy, oppressive warmth of another person beside him, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. He shifted, his body rolling closer to the source of the heat, and his hand, which had been resting idly on Alastor’s thigh, curled instinctively, clutching the fabric of the pinstriped trousers.
But he quickly yanked his arm back, the sudden realization of who was occupying the other half of the mattress hitting him like a bucket of ice water. Lucifer sat up abruptly, his robe slipping further down to expose his chest, his eyes wide and blinking. He stared at Alastor, who remained perfectly still, face mashed into the pillow in a pantomime of deep slumber.
"You... you creepy, long-legged freak," Lucifer whispered, his voice raspy from sleep. Alastor wasn’t sure if Lucifer knew he was pretending or just talking to himself, but the King’s gaze was currently drilling a hole into the back of Alastor’s head. "Who does he think he is? Coming into my personal space?" He mumbled.
I am on the very edge of the mattress, you insolent little creature, Alastor thought, though he didn't move a muscle.
Lucifer didn't go back to sleep. Instead, he shifted his weight, propping himself up on one elbow. "Seriously," he muttered, "look at him. Thinks he's so sophisticated with his little cane and his radio oriented personality. Probably dreams in monochrome." He paused, his red eyes tracing the sharp line of Alastor’s shoulder. "And he’s long. Ridiculously long. Like a pole," Lucifer laughed at his own joke, a soft, breathy sound that vibrated in the quiet room. "Wonder if that means he's got a big dick though..."
Alastor’s eyes snapped open, thankfully he was facing away from the blond. A big.. dick? What in heaven's name is this man rambling about? The sheer audacity of the thought—that Lucifer would be wondering about the dimensions of his anatomy—sent a surge of adrenaline through Alastor that eclipsed any amount of sleep he might have actually been getting.
Lucifer didn’t stop at that though, his voice a soft, honeyed murmur that drifted through the cabin. "I mean, look at those fingers," he continued, his voice gaining a bit of an experimental lilt. "Claws like that... they’d probably be quite... efficient. Grippy. Heh... grippy.." He giggled at the word, a tiny, giddy sound that betrayed the fact that the King of Hell was currently fantasizing about the anatomy of the man pretending to be asleep.
Alastor felt that same heat coil in his gut, tighter and more demanding than before. Why does the man simply talking to himself give me an erection?
But this time he couldn't relieve himself in the privacy of the bathroom. And now he definitely couldn't get himself to go down.
Alastor tried waiting. But Lucifer still didn't lie back down. Minutes passed, and the silence of the cabin became a playground for the King’s curiosity. He could hear the soft, rhythmic rustle of the silk robe as Lucifer shifted, moving closer. The mattress dipped, a slow and agonizing approach that signaled a lack of boundaries. Alastor kept his breathing steady, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Well.. surely he's out cold," Lucifer whispered, "would have thrown me out of the room because of that dick comment if he were actually awake."
Driven by a sudden, reckless spike of curiosity, Lucifer leaned in.
What is he doing? Alastor’s mind screamed, though his expression remained a mask of dead sleep. He could feel the mattress dipping further, the air shifting as Lucifer’s warmth crept closer.
The King wasn't just shifting; he was investigating. There was a hesitant, tentative quality to the movements, the sound of silk sliding against cotton, and then the unmistakable sensation of a hand hovering just inches above his hip.
Lucifer’s curiosity had officially overridden his caution. He didn't just want to wonder; he wanted proof. With a slow, agonizingly careful movement, Lucifer reached out. He didn't touch but he leaned over Alastor's side, his red eyes squinting in the dim light of the cabin. He was trying to peer beneath the waistband of those pinstriped trousers, searching for the silhouette of whatever it was that had been occupying his thoughts for the last ten minutes.
As Lucifer shifted his weight to get a better angle, his chest brushed against Alastor’s shoulder. The contact was brief, but the heat of it felt like a brand. Alastor could hear the King’s breathing hitch, a soft, fluttering sound of anticipation. Lucifer was so close now that Alastor could smell the lingering scent of the bath and the sweetness of his skin.
"Gah! WHAT-" Lucifer covered his own mouth with a hand, his eyes widening. The reason for the reaction must have been because he didn't just find a silhouette; he had actually made contact. As he leaned over, his leg had brushed against the protrusion he couldn't see in dark of the room. It wasn't just a bump either; it was a solid, pulsing weight that pressed firmly against the side of his calf.
