Chapter Text
L.A. was a crime-infested shithole of a city, and Stiles wouldn’t touch the place with a twenty mile pole if it weren’t for the fact that it was a giant hotspot for supernatural activity. A fact that made a sort of twisted sense when you considered the falsehoods inherent to acting and the degradation of the entertainment business. Not to mention the booming underground where creatures like dragons tended to thrive.
On a consistent basis, Stiles asked himself why he had settled in L.A., of all places, when the whole world was his oyster. The truth was, he didn't have anything better to do.
He’d never had much of a desire to live outside the state of California, but he couldn’t stay in Beacon Hills. Not after the pack so unceremoniously cast him aside as if he were nothing worthy of note.
The loss of pack was a dull, hollow ache. The ache did not originate from broken pack bonds, but more that the bonds were never there to break, and he was just then realizing it. It still hurt, one didn’t ever get over that kind of rejection, but Stiles knew how to deal with it. Knew how to isolate, subdue, and ignore his feelings of helpless loneliness.
Sometimes he wonders if he had learned to do it sooner, would he have let the pack treat him the way they did for so long? He didn’t know, couldn’t know, the answer to that question. He did know, however, that every unacknowledged sacrifice and futile expression of loyalty stemmed from a place of lonely desperation. Amazing, how a pack full of people could make him feel so utterly alone.
With his pack connections severed and burned like the Hale House, Stiles had no reasons to stay in Beacon Hills. High school was over, and his dad had been killed three years prior in the line of duty. With nothing tethering him to that place, Stiles packed his Jeep and took a one way trip to a new life. He didn’t so much mind leaving Beacon Hills and all of it’s ghastly memories behind. He saw enough of it in his dreams. He didn’t want it in his waking hours, too.
Sometimes Stiles wondered if he made a snap decision, a bad situation made worse by an occurrence he should have seen coming. Sometimes, he wondered if instead of simply leaving, he ran. Then he realizes that it doesn’t matter, becasue he’s free and doing better for himself than he ever could have in his secret-filled, little home town.
His excommunication from the pack, and subsequent abundance of free time, led to a wide variety of decisions and hobbies for Stiles. Which is why he found himself loitering on the fringes of a loud nightclub in the heart of L.A., waiting for a Druid who claimed to have information on the Harpies wreaking havoc on a nearby tourist spot. Harpies, that Stiles had been tracking for the better part of a month. Harpies that Stiles needed to take care of, because that was a part of the new life he had built for himself. A magic user who dealt in the containment, negotiation, and dispatch of, and with, supernatural creatures.
Three years of rigorous training and research had allowed him a firm grasp on his latent ability, and provided a strength he was not aware he could possess. The time studying and applying made Stiles a formidable opponent, as well as provided him an extensive collection of well connected and powerful contacts. He’d made quite the name for himself. In certain circles, they called him the Alpha Spark. But in those circles, no one knew who he was. To them he was a faceless myth, not a gangly-limbed young adult.
Pondering the complexities of his post-McCall Pack life was not something Stiles was prepared to deal with sober, and he couldn’t be shit-faced when meeting a new contact. That was just bad etiquette, even if Stiles could probably best the man whilst blackout drunk with one hand tied behind his back.
While he couldn’t get deep personal introspection levels of drunk for the meeting, he was allowing himself to at least get tipsy. One needed to be a little less than sober when dealing with Druids. Years of working with Deaton taught him that. The man was as vague as he was dark, and twice as hard to locate when you needed him.
As Stiles contemplated whether to get up for a drink refill, his was dangerously low, a slim man slid into the booth across from him.
“Well, hello gorgeous. I couldn’t help but notice you may need some company.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, tired and not in the mood to deal with slick rich men in five-thousand dollar suits. Usually, Stiles would be all over the opportunity to sleep with such a beautiful man, with a nice accent to boot. But it had been over 52 hours since the last time he slept, and Stiles wanted to get his information so he could go home and rest , before he had to go out hunting for harpies.
“Does that really work for you?” Propping his chin on his hand, Stiles looked up at the man through his lashes. Yes he was being facetious, but he was genuinely curious if the man could use lines like that and actually get anywhere. “Truly, I’m curious. I could think of approximately ten thousand more creative ways to attempt a seduction. Hell, you could even just start with a compliment about my hair, or my fashion sense. Of course I don’t mind corny, but if that’s the route you’re going, it needs to make me laugh. Because if you can manage that, you might stand a fraction of a chance.”
