Chapter Text
Alastor found, much to his exhausted exasperation, that he couldn’t calm himself down. It had been hours since the debacle at the bar, and maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was just the consequence of a particularly hard day, he found himself pacing in increasingly agitated circles, unable to settle.
He couldn’t even sleep! He’d crashed onto the bed at one point, fully clothed and on top of the covers, only to almost immediately get up and start pacing again. His mind was racing, flitting through a range of emotions and none of them good.
The grip on his self-control, hard won and fragile, had almost completely slipped away; once again reducing him to a wild thing Hell-bent on destruction.
His own or Lucifer’s was yet to be decided.
Even retreating to his room, and pouring himself yet another inadvisable drink to try to numb his rage, hadn’t helped. Maybe it was because he knew it was only temporary. Even if he found paltry relief now, Lucifer would still be there in the morning. Laughing at him. Tormenting him. And who knows what he would do next?
Lucifer’s attentions, which had seemed so frivolous and amusing a few hours ago, were now suffocating. Choking him like yet another collar at his throat. Alastor felt like a trapped animal, unsure whether to flee or attack, cornered in the one place he thought he’d be safe. Things were supposed to go back to normal.
And he knew that Lucifer was only doing these things, saying these things, because it got under Alastor’s skin so much. He was deliberately pushing his buttons, pissing him off, and Alastor was still letting him.
He wished he knew why. All he had to do was laugh it off, reflect the ridicule back onto the perpetrator and turn it into some sort of joke. Like he did with Vox, like with so many pathetic Overlords that wanted to challenge him, wanted to best him, that got obsessed with him.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he tugged the long strands until it hurt, pulling at the base of his ears until tears sprung to his eyes at something so sensitive to be treated so roughly. He was so fucking tired. The day had been markedly long, and he wanted nothing more than for it to be over.
But even now, when he was by himself in the privacy of his room, he couldn’t stop thinking about him.
A surge of emotion coursed through him, rippling outwards from his core in an arc of green lightning. Every single light bulb burst in a dramatic pop; the room illuminated only by the hazy red light of the hellish sky outside. Alastor wasn’t appeased. He was emitting a constant crackle of static, the air full of ozone and uncontrolled electricity, knowing all too well that the effects of his mood would be bleeding into the corridor and beyond. But, in that moment, he didn’t care.
Let them know the rage of the Radio Demon.
Lucifer was still playing some twisted game with him, and he wished he knew why. Wasn’t it enough that he’d already had to suffer such abject humiliation at his hand? What had he done to deserve to be ridiculed and mocked by his daughter and her misguided friends?
By his own admission, Lucifer was disinterested in Alastor’s business; he didn’t care about the reliquary of souls in his possession or how he came about them. He was wholly disinterested in Alastor’s abilities, even when he was directly suffering as a consequence.
The only thing that Alastor had done that Lucifer was even slightly interested in was to be involved with Charlie and the hotel, and Lucifer’s concern there was borne of a petty jealousy, nothing more. Sure, he’d rather Alastor not be there, but only in so far that Lucifer could instead fill the role of doting father. He certainly didn’t see Alastor as a threat. He’d said as much. Gloated, even.
So what could Lucifer possibly want with him? Alastor had nothing else to give.
It didn’t have to be like this – they could have kept it professional, not ever needing to reference the brief lapse in Alastor’s judgement when he willingly handed Lucifer the leash at his throat.
It pained him to admit that Lucifer had known how to use it. It was effortless, the way he made Alastor’s emotions run high; made him lose control of his temper and go against one of the very tenants he consistently adhered to. Smile; keep your enemies guessing. When Lucifer was done with him, Alastor certainly wasn’t smiling.
What Alastor felt for Lucifer was more than annoyance or irritation – lots of people irritated him, and he easily brushed them off with a well-practiced smile – it was bordering on passionate loathing. And, what was worse, was that he couldn’t deny that there was something physical residing alongside that burning hatred. Something equally hot and hungry, sitting like lead in his stomach, seeping a deep-seated want into the core of his being.
Thinking about how he’d had Lucifer in his grasp, had him whimpering and writhing above him, it was still affecting him. Lucifer had been so beautiful, covered in his own blood and sobbing as he was forced to hurt and forced to come. He knew what Lucifer looked like in that moment, knew how he screwed his eyes closed in pleasure, tossed his head back in bliss as the muscles of his abdomen flexed and tensed through orgasm.
He knew what his cum tasted like as it coated the back of his throat.
When Alastor took a deep breath, he recoiled as he caught a very specific trace on the air. On himself. He still reeked of Lucifer; even now, hours later, he couldn’t get away from the cloying, overwhelming scent that he had left on his skin.
It was the final straw.
He tore his jacket off, casting it to the floor as though it was burning him. Then his suspenders, his shirt, his pants, stripping down to his bare skin. If anything, that made it worse. It was like Lucifer was in the room with him, surrounding him with his memory. He could practically hear him, his voice ringing in his mind’s ear, his easy, delighted laugh and playful timbre. No, it was worse that that; he could feel him. His hands caressing his body, his soft mouth leaving wet marks along his skin. The kiss he’d planted on Alastor’s lips, pulling back just enough to keep him nice.