The sudden movement caused Lucifer to lose his balance, his center of gravity shifting as he tipped forward. He didn't fall far, but he landed squarely against Alastor’s side, his chest flattening against the demon's shoulder. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then, the "sleeping" demon moved.
"WHAT." The demon flipped the man onto his back, pinning both hands against the bed. "ARE YOU DOING?"
"I-I was just!" Lucifer stammered, his gold blush spreading rapidly from his cheeks down to his chest, staining his pale skin a warm, honeyed hue. He tried to tug his wrists free, but Alastor’s grip was like iron, his long fingers locking around the King's wrists with an effortless strength. "Okay, fine! I-.. thought you were asleep! And I was curious!"
"And here I thought you were the one who demanded I stay on my side of the bed. Such a hypocrite, Your Majesty."
Lucifer let out a shaky, indignant huff, his eyes darting up to Alastor's. Despite the position, despite the sheer intimidation of the Radio Demon looming over him, there was a spark of defiance in his gaze—and something else. A hunger. "Well, you're the one who's hard, you ass! Why are you hard?!"
"None of your goddamn business." The radio interference in his voice deepened to a point where his words were barely intelligible.
"It does if it's in my bed, you red fucking deer!" Lucifer snapped.
Alastor didn't let go of Lucifer's wrists; instead, he leaned down, his face inches from the King’s. "My business," Alastor purred, his voice dropping, "is whatever I decide it to be."
Lucifer felt a sudden, sharp ache between his own thighs. He stopped struggling against the grip on his wrists and instead arched his back, his chest brushing against Alastor’s suit.
"Oh, you think you're so in control," Lucifer whispered, his voice trembling but laced with a challenge. "You're just a loud-mouthed showman with a fancy microphone. What are you actually going to do about it?"
As the words left his lips, Lucifer shifted his hips, attempting to reclaim some semblance of dominance in the position. In the clumsy friction of the movement, his thigh brushed firmly against the heavy, rigid length pressing through the fabric of Alastor’s trousers. Lucifer’s breath hitched, a small, involuntary gasp escaping him as he felt majority of that pulsing weight slide against his skin.
Alastor, however, was too caught up in the theatricality of his own looming presence to notice the specific point of contact.
"Uhhhm..." Lucifer looked around the dark room, the blush on his face deepening.
"What?" Alastor raised a brow, his gaze sharpening.
"Uhhhm... you're-.. uhm- pressing into me.. down there..."
Alastor froze. He shifted his weight slightly, and as he did, the fabric containing his erection slid against the soft inner thigh of the King. He was.. painfully hard. He looked down, seeing the way Lucifer’s legs were splayed beneath him. "Then why.. do you have your legs open?"
Lucifer’s mouth fell open, a small, strangled sound escaping his throat. He looked like a deer in headlights—ironic, given the company—his eyes wide and shimmering. "Because you're pinning me down, you idiot!" He shot back.
"Actually, you can easily close your legs." And to prove his point, he released a hand to close the angel's legs together.
"How dare you!" Lucifer shrieked, though the sound was more of a breathless whine than a royal command. He didn't actually fight to keep his legs closed; instead, he instinctively hooked one of his heels around Alastor’s calf, pulling the demon closer in a clumsy, desperate attempt to regain some leverage. The movement only served to press their hips together, the friction of Alastor’s suit against the thin silk of the robe creating a friction that Alastor wanted to melt and thrust into.
"Fuuckkk.." The demon panted, his voice small. He really wanted to thrust into the feeling of that silk.
"You're... you're actually huge," Lucifer whimpered, the admission slipping out before he could censor it. "I didn't think... I mean, looking at you, I just thought..."
The compliment, however misguided and clumsy, was the final snap of the thread. Alastor swore his hips moved on their own. He started grinding, a slow, punishing thrust that drove his rigid length squarely against the heat of Lucifer’s inner thigh.
"W-woah! Ah- okay, that's-" Lucifer’s voice broke into a high, needy keen as Alastor’s hips drove forward again. The heavy, pulsing weight of the demon pressing through the fabric of his trousers and grinding directly into the sensitive junction of Lucifer’s thighs made his head hazy.
Alastor felt the air leave his lungs. Fuckkk.. why is he so soft? The friction of the silk robe was a tease, a thin, shimmering barrier that did nothing to quell the fire roaring through his veins.
And Lucifer didn't stop him, didn't even try to push him away. Instead, the King of Hell let out a shaky, shuddering breath, his head tossing back into the pillow as he let himself feel the sheer, oppressive mass of Alastor’s erection crushing into him.