As the silence dragged into the realm of awkward, their eye contact became slightly uncomfortable. But Stiles wasn’t one to back down from anything, even something so simple as prolonged eye contact. He was petty like that.
“I must admit, words aren’t usually the draw for me. Most people are looking for any excuse to throw themselves at me.” The man straightened his cufflinks and smiled charmingly over at Stiles. “But you, my dear, seem to be holding back. Tell me, what is it that you truly desire?”
Stiles stared back at the man in mild disbelief. This conversation was veering into levels of weird that Stiles didn’t have the capacity to deal with politely on the best of days. And that day could not be qualified as anything even remotely resembling the best.
Letting his eyes go soft and round, willing his cheeks to heat in slight embarrassment, Stiles looked directly at the man and stuttered out, “What I really, really want is.. W-well. What I really want…” The man smiled imploringly, leaning into Stiles’ space as the magick user spoke. Stiles let his mask drop and delivered the last line with a deadpan expression. “Is for you to leave me the hell alone so I can do what I came here to do.”
Stiles hoped, against all plausible odds, that the man would take the glaringly obvious neon-sign and leave. His ability to read people, however, told him that the man in the Burberry suit with the smooth accent would not be leaving any time soon. He wasn’t used to being told no, and he would stick around until he got a yes, or a reason why he was being rejected. Not just any reason, but a reason that satisfied him. Stiles knew how to play with the rich and entitled, he just didn’t like it.
Having the opposite effect of intent, Stiles’ comment sent the man into a round of pleasantly deep chuckles. “I’ve only known one other person to be able to resist that. Consider me intrigued.” He held out a hand for Stiles to shake. “Lucifer Morningstar. You are?”
“Just about done with this conversation,” Stiles muttered to himself, attempting to recall everything he knew in regards to that name.
Tapping his fingers repeatedly on the table to ground himself, Stiles allowed his thoughts to race around his mind. The man’s name was Lucifer Morningstar. Interesting. So, either Stiles was talking to the literal devil, or the man was nuts. Based off of their interactions to date, Stiles wasn’t liking the odds of it being the former over the latter. But in for a penny, in for a whole fucking looney bin, Stiles figured.
“Lucifer. Like, Samael the LightBringer? God’s Favorite Musical Angel? That Lucifer?”
Lucifer smiled wide and drawled in his syrupy sweet accent, “Why, yes, guilty as charged.”
Stiles nodded, processing. “And you want to sleep with me. Why?”
Lucifer shrugged, suit jacket bunching into fine wrinkles around his armpit. “You’re beautiful, and I have a propensity for beautiful things.”
Stiles twirled his empty tumbler, thinking carefully about what he was going to say next. “You’re the devil, so let’s make a deal. Being who you are, it would stand to reason that you have access to a wealth of knowledge and information. Am I correct in my assumption?”
Lucifer nodded, intrigue fanned into a full flame of curiosity. Usually he was the one proposing deals, setting terms that benefited him and his latest whims. But here was this boy, taking control of the situation with an iron grip, and Lucifer was surprisingly okay with it. The boy was nearly as interesting as The Detective, and the Devil was positively dying to know more.
“Alright, Mr. Morningstar.” Stiles held his hand out for a formal shake, much as Lucifer had done earlier, but with a different intent. “I’m Stiles, and I’m in the business of supernatural extermination.” Stiles winced at his own choice of words. “Correction; I take down the bad guys.”
Over top of steepled fingers, Lucifer watched Stiles as he thought. It was amazing, to Stiles, how much someone could resemble a cartoon villain. If he was honest, which he tried to be even if it was only to himself, the man’s general air was alluring and slightly off putting. But allure could not outweigh Stiles’ annoyance, and he was two point five seconds from getting up and leaving, information be damned.
“It so happens, Stiles, that I am also in the business of ‘taking down bad guys’, as you so eloquently put it. I work for the LAPD, and anything to ensure that guilty parties are punished is well within my purview. No deal necessary. If punishment is what you intend to meta out, I’ll provide the information willingly. No strings, as you humans like to say.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and shook his head. “No. I don’t trust that. A deal is mutually beneficial. I let you take me back to your place, and you provide me with the information I need.” When he didn’t get an immediate response, he cocked an eyebrow and prompted, “Does that sound good?”
