Alastor chooses the battlefield carefully, fine-tuning his strategy until he can be reasonably sure of his success.
Lucifer has withdrawn to his rooms around eleven in the evening, and Alastor heads down the corridor with the book under his hand, staff held upright in the other; at 5 minutes to midnight.
An auspicious hour, a quiet evening, and a grand plan.
Alastor positions himself in front of Lucifer's doors, down on one knee in the manner of a most contrite worshipper – head down, book held close to his chest in his left hand, and his staff upright against the floor. Alastor can only hope it evokes the image of a gallant knight, ready for his sovereign's orders.
He uses his shadow to rap against the door in the same pattern he has previously. When there's no immediate answer, he doesn't move from his position. It wouldn't do to appear impatient now. The other side of the door is deadly quiet. Could Lucifer already be asleep?
No matter. Alastor isn't moving. If anyone chances upon him, he has an excuse at the ready, just in case.
He is about to knock again when the door opens up before him, offering the view of the floor and black polished boots with Lucifer's usual heel. Alastor wills his shadows to melt entirely back into his body and waits.
"You." is the only response he gets. He cannot see Lucifer's expression, but the tone is eloquent enough, brimming with disdain as it is.
Alastor remains mute and unmoving, his heart beating furiously against the cool leather binding of his book, the glove of his right hand creaking as it grips his staff tighter. It is his spear, his sword, his pen. He will banish it for Lucifer, but not before being acknowledged first.
"What is this? What are you playing at right now?"
"It is no play," Alastor assures him, and he means it.
Lucifer sighs in exasperation. "Why are you here?"
Alastor takes a fortifying breath. "I have come to request an audience with you, your Majesty."
Lucifer snorts above him, entirely incredulous of Alastor's motives.
"Ha! The day you address me with respect is the day pigs fly!"
Alastor has to bite his tongue not to mention Angel Dust's little pet.
"That matter is precisely why I have come here today." Alastor says seriously. "I have come to apologize for my previous instances of disrespect."
"Instances!" Lucifer spits out. "How about the entirety of your conduct as a whole?"
Alastor supposes he deserves that. He bows his head another fraction. "You are correct."
"What do you want?" Lucifer's tone is aggravated and Alastor can tell his patience is running dangerously low.
"I wish to make amends." Alastor says earnestly.
Lucifer shifts before him. "Now, why don't I believe you?"
Alastor breathes past the rising upset in his chest. This will not be easy. The fledgling trust he had been trying to cultivate with the Lord of Hell seems to be entirely broken.
"You may demand whatever you wish of me."
"I demanded not to have to suffer seeing you anymore, and yet, here you are!"
"Pardon me if I'm mistaken, but your exact wording was that you would not call on me until I have learned a modicum of respect. Which is precisely what I am attempting to demonstrate."
"You think respect means lying prostrate in front of me? The fuck, Alastor."
Alastor finally gazes up, unable to help his confused expression.
"Oh my goodness," Lucifer says, visibly taken aback. Alastor drinks in his angelic countenance like a man deprived of oxygen. "You are actually serious."
Alastor is at a complete lack of words. Isn't this what Lucifer wanted?
"I come bearing gifts," Alastor attempts, feeling very wrong-footed all of a sudden.
Lucifer's gaze flits to the book, then back up at Alastor's face.
With an irritated huff, Lucifer moves to the side and flicks his hand towards his room. "For fuck's sake, get off the floor and come in."
Alastor does as he was commanded and springs to his feet. He's in! With his foot in the door, things will go much smoother, though he must remain vigilant. One misstep and it will be game over.
"You came to state your case, I suppose?" Lucifer asks, standing next to his armchair, the very image of a bored monarch.
"Indeed," Alastor confirms.
"Get on with it, if you must." Lucifer motions to the other chair. "And please sit down so we can have a civilized conversation."
Is Lucifer's neck getting tired from looking up into the stratosphere?
Alastor obliges with a polite inclination of his head and banishes his staff before sitting down. Lucifer remains standing. Alastor can't tell whether that's a power play, or the angel is simply feeling uncomfortable in his presence. Likely a combination of the two.
Alastor places the book on the table and carefully slides it Lucifer's way. "Here."
Lucifer picks it up as gingerly as he would a live grenade.
His black, nimble fingers crack the spine open. Alastor suppresses a shudder.
Lucifer reads blandly: "The private memoirs of a justified sinner, written by himself…" Slit pupils refocus on Alastor. "What is this?"
"A novel by James Hogg."
Lucifer blinks, an irritated slant to his mouth conveying the full brunt of his displeasure. "I see that. That wasn't what I asked."