"Fuck, why is this so hot?" Lucifer was panting too, his hips tilting upward to seeking more of that heavy, rhythmic pressure. "Stars... why am I letting the Radio Demon use me as a fucking rubbing post?"
Alastor was beyond the point of witty banter; he was operating on pure, predatory instinct. He shifted his weight, finally releasing Lucifer's wrists to slide one hand beneath the silk robe, his claws grazing the sensitive skin of the King's waist.
The sensation of that skin beneath his fingertips made Alastor’s vision swim. He didn't just want to grind against the silk; he wanted to feel the friction of skin on skin. With a sharp, decisive movement, Alastor gripped the lapel of the robe and yanked it wide.
Lucifer let out a startled gasp, his gold blush deepening as he felt the cool air hit his chest, followed immediately by the searing heat of Alastor’s palm pressing him flat against the mattress. He looked up at Alastor—really looked at him—and saw the hunger there.
Alastor had used his shadows to turn on the bedside lamp, and used them again to get rid of his pants and underwear. I need to feel his skin, he thought, the desperation now a physical ache that dwarfed any desire for power.
He started grinding in the same spot, but this time, there was no fabric to muffle the impact. The sensation of Alastor’s searing, velvet-hot skin slamming against his own sent a jolt of electricity straight to Lucifer’s core. He let out a loud, broken moan, his back arching off the sheets as he felt the sheer girth of the demon pressing into the crease of his thigh. It was an oppressive, heavy heat that seemed to swallow everything else in the room, leaving only the rhythmic *thump-thump-thump* of their hips colliding.
"You... you're actually insane," Lucifer gasped, his voice trembling. He reached down blindly, his fingers brushing against the lapels of Alastor's coat before hooking into the fabric and pulling the demon closer. He wanted more. He wanted to feel that pulsing weight centered and deep, not just teasing the edges of his heat. "Put that shit inside me, you freak! Stop humping me like a dog and actually do something!"
Alastor let out a shaky breath, his grin widening into something genuine. "Such an impatient little boy," he purred.
"Little boy?! Do you know how old I am, you toothpick looking-!" Alastor reached down. He didn't go for the robe again; instead, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Lucifer’s underwear and yanked them down in one decisive motion, tossing the scrap of fabric toward the foot of the bed.
"Ah- okay- I know I said for you to put it in but-.. doing this dry might tear something with your size!" Lucifer yelped, his legs kicking reflexively as Alastor’s gaze hovered over his entrance. The King’s eyes were wide, blinking rapidly, his chest heaving as he looked up at the demon.
"Okay, fair point," Alastor murmured, "I'll use my tongue, okay?"
"Huh? Your tongue?- HEY WAIT A SECOND-" Too late. Alastor already had his mouth over the man's entrance, the heat of the demon's breath ghosting over the sensitive skin.
Alastor spat onto the center of Lucifer’s opening, the sudden warmth of the saliva making the King jump. Before Lucifer could formulate a protest, Alastor’s tongue made its move.
He swiped upward, the wet, rough texture of his tongue licking a slow, deliberate line from the base of Lucifer's perineum up to the very edge of his opening. Then he swirled it, circling the tight ring of muscle before sucking firmly, creating a vacuum that made Lucifer let out a high-pitched, strangled shriek.
"Oh- fuck-!" Lucifer gasped, his fingers digging into the mattress, bunching the sheets into tight white knots.
Alastor didn't stop until he felt the King’s muscles begin to relax, the initial tension giving way to a desperate, trembling openness. He could hear the wet sounds of his own work, the sloppy, rhythmic noise of saliva and friction filling the quiet of the cabin. He looked up for a moment, seeing Lucifer’s head lolled back, his gold blush now a deep amber that coated his entire neck.
"You're... you're actually good at this," Lucifer whimpered, his voice breaking. Lucifer looked down, seeing the demon looking right back at him from between his legs.
Alastor didn't offer a verbal reply; instead, he used his long tongue to push its way inside, a slow, probing intrusion that made Lucifer’s entire body shudder. He let out a series of fragmented, needy whimpers, his hooves drumming a frantic rhythm against the mattress as he tried to find some purchase in the sheets.
"You're so tight," Alastor murmured, his voice vibrating against Lucifer's inner thigh. "A perfect, royal little fit."
He didn't linger on the foreplay for long. The pressure in his own groin had become an excruciating demand, a pulsing need that required immediate resolution. Alastor shifted, sliding his length upward until the broad, blunt head of his cock was pressed firmly against the opening he had just spent several minutes prepping.