Lucifer had a strange expression on his face, but he nodded before leaning across the table. “Yes, that sounds perfectly reasonable. But tell me Stiles, what is it that you want, deep down in your heart of hearts?”
“This again?” Stiles groaned, rolling his eyes for a second time that night. “Look,” He stood and gathered up his things. “I have a tab to pay, before we head off.”
Tall, British, and possibly psychotic grabbed his arm before he was able to move more than a few inches from the table. “No need to worry about that.”
“Mazikeen,” Lucifer shouted to the terrifying woman behind the bar. “This young man’s drinks are on me.”
“Lucky for you, I only had the one,” Stiles muttered, leaving his glass and following Lucifer.
Rather than lead them out of the club, like Stiles expected, Lucifer led them further into the heart of things and then back out of the throng. In the deeper interior, opposite the door, was a private elevator that Lucifer used a key to get into. As soon as the doors were closed, the elevator began to travel up, no prompting necessary.
“This is your club,” Stiles realized, the breath leaving him in a panicked whoosh as the reality of the situation set in. It was looking more and more like he really was dealing with the Devil, and that was uncharted territory for Stiles. He didn’t have a contingency for dealing with Satan himself. Not to mention the implications of the man’s (angel’s?) very existence. Stiles was not mentally prepared to deal with the abrupt realization that God may very well be real.
“Yes. It is.”
Stiles stared at Lucifer for a moment, before he began laughing. Deep, hearty chuckles that made his stomach ache and his eyes water. It was amazing, Stiles had always thought, the situations he managed to find himself in. But this one took the cake. His borderline hysterical laughter earned him a strange look from his elevator companion, but he was too preoccupied with his monumental freak out to do anything but continue to laugh.
“I’m so sorry, this is just… this is something out of a bad TV show.”
Lucifer didn’t look any less offended, and that allowed Stiles to calm his laughter and tamp down on his panic. Devil or not, the man clearly had some insecurities. Once he had his laughter under control, he smiled softly at Lucifer, putting his hand on his silk covered chest.
“Hey, you’re still really hot, and I still want to go through with this deal. I don’t whore myself out to just anyone,” Stiles joked.
Lucifer studied him for a moment longer, before allowing his mouth to quirk in an amused half-smile. “Well, then, I suppose I should be honored.”
“You should be! I’m a wonderful lay.”
Intoxicated by the comfortable banter and the Devil’s smile, Stiles stood on his toes to plant a kiss to the corner of Lucifer’s mouth. The fact that he had to stand on his toes in the first place, to make up for the nearly half a foot in height difference, was equal parts hot and infuriating.
“Well, Darling, some might say I’m hot as hell.”
“Moment ruined,” Stiles groaned into Lucifer’s chest, where he’d hidden his face. “That was a truly terrible pun, oh my gosh.”
Lucifer looked at Stiles in surprise. “You didn’t say Oh My God.”
Stiles snorted, “Figured it would be weird to bring up your dad when we’re about to be having sex.”
Lucifer agreed with every fibre of his celestial being, and appreciated this fragile human for coming to that conclusion on his own. Bolstered by the bold little human, Lucifer took it upon himself to lean down and kiss from Stiles’ plush pink lips, across his jaw, and up to his ear.
“I want you on your knees,” he whispered, nipping the sensitive flesh of Stiles’ ear lobe.
“Yeah? I think I can manage that,” Stiles responded breathlessly.
The elevator door opened shortly after, allowing for Stiles to drag Lucifer into the penthouse by his tie. Which he immediately let go, upon seeing the interior of the other man’s home. It was stunning, and Stiles was in awe.
“It’s gorgeous,” He gushed, eyes round in wonderment as he took everything in.
Lucifer watched on as the boy dragged his hand down the marble bar, all the way until it’s end, before immediately moving on to the walls. His attention was caught at the entrance to the bedroom where ancient runes were carved into the stone. Just like that, Stiles’ hummingbird focus had completely moved from sex into admiring Lucifer’s home. It wasn’t something Lucifer was used to, as he usually had the undivided attention of his bed partners, but the Devil found that he wasn’t even remotely upset. The pale boy, with his mole dotted skin and gin-and-tonic eyes, looked intrinsically right standing in Lucifer’s space. His personality and presence filled the whole space with cinnamon warmth and soft light. Lucifer hadn’t even felt something that strong with the detective, and it was wholly unsettling, as he had just met the boy.