Alastor pauses. It wouldn't do to say the wrong thing now. As politely as he's able, he inquires: "Would you mind rephrasing the question?"
Lucifer looks at the book in his hands, frowns, then looks up at Alastor with undisguised suspicion. "What are you trying to accomplish with this…gift of yours?"
"You enjoy literature."
"Occasionally."
"Your bookshelf is rather empty."
"Maybe I prefer it that way."
"It's a first edition. Only nine hundred copies were made, and only three hundred of those sold. It's rare."
"Do I look like a hoarding dragon to you?" Lucifer asks deadpan, one of his black brows quirked up. When he sees the twitch on Alastor's face, he gets flustered. "Don't answer that!"
"It reminded me of you." Alastor shrugs, trying to portray an image of nonchalance as he inspects the tips of his right glove.
"Did it, now? And who am I supposed to be in this story?"
"Why, yourself!"
Lucifer offers naught but a dubious look. "I find that really hard to believe."
"It is about Lucifer, ruler of Hell."
"Ha! So-called ruler, you mean." Lucifer shoots him with a venomous glare. Ah, so he is still resentful. How gratifying.
"I regret my choice of words."
Lucifer gently closes the book and shoots him a poignant look. "No you don't."
"I most assuredly do."
Lucifer strolls to his desk and deposits the book on top of it. There a desk lamp that wasn't there before, as well as a smattering of papers.
"You regret the consequences, not the actual words."
"I am capable of both," Alastor gambles.
Lucifer laughs outright from across the room. "You seriously think I'd believe that? Out of your mouth?"
The mention of his mouth makes Alastor recall things that are supremely unhelpful in the situation. Unbidden, his gaze drifts to Lucifer's mocking lips.
"I suppose I am not surprised," Alastor admits in a reconciliatory manner." I wasn't exactly…forthcoming with you."
"Oh, and you plan to start now?" Lucifer says mockingly.
Alastor straight up asks. "Would you be willing to give me a second chance?"
Lucifer's face is torn between incredulity and amusement as he crosses his arms (rolled down sleeves, what a pity).
"A second chance to do what? Insult me some more? I'm not that much of a masochist, thank you."
"I can promise not to intentionally insult you in the future?"
"What about unintentionally?" Lucifer grimaces. "Besides, your promises are worth shit."
"A deal would be binding." Alastor reminds him.
Lucifer steps closer and stops only a few paces away. "Because you did so great upholding the last one."
Alastor sighs. He really didn't want to resort to this, but it seems as though he's left no other option.
"You made a stipulation that forced me to speak the truth. You could always do it again."
Lucifer inhales, clearly weighing what he's just heard. Alastor's eyes linger on Lucifer's effortlessly tousled hair and the way it brushes his bared neck. His teeth ache at the sight. Just beyond that flimsy barrier of pallid skin lies the elixir of life. Alastor's tongue tingles at the memory of it.
Lucifer finally heads towards the abandoned armchair and sits down. He lounges with legs spread, resting the ankle of his left leg atop his right knee, fingers of his right arm tapping lightly against the upholstered armrest. His left hand is casually draped over his left knee.
"So, what is it exactly that you're proposing?" Lucifer asks.
Alastor raises his hand, showing three fingers. "Three questions I am obliged to answer truthfully."
"And in return?"
"Nothing."
"You don't do anything for free." Lucifer remarks shrewdly, eyes narrowing in scrutiny.
"Would it put your mind more at ease?"
"Perhaps."
"Then I'm doing it for that."
"A one-and-done kind of deal?" Lucifer asks.
Alastor wants so badly to say yes, but he can tell that Lucifer clearly needs a better incentive to consider the deal. "Three questions a day for the next three days."
"Make that in perpetuity and you have a deal."
Alastor's eyes widen and he jerks forward in his chair. "Forever?" He hisses. "No."
"You put a high number on your life expectancy, don't you?" Lucifer smirks at him.
"Not many can kill me," Alastor says proudly. And you're not allowed to either, remains unspoken.
"Ten years," Lucifer counter-offers.
"Two months," Alastor haggles.
"A year or you can leave my room right now." Lucifer draws the line, his smile smug and uncompromising.
A year… is way too long. A year is an eternity with truth on the line. A full year is plenty of time for Alastor to make a mistake in his wording and get punished severely for it.
"What happened to 'I may demand anything I wish', hm? Your conviction didn't last very long."
"And hearing the truth from me for a full year is what you wish?"
"I would make it so you aren't able to lie to me at all, but I have a feeling you would spontaneously combust if I tried, since you seem to be allergic to the concept."