For good measure, Alastor spat on it again, the wetness glistening in the amber glow of the lamp. He used the tip of his penis to spread it, painting the tight ring of Lucifer's heat in a fresh slick, shimmering layer.
The King was shaking, his breathing coming in short gasps. Lucifer’s eyes were unfocused. "Wait- just a second-!" Lucifer managed to choke out, his hands fluttering in the air.
"What now?" Alastor rolled his eyes but waited like he was asked, his gaze burning into Lucifer’s wide, already glassy eyes.
"Um.. I-.. I just..." Lucifer’s voice trailed off, his gaze darting away. He bit his lower lip, the blush on his face deepening. He wanted to ask, but the words felt heavy and clumsy in his throat. "Can you... kiss.. me? While you, ya'know.. go in?"
Alastor paused, his expression momentarily blank. He had expected a request for more lubrication or perhaps a plea for him to be gentle, but a kiss? The idea was almost too intimate, too domestic for the nature of their current rivalry. Yet, looking at Lucifer—trembling, exposed, and genuinely shy—the demon felt a sudden, sharp spike of possessiveness.
"A.. kiss?" Alastor repeated, the static in his voice softening. "How romantic,"
Despite the teasing tone, Alastor didn't hesitate. He shifted his weight, leaning forward to capture Lucifer’s lips in a sudden, hungry collision. It wasn't a gentle kiss either. He pressed the King's mouth firmly against his own, his long tongue sliding past Lucifer's lips to intertwine with the smaller man's forked one.
And while all that was happening up there, their lower halves were engaged in a different kind of negotiation. The moment Alastor’s tongue hooked around Lucifer’s, creating a wet, sliding friction that left the King breathless, the demon shifted his weight.
Alastor braced his arms on either side of Lucifer's head and eased his way into the tight, slick heat. Lucifer let out a muffled, high-pitched keen against Alastor’s lips as he felt the first few inches of that oppressive girth stretch him open. It was a slow, deliberate invasion, a steady pressure that seemed to fill every single available millimeter of space within the King's body.
The kiss deepened, becoming a desperate exchange of breath and saliva. "Fuckk... it's soo big.. mgghh-" Lucifer panted into the kiss, his tongue sliding frantically against Alastor’s longer, smoother one. "Mhh- you red-suited cock-monster! Why- hah- why is it always the ones like you who have a massive dick? It’s like some kind of twisted joke! You’re already an arrogant prick, now you have to go and be over-endowed too?"
The insult was breathless, delivered with a shaky giggle that vibrated against Alastor's lips. It was the only way Lucifer knew how to handle the overwhelming sensation of being filled by the one man he swore to kill; he had to lash out with his tongue to distract himself from the way his insides were being rearranged.
Alastor, for his part, found the King’s frantic rambling to be delightful. He broke the kiss. "Wow.. what insults. Lucifer, I don't even use this body part as much as you think," he murmured. He didn't mean that he abstained from pleasure—far from it—but the act of penetration had always felt like a secondary detail to the overall experience. To Alastor, the real pleasure lay in the reaction: the gasps, the loss of composure, the way a proud man crumbled into a heap of needy shivers. The physical act of sliding in was merely the delivery system for the psychological victory.
But tonight it was an equal match, one didn't outweigh the other.
"Yeah.. kinda expected- hah.. you to be a virgin," Lucifer wheezed, though the jab lost its sting as he arched his back, his hips instinctively tilting upward to welcome the intrusion.
Alastor’s grin sharpened. "A virgin? Your lack of faith in my experience is almost as insulting as your choice in clothes, Lucifer." To punish the comment, Alastor didn't slide in slowly. He shifted his grip on the mattress and drove the rest of his cock into that tight, welcoming heat in one singular thrust.
Not only the reaction it produced from the angel, but the physical sensation of those wall enveloping and squeezing him was an absolute revelation. "Holy... heavens you are... tight," Alastor groaned, the radio static in his voice deepening.
Lucifer’s response was not a word, but a high-pitched sound that started as a yelp and ended as a strangled, breathless sob. For a moment, the King of Hell simply forgot how to breathe, his lungs locking up as his body struggled to process the sensation of being completely occupied.
His legs were shaking harder now, the hooves drumming a frantic beat against the mattress as he tried to find a center of gravity that no longer existed.