“How old are you, Stiles?” Lucifer asked abruptly, startling Stiles out of his contemplation of the angelic ruins carved into the wall.
“Twenty-One, as of a week ago.”
Reassured that Stiles wasn’t under age, Lucifer walked over to the boy and plastered himself against his back. There was no way that Stiles couldn’t feel Lucifer’s erection, which hadn’t flagged at all during their lapse of sexual activity.
Stiles turned his head to grin coyly at Lucifer, and ran a hand up into the short hairs at the nape of the Devil’s neck. “You know,” the boy bit into his spit-slick bottom lip. “I believe someone said something about me on my knees.”
Lucifer gave a husky, whiskey-rough kind of laugh before leading Stiles into his bedroom, which was furnished with several plush rugs for occasions such as those. Above anything else, though, Lucifer wanted the beautiful boy completely bared to him. Catching the look in the Devil’s eye, Stiles stripped off his clothes like his life depended on it.
While standing in awe of the beautiful, toned body before him, Lucifer allowed himself to get lost in thought. Something about the boy, something he couldn’t put his finger on or pinpoint in the vast maze that was his brain, was so incredibly appealing to the Devil. Of course, Stiles was plenty nice to look at, and Lucifer had a propensity for pretty things, as he had said earlier. But his type tended toward striking gold diggers, seeking him out for money, drugs, and kinky sex. While Stiles was technically using him for information, he hadn’t sought him out to do so. And there was something deeper there. Something that Lucifer was not ready to acknowledge, and he was sure Stiles wasn’t even aware of.
Stiles was not any of the things Lucifer usually went for, yet the Devil couldn’t draw his eyes away from the pale, mole dotted skin and trim thighs.
Lucifer’s ogling was interrupted by an oppressive wave of unease practically rolling off of the beautiful young man standing naked in front of his bed. Eyes tracking up to the boy’s face, Lucifer recognized the insecurity in his posture. His long arms were crossed over his chest, hiding those dusky pink nipples from view, and his legs were slightly crossed to allow the boy to curl in on himself. He looked as if he were trying to hide, and that just wouldn’t do. Stiles was a truly stunning creature, in an understated way, and Lucifer was going to show him that.
“As much as I’d love to see those beautiful lips put to work, there is something else I’d like to try. Come here, Darling.”
The boy walked towards him on unsure feet, but he was doing as told, and that was ultimately what Lucifer wanted. As Stiles crossed the room, Lucifer sat himself in one of the plush leather chairs he had ordered the week previous and made himself comfortable. As soon as the boy was upon him Lucifer brought his naked body into his clothed lap, coming to the conclusion that he would probably need to buy a new suit after this. Thoughts of future clothing purchases aside, Lucifer focused all of his attention on Stiles, holding his gaze as he stroked several fingers over one sharp cheekbone.
“You are truly alluring, dear. I don’t think you have a clue how utterly irresistible you are.” With a soft smile, Lucifer continued to stroke Stiles’ face, fingertips moving to brush over that defined cupid’s bow. Next, they trailed over brow, down and along the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you tonight. As soon as you entered the club, I knew I wanted you in my bed. Then you threw me for a loop and surprised me with your wit.”
Stiles unraveled under Lucifer’s ministrations, tension leaving his body as his insecurities faded to a muted chime in the back of his mind. The more the Devil touched him, the quicker his body was getting back on board with the evening plans of hot sex. It was a bit surreal, thinking about the fact that he was soon to be having sex with the Devil himself, but it was also hot like burning and Stiles couldn’t believe his luck.
Lucifer could feel Stiles relaxing under his touch. Could see the way Stiles opened up to him like an evening primrose under the light of the moon. It was a gorgeous sight to behold, and Lucifer wondered how this boy had not already been snatched up. He easily decided, that whatever the reason, he was glad for it. Because now he had a beautiful young man perched in his lap, making the most delicate mewling sounds as he pinched and pulled on soft pink nipples. Stiles responded so beautifully, arching into Lucifer’s touch as he let sinful sounds of pleasure fall from his mouth, that Lucifer had to taste those gorgeous sounds for himself. He leaned in for a kiss, met in the middle by Stiles who was trying to become one with the Devil beneath him.