Alastor swallows. That…is not an entirely inaccurate assessment, loath as he is to admit it.
"Therefore," Lucifer goes on, gesturing regally with his left hand. "I am willing to accept a mere trickle of truth from you daily for a measly year, and you're still not satisfied?"
"Is there no way to negotiate it down further?" Alastor asks, trying to hide his mounting desperation, gripping the fabric of his trousers under the table.
Lucifer laughs, head thrown back, his golden hair falling around his face with a flutter. When he graces Alastor with his gaze once more, he feels a shiver down his spine.
"You are welcome to try and sweeten the pot." Lucifer brings the black fingers of his left hand to his lips and bites the knuckle of his index finger in a cocky gesture. His wedding band glistens obnoxiously. "If you dare, that is."
The way Lucifer says it sounds…infuriatingly sexual. Even more infuriatingly, there's a subtle throb below Alastor's belt.
"I have stated what I wanted," Alastor says calmly.
Lucifer snorts, endlessly amused by the proceedings. "No, you have only walked around what you wanted. And now you want me to do all the work for you? "
"I wouldn't dare." Alastor says demurely.
"That would be a first." Lucifer says blankly.
Alastor is fast running out of options. What would Lucifer even want from him? Alastor isn't powerful enough to be of any practical use to Lucifer, and besides, he didn't exactly wish to be anyone's servant in the first place. Being an unwilling servant to one master is already bad enough; Alastor has no desire to compound the issue further.
"We can dance whenever you want."
Lucifer gives him a bemused look. "That's already covered in the terms of our original deal. I can ask you to entertain me anytime I want."
Alastor feels rising panic in his gut. What else can he offer? What else can he tempt Lucifer with?
"In fact, I could order you to do whatever I wanted right now and you wouldn't be able to refuse." Lucifer says with a sneaky, self-satisfied smile.
Alastor barely dares pose the question."Like what?"
"Like making you go apologize to my daughter for roping her into a deal."
"That's not covered by the terms of our arrangement," Alastor says, feeling a constraining tightness in his chest.
"It would entertain me, therefore it's covered." Lucifer says with a demonic gleam in his eyes. "Why, do you want to test it?"
There are fewer things Alastor would like less, and incurring Lucifer's wrath seems like a disastrous idea, considering the past month.
"No, that will not be necessary."
"You are aware, I hope, of just how incredibly lenient I've been with the terms of our deal?"
"I am starting to," Alastor squeezes out.
"I could have made you strip naked in front of everyone at dinner, if I so wished."
"I am glad you haven't." Alastor says truthfully, breath coming shallow.
"I could have made you crawl for me on all fours if I wanted."
Alastor grips his thighs under the table, claws threatening to rend fabric. "I admire your restraint."
"I could have made you my whore."
Bile rises in Alastor's throat and he forces it down, but it burns; it burns so much and he wants to vomit the small amount of food he's managed to eat for dinner.
"So, tell me." Lucifer regards him with a look that could cut through glass. "Why haven't I done so?"
Alastor shivers in his seat. The squirm of terror is back and he wants to flee, but knows if he does so, he will never be admitted back into these rooms again.
"Because I disgust you?" Alastor attempts to deliver it with an utter lack of concern, but even to his own ears, it sounds pitifully strained.
"You don't disgust me all the time. It's your behavior that disgusts me."
Ah, that is…marginally better.
"So, would you care to venture a guess? As to why I haven't done any of those things to you?"
Not for lack of ideas, clearly, Alastor thinks. It's not as comforting a thought as he'd like.
"Because it doesn't interest you?" Alastor asks, trying not to appear too hopeful.
Lucifer laughs through a wide grin, a deep and throaty sound befitting of the deepest pits of Hell.
"Oh, it interests me a great deal."
Alastor's smile drops almost entirely.
"But if I did all of the above, I'd be no better than all the scum in the streets below." Lucifer motions towards the window. "I don't do it, because it's not in my nature. Unless someone were to force my hand, that is. Do you want to force my hand, Alastor?"
"No," Alastor says in defeat, "I do not."
"Stupendous." Lucifer's manic grin drops. "You know, I never had any plans of mistreating you. But plans can change."
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
Lucifer shrugs. "Whichever you prefer? Ordinarily I'd say – whichever you'd respond to better – but we both know the answer to that."
"I can learn," Alastor attempts to persuade.
"For your sake, I hope that's true." Lucifer says calmly, but he seems unconvinced.
Ah. Most definitely a threat, then.