Alastor stayed still for a moment, his chest heaving, letting the sensation sink in. The silence of the cabin was replaced by the heavy, wet sound of their bodies fused together and the erratic gasps of the man beneath him. He could feel the way Lucifer’s internal muscles were pulsing around him, a rhythmic clenching that felt like a thousand tiny mouths trying to taste him.
"You're... you're actually in there," Lucifer whimpered, his eyes drifting closed. "You're... all the way... oh stars, you're so deep."
Alastor’s gaze softened, though his grin remained predatory. The sight of the King of Hell reduced to a trembling mess beneath him was more intoxicating than any drink or entertainment he’d had in a decade. He didn't want to let the moment linger in stillness; the pressure in his groin was a screaming demand for movement.
He began to pull back, sliding out slowly, the friction of his girth dragging against the sensitive walls of Lucifer’s heat. The sound was a wet, sliding squelch that echoed in the small room. Lucifer let out a long, needy whine, his hips instinctively following the movement, refusing to let the warmth leave.
Just as Lucifer began to whimper at the loss of the fullness, Alastor slammed back in. The squeezing of the man's walls was an addictive vice, and Alastor responded by doing it again but with more speed.
The rhythm became a frantic, driving force, the bedframe groaning under the sudden intensity. Alastor wasn't just sliding into him; he was claiming him, each thrust a blunt punctuation mark on the end of their long-standing rivalry. The wet, slapping sound of their pelvic bones colliding echoed through the cabin, a percussive symphony that drowned out everything but the sound of their shared, ragged breathing.
Lucifer's head tossed from side to side on the bed, his eyes rolling back as the momentum of Alastor’s pace pushed him further and further into the mattress.
The blond held on the man's shoulders for dear life, his fingers digging into the fabric of Alastor's coat as he was used like a ragdoll.
"S-stop- wait-!" Lucifer gasped, though his hips were betraying him, arching upward to meet every single plunge. Suddenly the angle was perfect. "Oh-.. hah- mmggg- keep hitting that- ugg- spot!-"
In response, the demon held the angle and started pumping his hips rougher. The head of his cock that was directly slamming into the sensitive nerve cluster stayed for longer, grinding into the spot with an even heavier amount of pressure.
Alastor felt a surge of smug satisfaction that nearly eclipsed the physical pleasure of the act. As he watched Lucifer’s eyes glaze over, the King's mind clearly fragmented by the force of the impact, the Radio Demon couldn’t help but think of that silicone trinket he’d discovered in the luggage. It was a quaint little thing, really—a cold, static object that could only mimic the rhythm of pleasure without the soul behind it. Alastor, however, was providing a symphony. He was a living, breathing conductor of the King's undoing, and the sheer superiority of flesh over plastic was a victory more delicious than any meal he'd ever consumed.
Surely, Alastor thought, his grin widening as he felt the internal walls of the other man clench in a desperate, starving grip, no amount of synthetic molding could ever hope to compete with this.
Alastor noticed the vulnerability of that throat—the way Lucifer’s pulse hammered against the surface of his skin. Driven by a sudden, territorial urge, the demon leaned down and buried his face in the crook of the King's neck.
Alastor clamped down firmly, his teeth sinking into the soft, pale expanse of Lucifer’s shoulder. Alastor lingered there, sucking a deep, bruising circle into the white skin, his tongue swirling around the wound to soothe the sting while his teeth continued to scrape and tug. It wasn't enough to mark a single spot either.
He filled every inch of the man's shoulder with those deep, hungry marks, treating the King’s skin like a canvas for his own brand of ownership. Alastor shifted his focus, moving his mouth to the slope of Lucifer’s neck, where the pulse was most frantic.
Lucifer let out a broken, melodic sound. He tried to push Alastor’s head away, but his hands had no strength; they merely fluttered against the red fabric of the coat, eventually settling on the back of Alastor’s head to pull him closer. "You... you're such a... greedy animal," Lucifer whimpered, his voice barely a whisper as his head lolled back, exposing more of his neck for the taking.
And take the man did. Alastor’s teeth found a particularly sensitive patch of skin just below the jawline, clamping down with a firm, possessive pressure. And that was at the same time Alastor slammed hone, right into that sweet spot again.
"MHH- HOLY MOTHER OF-!" Lucifer’s voice peaked into a strangled shriek, his entire body stiffening as the dual sensation of the bite and the deep, crushing thrust collided.
And to make the onslaught even worse (or better), Alastor’s hand wrapped around the base of Lucifer’s smaller, trembling length, providing a rhythmic, squeezing pressure that synchronized with the punishing drive of his hips.