Stiles was touch starved. He could admit that simple fact, to himself and to anyone who asked. It didn’t result in this, usually. The way he was reacting to Lucifer was unique and uncharted for Stiles. He hadn’t had such a visceral reaction to a person, or celestial being in this case, since those first few months with Derek. Stiles would be embarrassed by it, if Lucifer didn’t seem so perfectly willing to touch him as much as Stiles wanted. As much as he needed.
The amount of precum smeared into Lucifer’s suit shirt and pants was copious, and Lucifer found himself delighted that his newest interest seemed to tend toward leaking like a faucet when he was turned on. Lucifer would be lying if he said that wasn’t a bit of a stroke to his ego.
With Stiles thoroughly relaxed, and fully re-immersed in their activities, Lucifer lifted him up by the backs of his thighs and made his way over to the large bed occupying most of the bedroom area. Gently, he deposited Stiles atop the bed, admiring how the acres of pale skin on display for him contrasted so beautifully with his crimson sheets.
Lucifer indulged in a fairly chaste press of lips before sinking down to settle between Stiles’ spread legs, admiring the view. From his position, Lucifer had an up close acquaintance with Stiles’ gorgeous dick, and could see the strawberry flush that dusted his torso and face like a covering of rouge. Holding eye contact with his young lover, Lucifer pressed a kiss to the head of Stile’s dick, allowing his tongue to make a short guest appearance, before pulling away to revel in Stiles’ frustrated groan.
“Don’t-” Stiles cut himself off with a breathless moan when Lucifer gave a short, hard suck to the head of Stiles’ cock. “Don’t tease, please!”
Pulling off, Lucifer chuckled and sat up to look at Stiles. “Rhyming now, are we?”
The hand covering Stiles’ eyes came away and he looked at the Devil in amazement. “Did you really just say that to me? Because if you’re going to be like that, I can just leave.”
Rather than answer, Lucifer took Stiles down to the root without so much as a by-your-leave. The paler male’s body jerked hard, body bowing inward as he fought not to release the shock-pleasure scream trapped in his throat at the sudden stimulation. Working his mouth back up the shaft, Lucifer followed the vein running along the underside with his tongue, forcing punched out little ‘uh uh uh’s from Stiles’ mouth. At the top, Lucifer worked the head with his tongue, applying sporadic pressure and dipping into the slit before taking Stiles to the root again and repeating his actions. He set himself a rhythm, basking in the noises Stiles made, and the way those long fingers felt pulling the sensitive hairs at his nape.
Pulling off, Lucifer nipped the crease of Stiles’ thigh, moving higher to suck a dark mark onto the sharp jut of Stiles’ hip. He resolutely ignored the small voice in his head that reminded him of an insignificant detail. Trivial really. It didn’t matter that he didn’t give his flings hickeys. That fact was inconsequential, in the scheme of things.
To derail that train of thought, Lucifer went down on Stiles again, feeling the spongy head hit the back of his soft palate. The unexpected and sudden stimuli triggered Stiles’ orgasm, causing the boy to wail his name as every muscle in his body tensed. Lucifer made sure to swallow every drop before pulling off and shooting Stiles a smug smile.
“You did so well, Darling,” the Devil praised, kissing his way up Stiles’ body until he reached that soft, pink mouth. “You’re beautiful in the throes of pleasure.” Then he was descending on Stiles, lips and tongue feeding Stiles the residual taste of his own cum. They kissed like that until Stiles’ vision was blacking at the edges and he had to pull away before he passed out.
Blindly, Lucifer reached for the lube he kept underneath his pillow for occasions that he couldn’t be assed to get up mid-orgy. Or the occasions that he had beautiful occultists in his bed, who reacted to praise like a painslut reacted to being spanked and choked. Which gave Lucifer an idea, something to try at a Later time.
“Now that you’re relaxed, I’m going to open you up.” Lucifer grinned charmingly down at the boy beneath him. “How does that sound?”