As far as Alastor can see, there's only one last card to play. The discomfort it brings him is immense, but the thought of Lucifer staying forever beyond his grasp is inconceivable.
"I will… let you touch me."
It's the first time this evening that he's managed to discompose Lucifer, who seems genuinely surprised by the offer. "But…you hate being touched."
Alastor attempts to gather himself. "I do."
"Why would you let me, then? I told you I have no intention of forcing anyone into a sexual arrangement they're not explicitly interested in."
Alastor wants to tear his hair out in frustration. "I am… not uninterested."
"Wow." Lucifer deadpans, both arms dropping off the arm rests to flop by his sides. "What an enthusiastic way to consent."
"What am I supposed to say?" Alastor says, supremely aggravated.
"You're supposed to be honest about what you want or this will never work, that's what!" Lucifer yells at him at a volume Alastor is sure carried down the hallway. "You contrary, impossible… fuck!"
Alastor leans further back into his chair and closes his eyes. So it has come to this.
Entirely out of options, he murmurs. "A year it is. I'll agree to your terms."
Lucifer remains mute.
Alastor chances a look at him. "Unless you're rescinding your offer."
"I really don't understand how your mind works." Lucifer looks at him, utterly exasperated.
Small mercies, Alastor thinks.
"Well?" Alastor prompts, too impatient not to.
"Let me think, damn it!" Lucifer cries out, irritated, and folds his hands in his lap.
Alastor really doesn't want Lucifer to keep thinking about anything, lest he come up with something even worse than before. The varied and rather colorful threats he heaped upon Alastor tonight are still rattling unpleasantly in his skull, each more humiliating than the next.
He needs to distract Lucifer. Or tip the scales in his favor somehow.
There's always the music he had as an ace in his sleeve, a violin piece that might be right up Lucifer's alley. He was saving it for a special occasion, but if that occasion never comes, it will simply be wasted.
"Would you mind if I put on some music?" Alastor says guilelessly.
Lucifer spares him a scathing look. "You prepared something, didn't you?"
"I might have…" Alastor admits, playing into the mystery of it.
Lucifer breathes in. "Fine, let's hear it then."
Alastor doesn't break eye contact as Lucifer's mint condition cathedral radio comes alight, the first lugubrious notes of a violin sonata sailing through the air above them . Lucifer looks away, trying to think and for a long, terrifying moment, Alastor fears he's failed utterly once again.
Lucifer frowns, blinks a few times and finally – listens.
"Wait… that's awfully familiar."
Alastor allows him to stew in it for a minute longer before volunteering the name. "It's Tartini."
"Giuseppe?" Lucifer's brows rise." The violinist?"
"One and the same," Alastor confirms. He fervently hopes the bait has been swallowed.
Lucifer's face slowly morphs into something soft and full of wonder. "…it worked." He leans against the left armrest, knuckles covering his lips as he absorbs the music. "I can't believe it worked!"
"What worked?" Alastor asks cautiously.
Lucifer swats at the air with a brusque "Shh!" and refocuses on what he's hearing. He seems to recognize the melody, swaying slightly to it, but still gets surprised by the occasional note or chord progression. "It's a bit different than I remember…"
Alastor absorbs the strange sentence and attempts to parse it. It worked? What worked? Alastor did some research on this piece, since it's called The Devil's Trill and that's when it hits him like a ton of bricks. The story of the composition's inception…
"Tartini claimed a devil came to him in a dream and he handed him his violin. The devil played the most sublime melody; that upon waking Tartini couldn't accurately transcribe, and was utterly vexed by it. It is said he was deeply disappointed over not being able to capture its likeness."
"It's… close." Lucifer admits. "This rendition is too mellow. There's supposed to be more energy to it – more vibrancy. And it's not supposed to be so…desperate."
Alastor cannot hold back his curiosity any longer. "Did you actually come to him in a dream?"
"I have." Lucifer confirms in wonderment. "I didn't think he would remember. He wept for joy in his dream, I was so…" Overcome by the sentiment, Lucifer falls quiet once more, absorbed in the melody he'd apparently bestowed upon a mortal, centuries ago.
"Happy." Alastor finishes for him. "You were happy."
Lucifer's smile is one of heartbreak and delight. "Yes. I was."
Alastor cannot say he fully understands the sentiment, but on Lucifer, it doesn't look too bad.
"He claimed he made a deal for his soul in his dream." Alastor points out.
"Hah! No, he offered his soul, but I refused him. There was no pact."
"You chose to inspire him instead?" For free? That's not something Alastor can comprehend.
"He was struggling with inspiration." Lucifer says simply. "And I enjoyed his music."