"Fuuckk- mm!- No- I-.. I'm gonna cum!" Lucifer's hands held on for dear life, fingers curling tightly into the red fabric of Alastor's coat as the pressure mounted. The feeling of Alastor's hand squeezing his own length was the final, devastating blow, sending waves of heat crashing throughout his body.
Alastor didn't let up; if anything, the sight of the King orgasming only spurred him on. He increased the pace, his hips becoming a blur of motion, the wet, slapping sound of their impact echoing in the small cabin. He wanted to leave Lucifer breathless, spent, and utterly marked. He shifted his mouth, abandoning the neck for a moment to trail a path of wet, searing kisses down toward the collarbone, punctuating each one with a sharp nip.
He switched to the other side of Lucifer’s neck, his teeth sinking in deep enough to leave a mark that would last for days.
Alastor’s hand was covered in the blond's cum, the slick heat of it acting as a lubricant as he continued to massage the base of Lucifer's length, refusing to let the King drift away into the afterglow. His insides clenched beautifully too, the walls of Lucifer's heat pulsing in rhythmic spasms that threatened to pull Alastor over the edge as well.
Alastor felt the surge begin in the base of his spine, a violent, electric tension that demanded release. He didn't pull back to build momentum; he didn't want a single millimeter of space between them. Instead, he locked his arms, pinning Lucifer’s shoulders deep into the mattress, and drove forward one last time with everything he had.
The impact was seismic. Lucifer let out a moan that started in his chest and ended in a breathless, shattered gasp, his eyes fluttering closed as the world narrowed down to the point where Alastor’s massive girth met his most sensitive depths.
His eyes flickered into radio dials, his antlers growing, and the radio interference in his voice reached a distorted, screaming pitch as he let out a guttural groan.
Alastor had just stuffed the king of hell with his fawn.
The silence that followed was filled only by the ragged, synchronized gasps of two powerful beings who had finally stopped fighting with words and started fighting with their bodies.
The sheer volume of Alastor’s hot, thick release filled the King so completely that a small, white string leaked out around the base of the demon's dick, dripping down onto the mattress.
Alastor held the position for a long moment, his chest heaving against Lucifer’s, his face still buried in the curve of the King’s shoulder. The radio dials in his eyes slowly faded back into their normal red, and his antlers shrunk back to their subtle, manageable size.
Lucifer lay completely limp beneath him, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths. His body was covered in a mix of sweat, his own cum, and the bruised bite marks that Alastor had left along his neck and shoulders. He looked utterly wrecked—a mess of blonde hair and flushed skin.
"Well..." Alastor’s voice crackled softly, the radio interference returning to its usual, polite level. He slowly began to pull back, sliding out of the tight, slick heat with a wet *pop* that made Lucifer let out a soft, unconscious whimpering noise. "That was... a very productive use of our time."
Lucifer didn't answer right away. He just stared at the wooden ceiling of the cabin, his eyes wide and glassy, his mouth slightly open. After a few seconds, he slowly rolled his head to the side to look at Alastor, who was already calmly sitting up on the edge of the bed, wiping his hands on a nearby towel.
"You..." Lucifer croaked, his voice raspy and completely shot. "You are an absolute, terrifying monster."
"I am a gentleman," Alastor corrected smoothly, standing up and adjusting his suit jacket, completely ignoring the fact that he was still entirely bare from the waist down. He glanced back down at the bed, his grin widening slightly. "And it appears my... fawn... was quite effective."
Lucifer groaned loudly, covering his face with both hands. "Don't call it that! Oh, stars, don't ever call it that again, I'm going to throw up." But despite his words, the King didn't look angry. In fact, a faint, contented smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He let his hands drop, looking up at the demon with a tired, lingering gaze. "I can't move my legs."
"An unfortunate side effect of your hasty choices," Alastor replied mildly, though he extended a hand down toward the King anyway.
Lucifer stared at the clawed hand for a second before reaching out and taking it, letting Alastor haul his dead-weight body up into a sitting position. The moment he sat up, the silk robe slipped completely off his shoulders, and the sticky mess between his thighs made him wince.
"Ugh, gross," Lucifer muttered. "I need another bath."
"And who's fault is that?" Alastor purred, leaning down to scoop his trousers off the floor.
"Yours! You're the one who decided to turn me into a sticky mess!" Lucifer snapped back. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet barely touching the rug, and huffed. "Help me up, toothpick. I'm not crawling to the tub."