A throb in his groin pulsed at the memory of Lucifer’s lips wrapped around his cock, sucking the sensitive head. He still remembered how he’d looked, his lips stretched around him as he took him in his throat, could still feel his phantom forked tongue teasing the slit, lapping the pre-cum that formed there.
“Fuck!” he cursed, palming himself to try to relieve the all-encompassing ache the memory caused. It didn’t help. His cock twitched at his touch, flushing a deep red at the attention. He felt feverish, the heat of interest he’d been resisting, been denying, was now unopposed, mixing with his rage and frustration, and he felt himself growing harder with each beat of his heart. He wanted more. Needed more-
The train of thought was alarming. Alastor shuddered, trying to get a grip on his resolve. No. This wasn’t like him. He needed to get rid of this feeling. Wanted it to stop.
He strode purposely towards his room’s en-suite and turned the shower on full blast. He didn’t even wait for the water to warm up before standing under the unrelenting spray, relishing in the sting the icy water. He felt so hot.
His wrists ached from bearing the heaviness of solid gold. So did his neck. A stinging, familiar circle of heat that burned with unholy fire resurfaced with the memory of Lucifer trapping him to that Pentagram. It felt so real that he could have sworn the binds were back in place. Letting out a startled yell his hands flew to his neck, clawed fingers scrabbling for the cause of the familiar tightness constricting at his pulse points. There was nothing there – nothing but feverish skin - and yet his flesh burned with the feeling of phantom metal. He caught a flash of gold in his mind’s eye, seeing as clear as anything the thick golden chains that had bound him.
It had hurt, had been so tight, pinning him to the floor and pulling ever tighter every time he’d tried to move. There was no mark that he could see, but he could still feel them, the unrelenting, tight binds that made him so vulnerable.
Lucifer had touched him then. When he was at his mercy, unable to fight him, unable to flee from him. The ghost of Lucifer’s fingers teased him, the memory of his hands, touching him everywhere it mattered.
Frantic, Alastor scrubbed his hands over his chest. He dug his claws into the meat of his pectorals where Lucifer’s head had lay, and scratched stark welts over his waist where Lucifer’s legs had straddled him, tearing at every inch of him bore that memory. He didn’t draw blood, but dark red scratches rose on his skin with every scrape of his nails.
And through it all, he was painfully hard, his cock jutting from between his legs as he mutilated himself. He felt so hot, feverish, burning even as the cold water sluiced over him. Leaning under the spray, he took himself in hand and began to vigorously rub and stroke himself to his own agitated heartbeat.
Anything to try to replace the feeling of Lucifer.
It wasn’t enough. Even as he jerked himself off, frantically twisting his wrist, squeezing, increasing the friction to an almost unbearable degree, all he could think about was Lucifer’s touch. How Lucifer had took him in hand and stroked him in time with his own pleasure. How gentle he’d been even as he was driving Alastor insane.
Alastor gasped and increased his pace. He felt his antlers grow twisted, jagged tines, scratching against the tiles as he rested his forehead against the wall. His chest heaved with the effort of chasing his relief.
How dare Lucifer reduce him to this, to make him want something so primal and prosaic as pleasure.
A spike of pleasure made him shudder, uttering a low groan as he almost – almost – tilted over the edge. Four tentacles erupted from his back, lashing out and knocking various bathroom accoutrements to the floor as he strained and tried to reach the peak he was so desperately seeking.
He tried to clear his mind, blank out the plaguing thoughts he was so tormented with. One tentacle snaked around his shoulders, resting heavy there as the tip slithered down his chest to tweak and caress his nipples. He arched his back at the contact, throwing his head back to expose the long line of his throat to the icy water, directing the spray directly onto his broad chest. The cold caused his nipples to pebble almost painfully, turning red as they were teased with the slick tip of his tentacle.
Distracted, he almost didn’t notice when another curled round one of his legs, from his thigh down his calf to his ankle, holding him tight. His mind drifted once more to the cuffs that held him so recently, and the tentacle mimicked it, deftly curling around his ankle and holding there. It was so thick and heavy it implicitly encouraged him to spread his legs wider. His cervine hooves slid slightly on the wet tile as he braced his legs apart, held open, vulnerable.
But fuck, if he didn't want it. Didn't find it so exhilarating.
Another knocked his hand aside, forced him halt his feverish attempts to bring himself to orgasm by wrapping delicately around his erection instead, replacing his fingers and grasping him firmly. How different it was to his own hand, the smooth, eldritch texture contrasting against the rough surface of his own flesh. Held under the spray the tentacle began a slow undulation along his length, squeezing from base to tip in a way so alien it felt enticing.