Stiles tilted his head back on a breathy moan, baring his pale throat to the Devil. The way Lucifer saw it, that was an invitation to leave the boy with several lovely marks that he could enjoy when he was away from the Devil’s presence.
“I need words, darling. Consent is key.” He spoke into the soft flesh covering Stiles’ clavicle, enjoying the way the boy’s body quivered. “Can I open you up on my fingers? Make you scream?”
“Yes!” Stiles propped himself up on one elbow, yanking Lucifer away from his throat with his free hand. “In fact,” He growled. “If you don’t, I might do something drastic.”
Grinning triumphantly, Lucifer kissed a wet trail down Stiles’ body. As he went, Lucifer left a path of hickeys, enjoying the salty-sweat taste of the human’s pale flesh. Sucking a particularly dark bruise into the hip he hadn’t marked previously, the devil pressed a lubed finger to the tight ring of muscle that gave entrance to one of Stiles’ most vulnerable places. Lucifer had never thought of sex as anything other than fun, but the overwhelming feeling of connection that he felt upon breaching Stiles’ body was an other-worldly experience.
Fingering the boy open was a slow and careful task, but one that Lucifer enjoyed. Beneath him, Stiles opened up with the most alluring sounds. Mewls and punched out gasps fell upon Lucifer, like rain on scorched skin, every time the Devil twisted his fingers just so, or added another. His unoccupied hand made circuits over Stiles’ torso, rolling over nipples and leaving thin red lines from scratches. It ratcheted Stiles’ pleasure into the stratosphere, and by the time Lucifer was up to four fingers, he was pushing back against them. Begging and threatening by turns.
“Lucifer, if you don’t dick me down in the next twenty seconds, i am getting up and finding some other British asshole to fuck me properly .”
Chuckling, Lucifer pulled his fingers out and wiped them on his bed sheets. “Now darling,” he began to reason, rolling a condom on. “You’ll never get anything better than the Devil. But it seems,” he took a moment to lube up his hard cock before continuing to speak. “You need to learn a bit of patience.” With the last word, Lucifer penetrated Stiles and bottomed out in one smooth stroke.
“Fuck!” Stiles yelled, back arching hard as the overwhelming sensation of being utterly full caused all of his synapses to fire at the same time as every single one of them froze. The Devil was large and he didn’t know if it hurt or felt incredibly good. It was intense and all-consuming, and Stiles never wanted it to end.
When he had adjusted somewhat to the feeling, Stiles opened his eyes to look up at the man above him. The Devil, above him. Lucifer’s hairline was beading with moisture and his face was set into a look of concentration, likely using all of his willpower to stay still until Stiles adjusted. It was an intimate position, being face to face, and Stiles hadn’t considered to implications of it until Lucifer was balls deep inside of him. To take his mind off of the weight that came with the realization, Stiles nudged Lucifer’s ass with his heel and offered a lazy smile. “Move, Lucifer. Move, or I’m leaving.”
Lucifer laughed, making the encounter one of the only times he’d laughed so often during sex and it wasn’t awakrd. “Yes, because you’re likely to leave when my dick is, quite literally, inside of you.”
“You don’t know,” Stiles panted.
“I feel as if I have a fairly well formed idea. But as I’m not one to wait for what I want, I think I’ll concede to your request.”
Lucifer pumped his hips in short, shallow thrusts. Building up to a steady rhythm, Lucifer massaged a hand into the tense muscles of Stiles’ abdominals. Every time he pulled out, Stiles’ inner walls fluttered around him, contracting to keep the pleasurable intrusion inside of him.
Overwhelmed by sensation, Stiles propped himself up, straining to kiss Lucifer. The Devil met him half way with tongue and passionate fire. It was grounding for Stiles, at the same time that it made him feel like he could float away on a cloud of endorphins.
When Stiles was released from the kiss, he fell back onto the bed in a heap of molten rubber limbs and white-hot pleasure. He was completely useless as Lucifer fucked him slow and thorough, making him feel syrup-thick in the head and stupid. He was cum drunk, no other way to explain it. The most he could contribute was clenching rhythmically around Lucifer’s cock and keening loudly for more, harder.