"So, it was for purely self-serving reasons?" Alastor extrapolates.
Lucifer laughs, shaking his head. "You can look at it that way, I suppose."
"I wouldn't mind hearing you play," Alastor blurts out before he can think better of it.
The violin plays a frenetic staccato and Lucifer gives him a devilish grin. With a snap of his fingers, he summons a golden violin and jumps to his feet, brandishing the instrument under his chin.
He counts a few beats and then puts his bow to the strings. He plays around Tartini's melody, enhancing it, sometimes in major thirds, sometimes in perfect fifths, here and there adding vivacious trills, making it come fully alive. If the human violinist is masterful, Lucifer's playing cannot be described in any way other than divinely-inspired. Unlike the composition, which is filled with romantic, heart-wrenching turns of musical phrase, Lucifer's additions make it exultant – like a choir of demons in flight – like a holy war – like a swift and heroic death. Alastor can see whole armies laid to waste, and entire fields of blood sprouting beautiful silver flowers as far as the eyes can see. He can see Lucifer brandishing a slender golden spear and setting it loose until it strikes down the sun.
Lucifer's entire face is animated as he sways and moves to the music, using sharp movements to enhance the slower parts, and smoothing out the frenetic ones with elegantly long draws of his bow.
Alastor regrets not ever learning the instrument himself, but it's for the best, for no human could ever hope to match Lucifer, no matter how divinely or demonically inspired they may be.
If the original was passionate, then Lucifer's additions couldn't be described as anything short of pure ecstasy. Much like his golden blood, the sound of Lucifer's music fills Alastor with something powerful that defies common sense or rational explanation.
It's beautiful in the purest sense, like an immaculate painting. Like the first rays of dawn. Like twilight over the Bayou just before night embraces the land.
It's triumphant – like a perfect conquest – like the unification of a continent – like the most potent of pleasures.
Alastor feels as if thick golden blood is pouring down his throat and leans back in his chair, head thrown against the upholstery as he trembles. He clamps his hand over his mouth to muffle a gasp, his spine stretching sinuously.
Lucifer's eyes are closed as he performs with absolute abandon, like he was born to be God's gift to mankind.
Startled, Alastor realizes he's aroused.
Lucifer should be free.
Just like this.
And Alastor wants to throw himself at him, hands gripping the armrest so firmly he could launch himself off at any moment. The final trill echoes through the air and Alastor feels a chill traverse his entire body as the note from Lucifer's golden bow lingers in the air like perfume.
Lucifer opens his eyes, smiling from ear to ear, more joyous than Alastor has ever seen him, even in that infernal memory that he obtained nearly at the cost of his life. He is so full of life, and light, and everything that is right in the universe.
Lucifer's breathing is labored as he puts down his instrument, holding the violin and the bow by his side, smile as radiant as a knife to the gut.
"What did you think?" Lucifer asks, thrilled by his own triumph, and Alastor shares the only thought percolating in his brain.
"It was perfect. You are perfect."
Lucifer blinks, rendered speechless by the unvarnished truth. For a moment, he looks so confused, as if he isn't aware that he's just performed the most sublime piece of music known to man, when it finally occurs to him to take in the state Alastor's in – leaning forward in his chair like he wants to pounce and rip his throat out.
"Uh – thank you?"
Alastor cannot contain himself much longer. The vaunted truth he's been trying so desperately to hide pours out of him like a vicious, malevolent curse accompanied with a burst of static.
"I want you."
Lucifer's eyes go wide in shock.
Holding himself back with every fiber of his being, Alastor rises from his seat like a wraith, willing Lucifer to cast his gaze below and see that he isn't lying, for once.
A gasp is followed by widening of his eyes, as Lucifer finally notices.
"You wanted the truth," Alastor says, voice strained with desire. "There is your truth."
Lucifer flushes at the implication, something almost remorseful in his gaze as he looks away.
"Look, Alastor…" Lucifer nibbles on his lower lip in a nervous gesture. "You're very convincing, but I need to be sure."
"Then make the deal with me and you can be!" Alastor all but implores him, half-crazed with want he doesn't understand and has no idea how to guard against.
Lucifer looks up at him, flustered and uncertain. "For a full year, I can ask you three questions each day, which you must answer truthfully. And in return, our original deal may proceed anew."
"With a stipulation," Alastor pushes.
"What kind?"
"That you must call upon me at least once a week."
"Why the sudden change of heart?" Lucifer asks, visibly confused.
"The heart has nothing to do with it," Alastor insists. "Besides, it was not sudden at all. I waited for you for over a month!"