Alastor scoffed lightly, but to his own quiet surprise, he didn't refuse. He stepped forward, slinging one of Lucifer's arms over his broad shoulder and supporting the King's waist as they slowly made their way toward the bathroom door.
---
The morning sun broke through the canopy of trees, casting long streaks across the wooden porch of the cabin.
The forest was remarkably quiet, save for the rhythmic, soothing scrape of a rocking chair and the distant bird.
Alastor sat on the porch, his long legs crossed comfortably at the knee, a freshly poured cup of black coffee resting on the small table beside him.
He was dressed impeccably in a fresh, crisp suit—not a single wrinkle in sight, his red hair smoothed back into its normal sleek style. He took a slow, appreciative sip of his coffee, gazing out at the lush, green woods of the Pride Ring's hidden campground.
The front screen door gave a loud, metallic squeak as it was kicked open.
Lucifer shuffled out onto the porch, looking like a vastly different creature than the King of Hell who had arrived twenty-four hours prior. He was wearing an oversized, floppy sunhat, a pair of dark sunglasses (that were hilariously taped to his face), and a pair of ridiculously baggy yellow board shorts that threatened to slide off his hips. In his arms, he was carefully balancing a large, flat cardboard box.
"Move your feet, tall guy," Lucifer grunted, using his elbow to nudge Alastor's cane out of the way before flopping unceremoniously into the adjacent rocking chair.
Alastor glanced sideways over the top of his coffee mug, his eyebrow twitching slightly at the King's outfit. "I see you've decided to embrace the local aesthetics."
"Shut up, it's comfortable," Lucifer grumbled, pulling off his sunglasses (the tape) and setting the cardboard box on his lap. He flipped the lid open with a flourish, revealing a massive, half-assembled wooden duck house kit. "And for your information, Charlie told me there's a family of mallards down by the lake, and they deserve proper housing."
Alastor lowered his mug, staring in utter disbelief at the collection of miniature planks, tiny brass screws, and small bottles of wood glue scattered inside the box. "You brought a... craft project. On a vacation."
"I brought three craft projects," Lucifer corrected proudly, pointing a finger back toward the cabin. "Why do you think I brought three suitcases?”
Alastor froze mid-sip. His mind instantly flashed back to the long, smooth, bright pink object he had found zipped tightly into the dark compartment of that third suitcase yesterday evening. He set his coffee cup down very slowly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the King's totally innocent, bright expression.
"...The third suitcase?" Alastor asked carefully, his radio voice clipping with a sudden, tense spike of static. "Three?”
"Yeah!" Lucifer said, already pulling out a tiny tube of wood glue and a miniature wooden roof panel. He squirted a blob of glue onto the edge. "I brought my acrylics, my sanding blocks, and my giant pink silicone grout smoother!"
Alastor stared. The silence on the porch stretched out for five long, agonized seconds.
"Your... what?"
"My grout smoother." Lucifer repeated, looking up at him like he was an idiot. "For the seams! You know, when you build the little custom pond fountains? You gotta smooth the waterproof sealant down, otherwise it looks all clumpy and ugly. It’s got that long, curved handle so you don't get glue on your hands." Lucifer paused, squinting at Alastor’s frozen, wide-eyed expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
The demon opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "I... may or may not have been snooping through your luggage yesterday.. and I thought it was... a different kind of tool."
Lucifer stared at him for two seconds. Then, he looked down at the tiny wood glue bottle in his hand. Then, he looked back at Alastor's tense posture, remembering the way the demon had sprinted into the bathroom the night before, and the way he had kept staring at the luggage with an utterly baffled expression.
Lucifer’s face went completely blank, his eyes going wide as saucers under his massive sunhat. A slow, golden flush crept up his neck, followed immediately by the most obnoxious, wheezing laugh that had ever escaped a celestial being's lungs.
"NO!" Lucifer shrieked, dropping his little wooden roof panel back into the box as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. "NO WAY! YOU THOUGHT- OH MY GOD! YOU THOUGHT IT WAS A DILDO?!"
"I did not-" Alastor snapped, his ears flattening instantly against his head.
"YOU DID! YOU TOTAL FREAK!" Lucifer was cackling so hard he was gasping for oxygen, his rocking chair swaying precariously back and forth. "YOU SAW A NINE-INCH SILICONE GROUT SMOOTHER AND YOUR FIRST THOUGHT WAS 'AH YES, THE KING'S BEDTIME TOY'! YOU PERVERT!"