Lucifer increased the power behind his thrusts, hips slapping Stiles’ ass with a rhythmic sound, causing Stiles pert little but to bounce upon impact. There would be bruises, come morning, from the places Lucifer’s fingers were pressed into the skin of Stiles’ hips. From the force of their coupling and the way Lucifer bit into those sharp collarbones. But Stiles seemed to enjoy it, his moans increasing in pitch and decreasing in coherence. The young man was a screamer, and Lucifer found the sound enjoyable, for the first time ever, rather than grating. Unlike with previous partners, Lucifer had no desire to gag the pale human beneath him. On the contrary, he was practically dying to hear those gorgeous sounds.
Commonly, Lucifer found screamers to be too artificial. The individuals he took to bed were usually loud out of practiced conditioning, rather than any real pleasure. Stiles, however, was so genuinely lost in the throes of pleasure that he couldn’t bother to modulate his volume when there were so many other, more pleasurable things to focus on.
Stiles was incredibly close to cumming in an embarrassingly short time. When he finally hit that precipice, tipped over into the realm of pleasure so hot it burned, he clenched hard around Lucifer’s cock and called out “Samael!”
It was a name that no one had uttered to him in centuries. Something Lucifer had lost in the fall, along with his standing and place at his father’s side. Of all of the things he lost, his name was the one he’d mourned the longest. The utterance of that name sending a pulse of raw feeling through him, coupled with the clenching inner walls of the beautiful boy beneath him, pushed Lucifer over the edge. He came hard into the condom, briefly losing control of his physical body. His wings, which had made a recent and infuriating comeback, shot forth from his back and knocked a lamp over before being hindered by the walls.
Lucifer’s post-orgasmic bliss was short-lived as the sheer panic of what had happened set in. There was a great possibility that Stiles would freak out. There was a difference between playing along with a name preference, as Lucifer knew most people didn’t believe he was truly the Devil, and seeing the physical manifestation of his celestial heritage. His panic abated when Stiles’ response was to reach out and stroke the soft feathers nearest him, causing a pleasurable aftershock to course through the Devil’s body.
“These are pretty,” Stiles slurred, sated and struggling to keep his thoughts in order, before letting his hand fall back to his side. “I wanna cuddle them. And you.”
Lucifer’s answering smile was exasperated as he pulled out and got up to discard the condom. He didn’t bother to put his wings away, since Stiles seemed to enjoy them.
At the point in the night that they had reached, Lucifer usually politely offered his bedfellows a drink and a cab home. Stiles though, was already mostly asleep and Lucifer couldn’t bear to rouse him. It didn’t hurt that the boy just looked so beautifully radiant, so perfect curled naked around a pillow in Lucifer’s bed.
Instead of kicking Stiles out, like Lucifer’s brain was telling him he should be doing, the Devil just pulled back the blankets and climbed in behind him. He pressed up against the boy so that his chest was pressed to that warm, smooth back. Wrapping his arms about the boy, Lucifer took up position as the big spoon. After a moment’s hesitation where he considered the efficacy of his next action, he wrapped his wings around the boy as well, providing a protective covering that would hopefully offer the both of them at least a modicum of comfort. He was shocked when a long-fingered hand stroked gently over the underside of a wing, thinking that Stiles had already fallen asleep. Rather than flinch away from the sensation, as was his instinct, he rested his forehead against the crown of Stiles’ head and tangled their legs together.
“I hope you have someone to keep you company in this big, empty penthouse,” He whispered into the body-hot air. “And flings don’t count,” was the following qualifier. “It’s so lonely without someone, Lucifer. Trust me, I know.” Stiles pressed a soft kiss to the part of Lucifer’s wing closest to him, before dropping off to sleep.
Lucifer’s heart clenched, because he didn’t have someone to keep him company. Not really. He had the detective, but how could he possibly know what was real and what his father had pushed her into. How could he ever truly be with her, if she didn’t even know who he was. The Biblical Devil. The only way to convince her would be to show her his face, and he could not bring himself to do it. But he wanted what Stiles had mentioned. He wanted a person to share his money, his life, his fears with. He wanted to give someone all of his love, and have them give him theirs in return. He wanted all of that, and more, with the lonely witch boy who had so clearly been hurt before. A hurt that ran so deep, he tended towards the cynical view of those around him. Something Lucifer could relate to, as he knew how terrible people, and angels, could be.
No matter his past, Lucifer wanted the boy that had stumbled into his club before swiftly and inconsiderately falling into his heart.