"You wish to add this stipulation to our original agreement?" Lucifer reiterates.
"Yes!" Alastor takes a step forward and stops, fingers clenching at his sides helplessly. "Do we have a deal?"
Lucifer gives him a long and assessing look, drinking in every taut line of Alastor's body, every suppressed breath, every twitch of his fingers by his side, so anxious to reach out and touch.
The violin and its bow vanish in a swirl of golden smoke.
Lucifer extends his left hand and Alastor grabs it, pulling Lucifer into himself with a startled yelp. His other hand tangles in the hair at the nape of Lucifer's neck and Alastor kisses him with every ounce of strength he possesses. The manifestation of his powers flares a noxious green and blends with the radiant halo of Lucifer's, who sublimates in his arms as the terms of their deals get carved into their souls.
The Devil's Trill begins to play on the radio anew, without Alastor's conscious input. His fingers tangle in Lucifer's hair, so soft and so sorely missed, and Alastor gorges himself on Lucifer's sweet mouth.
Gasping for air, Lucifer pulls away, flushed a fetching shade of pink and finally breaking their handhold.
"Do you actually want me?" Lucifer asks, and what a waste of a question that is, because Alastor has already told him–
"Yes," he utters feverishly, "more than anything."
"Will you really let me touch you?"
"Tonight? Yes." Alastor vows, the compulsion to be truthful loosening his tongue more than he would like. "One question left."
Lucifer ponders the question, wasting time that Alastor would rather spend drowning in the scent of his sweat and blood that's just there, so tantalizingly out of reach–
"Did I frighten you when I banished you last time?"
Alastor's throat seizes. He doesn't want to answer this. He cannot. Lucifer mustn't know how agonizing it was, how terrifying to lose all control over his form and his powers, how–
–but the compulsion tingles at the back of his neck, like an immovable shackle and the words simply come out:
"Yes – you did. I have never known such fear, in life orundeath."
He hates the truth, hates that he was forced to utter it – so humiliating! Alastor expects Lucifer will put a stop to things and he would rather have his spine broken again than leave now.
"And you still want me?" Lucifer asks dubiously.
With the compulsion lifted at last, Alastor answers with absolute conviction: "You are worth it."
Unexpectedly, Lucifer groans. Alastor brings his hand to Lucifer's cheek, their eyes locked.
"Please," Alastor implores, "will you let me fuck you?"
"I didn't know that word was part of your vocabulary," Lucifer laughs.
"Don't get used to it." Alastor forewarns him. "Answer me, damn you."
"On one condition." Lucifer says, and when Alastor groans in absolute desperation, Lucifer elaborates: "I want your naked skin against me. All of it."
Ordinarily, Alastor would refuse. He would leverage it for something else. He might even tease Lucifer with the prospect. But now, with his arousal screaming down his spine, he is about ready to give Lucifer any goddamn thing he wants.
"Only if you grant me the same."
Lucifer nods. "Of course."
Alastor's hand drops from Lucifer and he reaches for the button of his coat, feeling like a live wire. Every movement he makes brings a realization that his skin is sensitive, as if burned, and even the brush of his usually so comfortable attire against his skin is enough to make him gasp. He shrugs out of his coat with no finesse and throws it at his vacated chair. He undoes his tie and yanks it free, tossed onto the same pile. He's three buttons down his shirt when he notices the way Lucifer is looking at him – eyes bright and greedy, face hopelessly flushed, like Alastor is a locomotive crash he cannot look away from.
"Like what you see, your Majesty?" Alastor asks, grin wide an unrepentant.
Lucifer looks at him like Alastor's gone stark raving mad, and despite looking outraged, he actually laughs.
"Since when can you be funny, you bastard?"
"I am the very soul of wit," Alastor says pompously and keeps at his buttons until they're all undone and he pulls the shirt free of his slacks.
"The–"Lucifer stammers most adorably, "–you wear A CORSET underneath all this??"
Alastor quirks an eyebrow his way. "I always do, yes. It's wonderfully supportive."
"And fucking hot apparently," Lucifer blurts out and then has the crashing realization that he's said it aloud.
"Want me to leave it on?" Alastor suggests slyly.
Lucifer looks like he's going to self-immolate at his comment. "Maybe some other time, ok? Sheesh, you're trying to kill me."
How astute of Lucifer to notice.
"Get your own clothes off unless you want me to rip them again." Alastor cautions as he slides his arms out of the shirt.
"Once was enough, thanks!" Lucifer huffs and sets about divesting himself as well.