"It was an honest mistak-"
"YOU WERE JEALOUS OF A PIECE OF HARDWARE!" Lucifer shrieked, wiping a tear of pure, unadulterated joy from his eye. "YOU WERE COMPETITIVE WITH A CRAFTING TOOL!"
"I assure you, I was no such thing!" Alastor’s voice boomed with a burst of radio static, the pitch rising until the nearby trees trembled and a flock of Hell-crows scattered into the sky. His crimson eyes flashed, dark dials spinning frantically where his pupils should be, and his shadow stretched long and menacing across the porch planks.
Lucifer didn't look even remotely intimidated. He just slapped his knee, nearly tipping his oversized sunhat right off his head, and howled louder. "Oh, don't give me that demonic shit now! You literally jumped my bones because you thought you had to prove a point to nine inches of bright pink rubber!"
"It was a reasonable assumption given the... other abhorrent garments in your luggage!" Alastor hissed, leaning forward, his fingers curling tight around the handle of his cane. "What, pray tell, is your excuse for the pink bikini?"
Lucifer’s laughter came to a grinding halt, his mouth hanging open in a small, stunned 'o'. "What? I look hot in it, okay? It’s a limited edition from the Lust Ring!"
Alastor let out a sharp, nasal huff, the radio static in his voice evening out. "I doubt you would look good in it. You're so tiny and thin, you'd simply slip right out of the thing."
Lucifer’s indignation returned in a flash. He puffed out his chest, leaning back in the rocking chair with a huff of pride. "Excuse me? I am the pinnacle of divine design! My proportions are perfect, thank you very much."
Alastor’s gaze drifted downward, his eyes lingering on the way the baggy yellow shorts clung to Lucifer’s narrow waist. The image of the King in something far more revealing flickered through his mind, and a slow, dangerous smile crept back onto his face. "Is that so? Perhaps a demonstration is in order. I don't think I can let a claim of 'perfect proportions' go unchallenged."
Lucifer blinked, his golden blush deepening as he realized the direction the conversation was swinging. He tried to maintain his indignant posture, but his voice betrayed him, dropping an octave into something far more breathless. "Hah? You think you can handle a demonstration? You're still recovering from your 'competition' with the grout smoother, Toothpick!"
But... after little convincing, Lucifer was putting on that pink bikini.
Alastor waited outside the cabin, still in his rocking chair, though his posture had shifted from relaxed to predatory. He didn't look back toward the door; he simply listened. The sounds of rustling fabric and the occasional frustrated huff of the King of Hell echoed from inside, punctuated by the distinct snap of an elastic strap.
When the screen door finally slid open, the silence that followed was absolute.
Lucifer stepped out onto the porch. The pink bikini was, as advertised, a limited edition from the Lust Ring—composed of shimmering, iridescent fabric that left almost nothing to the imagination and clung to his pale curves with a desperate, vacuum-sealed intensity. The top was a mere suggestion of coverage, and the bottom was a thin strip of neon pink that accentuated the curve of his hips and the small, neat dip of his waist.
The man put his hands on his hips, posing with a defiant tilt of his chin. The sunlight caught the iridescent shimmer of the material, highlighting the softness of his thighs and the slight, trembling curve of his stomach.
Alastor didn't move. He didn't even blink. He simply sat in the rocking chair, his gaze traveling in a slow, methodical circuit from the tip of Lucifer’s hooves up to the defiant set of his jaw.
"Hm. It seems I was wrong." Alastor tapped his chin with a clawed finger. "You don't slip out of it at all. In fact, it clings to you with a quite... admirable tenacity."
Lucifer’s chest puffed out, a smug, golden blush blooming across his cheeks. "Ha! I knew it! I told you my proportions were perfect! Now, admit it, Toothpick. You're absolutely mesmerized!"
Alastor was mesmerized, though he would sooner swallow his own tongue than admit the King of Hell had such a devastating effect on his composure.
"You know," Lucifer started, his voice regaining that mischievous, singsong quality as he stepped closer to Alastor, the iridescent pink fabric shimmering with every swaying movement of his hips. "I actually packed a matching set in red."
Alastor’s expression froze. He looked at the King, then looked down at his own impeccably tailored suit, and then looked back at the shimmering scrap of pink fabric clinging to Lucifer’s frame. The mental image of himself—the Radio Demon, the terror of Hell—stepping out in a red string bikini was a cognitive dissonance so severe it nearly short-circuited his internal radio.
"I," Alastor began, "would sooner set myself on fire than don a piece of string."