Alastor leans down to rid himself of his boots, and as soon as they're lying on the ground, he straightens back up to get started on his trousers. When he looks up, Lucifer has barely unbuttoned his pink waistcoat, caught up in staring at Alastor's likely not terribly elaborate strip show. It seems to be effective despite Alastor's lack of artistry, however.
"Vanish your clothes or I WILL rip them." Alastor promises, as serious as mortal sin.
"God, what's gotten into you today?" Lucifer flushes all the way down to his collarbones.
"The only thing going into you today is going to be me."
"Fuck!" Lucifer laughs as he shrugs out of his waistcoat and attacks the buttons of his cuffs.
Alastor hums his assent as he lowers his trousers down his legs where he abandons them to gravity and steps out of them with as much grace as he can manage without tripping and falling on his face.
Lucifer groans in front of him, and contorts himself to rid himself of his shirt. Alastor steps forward and Lucifer yelps: "It's coming off – I'm doing it! Take your fucking boxers off first!"
Alastor listens, but doesn't take his eyes off Lucifer for a single second. The King of Hell is willing and eager, snapping his fingers to vanish the rest of his clothes until he is left before Alastor as nude as the day he was born – or willed into existence, whatever the case might be.
Alastor takes in Lucifer's flushed and panting appearance and gets a stroke of inspiration.
"Can you take the rest off me?"
Lucifer exhales like he's been mortally wounded and asks in an aching voice: "May I?"
Alastor gazes upon him, full of barely restrained hunger. "Do it."
With a trembling groan, Lucifer reduces the distance between them in three rushed steps and drops to his knees in front of Alastor.
It's not necessarily what Alastor expected, but the sight of a sweetly moaning Prince of Darkness on his knees before him…it's something else, alright. Trembling, jet black fingers fiddle with the buttons at the high waistband of Alastor's black boxers. Alastor pulls his gloves off at last and flings them across the table. Succumbing to temptation, he runs his fingers through Lucifer's lush golden hair and enjoys the almost kittenish way Lucifer melts into the touch.
"Go on," Alastor encourages.
Lucifer nibbles on his lower lip and sets the last of his three buttons free. With bated breath, Lucifer pulls his underwear down and Alastor sucks in a breath as he's set free. The fabric breezes down his legs and drops down to his ankles. Lucifer places a shaky hand on the front fastenings of Alastor's corset.
"Looks almost too good to unlace you right now…" Lucifer says dreamily, mouth half open as he regards Alastor in what he can only interpret as blatant desire.
"Then do it later."
Lucifer shudders at the command and places a feather light touch on Alastor's thighs, fingers travelling down his skin and leaving a burning trail in their wake. Alastor's hand in Lucifer's hair grips tighter reflexively. Lucifer makes a sinuous movement of utter depravity and before Alastor can utter a word of protest, Lucifer's hot mouth closes around the crown of his shaft and slides down like he's done this a million times before, moaning obscenely around every inch he takes in.
Alastor cannot help the unfiltered reaction this provokes, he groans, an animalistic noise overlaying his voice as the wetness and heat engulfs him. Lucifer's left hand is holding him at the base, while his right is stroking Alastor's left thigh. The silk of his hair is apparently matched by the silk of his tongue, as he uses its serpentine charms to wind around Alastor's cock.
It feels absolutely blinding, like Alastor has stared at a solar eclipse without any eye protection for the full duration. His hands caress Lucifer's hair, tangle and untangle the soft strands as he pants and whines, utterly incapable of moderating his response.
And whenever he vocalizes his pleasure, or pulls at Lucifer's hair, the fallen angel moans lewdly, seemingly redoubling his efforts.
Lucifer loves this. He must. Why else would he be so wildly unrestrained?
And the truth is, Lucifer is disturbingly good at it. Alastor never saw what the fuss was about and why other men sang this act's praises, but he can see it now.
No man could stay immune to the vast experience of Lucifer Morningstar.
And it seemed Alastor was no exception.
To borrow a phrase, he groaned out a strained: "I'm– I think I might be close?"
Lucifer withdraws slowly, as slowly as a wave upon a beach and gives his head one last lick before looking up, expression nearly drugged.
"You can still speak? I must be doing something wrong."
Alastor looks down at Lucifer, feeling entirely undone by his efforts. "Wretch," he says softly. "Do whatever you did before to get yourself ready and get on the bed before I throw you on there from across the room."
Lucifer groans lasciviously at the suggestion. "How the fuck are you this good at dirty talk with virtually no experience? So unfair." The whine is petulant and Alastor is tempted to slide back into that spit-slicked mouth, but he desires something else more than the wet temptation it provides.
"Don't make me repeat myself." Alastor murmurs, dark with promise.
Lucifer gives his shaft a sinuous pump and before Alastor can make good on his promise, Lucifer is gone in a puff of gold smoke.
Alastor is shocked for all of two seconds, fearing abandonment at this most critical juncture, when Lucifer waves at him from the bed.
"Who's slow now?" He says, all cheek and no respect – two can play this game.
Alastor melts into his shadow form and stretches from his position to the middle of the bed where Lucifer is sitting, waiting for him. He materializes nearly on top of him and looms.
"Mmnh, please let me ride you," Lucifer begs shamelessly.
"Why should I?" Alastor asks unconvinced.
"Because it will feel really good for the both of us – I promise."
Alastor isn't terribly inclined to do what Lucifer asks, but the fact he's so desperate for it makes him reconsider. If he wants to hook Lucifer for good, it would be in his best interests to comply.
"What does this position entail exactly?" Alastor asks, entirely unashamed of his lack of experience. If Lucifer wants it bad enough, and he certainly wants to, he can work for it a little.
"Lie on your back. That's literally all you need to do."
"How convenient," Alastor remarks and lies next to Lucifer who is looking at him like a man dying of thirst in the baking desert. Without missing a beat, Lucifer turns to face Alastor and straddles him in what looks like a practiced move, none of the previous hesitation he's displayed present.
Lucifer arches his back and places his right hand on Alastor's still corseted stomach, his left reaching behind his back. Alastor feels something warm smear up and down his shaft, gliding along with Lucifer's fingers.
"Fuck, I love magic–!" Lucifer moans and Alastor agrees with the sentiment wholeheartedly.
The moment Alastor's cock is coated with something delightfully warm and slick, Lucifer doesn't tarry overlong and guides it to the entrance to his lithe body. Alastor observes as Lucifer impales himself, face contorted in what Alastor assumes must be pain, until a whining, needy moan crosses his lightly swollen lips, offering ample proof to the contrary.
Lucifer swivels his hips as he descends, and Alastor can see stars. His hands reach out desperately to grab at Lucifer's sinfully soft thighs, and the reaction is an instantaneous and most delicious clenching around his turgid length.
"Touch me," Lucifer whines, "oh–please–!"
Alastor observes the rhythm of Lucifer's effortlessly elegant movements and attempts to match it. The first few attempts are unsuccessful, and Lucifer's expression shows minor discontent, but the moment Alastor manages to strike in perfect counterpoint to Lucifer's eager descent, the result is a dissolute moan that could make a thousand angels plummet to their willing deaths.
"Ah–Alastor!" Lucifer pants in the sweetest agony that Alastor has ever had the pleasure to behold and he rewards it with a caress and a sharp thrust.
The way Lucifer says his name rushes straight to his already aching cock.
"I will paint you white," Alastor says filthily.
Lucifer attempts to speak coherently, but fails miserably. "Al–already w-white, nh–!"
"Not on the inside, you're not," Alastor growls and grasps the muscle of Lucifer's thigh so hard he's sure it will leave significant bruising come the morrow.
Lucifer gasps around a soundless scream as his eyes roll to the back of his head, small frame glistening with a slight sheen of sweat, enough to plaster a few slim strands of hair to his furrowed brow.
Alastor grunts his release, shocked at its explosive force and Lucifer grabs at his own cock and comes within a second of Alastor's own orgasm, splattering seed all over his corset.
For a few moments, Alastor pulses inside Lucifer's wonderfully clenched body and it's…
Flithy.
Filthy and sticky and he should really hate it.
But how can he, when Lucifer is blissed out and utterly out of it, lounging on Alastor's erection which is still buried approximately eight inches deep, and quivering with aftershocks that Alastor can feel under his fingertips as the muscles in Lucifer's thighs continue to spasm.
"Jesus Fucking Christ…" Lucifer pants atop him, half-lidded eyes finally managing to focus on Alastor.
"Mhm, not the savior of humanity I ascribe to," Alastor says languidly, overcome by a lassitude oft-described yet never quite experienced (until this very momentous…moment). Damn, this activity really dulls the senses.
"Uh-uh," Lucifer says lazily, still perched on top of him."And who is?"
Before he can stop his stupid brain from connecting to his tongue, the words are already out: "Why, he's already sitting in my lap."
Lucifer's dopey expression fades as quickly as light inebriation after being doused in a bucket of icy cold water. What replaces it is a rather fetching blush.
Alastor smiles and closes his eyes for just a moment.
He's got him.
He's finally got him!