Alastor moaned, finding his voice at last. He couldn’t help himself, so given he was to the onslaught of sensation from his own uncanny form. Each stroke of the tentacle wrapped around his dick, each agonising flick of the one slithering down his pectorals, each encouraging squeeze of the one wrapped around his leg – they drew long, keening groans along with his ragged breath.
He felt secured, constrained, as he was caressed and touched by the extension of his own limbs. He was pulled taut as a bow, his muscles trembling as his nipples were rubbed raw under the cold water, his cock throbbing in the tentacles grasp as he was brought to the brink. He gasped as the tentacle around his dick used his own pre-cum to slick its movements, the tip slipping into the leaking tip. The sting of the instruction heightened his pleasure, mixing delicious pain in with his building desire.
He was so close…
And finally, the last tentacle came into play. It slid down the broad plane of his back, down his protruding spine to his tail. It lifted at the touch, inviting, presenting; encouraging the tentacle to slide down the seam of him, to slip between his cheeks to tease his hole.
It traced the tip back and forth, maddeningly, slowly; it didn’t breach him, not yet, but it didn’t need to. The pressure there, the promise of it slithering inside as he had done to Lucifer, was enough to send him over the edge.
He trembled, muscles tensing as his breath stilled, and the tight pleasure came all at once, in a rush of sensation. He was coming, groaning and keening as he was stroked and teased through it.
Leaning heavily against the tile he endured every undulating squeeze, every caress that prolonged his bliss. His lungs burned as he gasped for much-needed air, his heart thudding in his chest, and blood roaring in his ears. His cum splattered on the tile of the shower, mixing with the water before swirling down the drain.
And finally, when he felt he could take no more, when he was wrung out and limply hanging in his own tentacle’s grasp, his dick gave one last spurt.
He shivered.
It was over.
Alastor retracted the tentacles into himself and unceremoniously collapsed to the floor, his claws scratching for purchase against the wet tile on the way down. The feverish element had all but evaporated from his skin, leaving him trembling in its wake. He curled up under the spray, shivering from over-sensitivity and, finally, the cold. If some of water on his face turned out to be relieved tears, well, who would be able to tell?
He tucked his knees to his chest and rested his cheek on the floor. He couldn’t stay like this, but the respite was undeniable.
His anger had abated. And despite all evidence to the contrary, he felt in control.
He finally felt himself again.
Alastor startled awake to a loud banging.
He sat bolt upright in a bed he didn’t remember climbing into, claws drawn and teeth bared in a slasher grin.
And regretted the sudden movement immediately.
A stab of pain that felt suspiciously like needles lancing through his eyes directly to his brain announced its presence, followed by an unrelenting, persistent throbbing at his temples.
It had been a while since he’d been this hungover.
How embarrassing.
Once the bestial instinct in him was satisfied that he was in no immediate danger, he slowly fell back onto the pillows, screwing his eyes closed for the brief respite it afforded, and let out a low groan.
And yet, despite the sharp pain lingering behind his eyes, he couldn’t deny that he felt better. In himself, in the situation. While he was still acutely aware that nothing had been resolved, there was a definite clarity of mind that had, previously, been disgracefully absent. A confidence in himself that had been wavering was now back in full force.
It would have been nice to get to that point without this bastard of a headache, but at least a headache was infinitely easier to deal with than chronic self-doubt.
The room seemed ridiculously bright, even filtered through his closed eyes. That was something he could fix, at least. Grimacing with the effort, he unleashed a modicum of his shadow-magic to cast the room in an unnatural darkness. The grinning faces of his shadows and eldritch minions were much preferred to something as unreasonable as daylight.
Plus, the darkness let him take in his surroundings properly. Cracking his eyes open a sliver, he was more than a little relieved to find that he was still in his room; in that, he was in the hotel room that he’d retreated to last night. And he was still alone. He didn’t know why he expected otherwise, but there was obviously some primordial fear lingering in his hindbrain of unforeseen company being the biggest threat to him right now.
And finally, there was a banging coming from somewhere. Loud and nearby, a manic, rapid fire machine-gun ratatatatatat. He buried his head in the pillows to try to muffle the sound. He gave up after a few moments; while the bed he was in was nominally his own, it was alien in its newness and was surprisingly uncomfortable. The mattress was too soft, the duvet too thick and heavy. The sheets were the wrong texture, and were slightly, inexplicably damp.
So was he, a little. Especially his hair.
The final events of the night before filtered back to him patchwork and piecemeal.
Ah yes, that’s why.
Well, he was glad that he hadn’t drunkenly decided to stay in the shower all night, but he obviously hadn’t bothered properly drying himself before climbing between the sheets. It was a thoroughly unpleasant sensation to wake up to, but – he raised his shoulder to his nose and sniffed - at least he didn’t smell like Lucifer any more.
He felt clammy and cold, though.
He threw off the damp sheets, kicking them down the bed. He was still naked - he obviously hadn’t been in a state to properly dress for bed - but being exposed to the cool air of the room was preferable to the sticky sensation of wet bed linen clinging to him.
The noise hadn’t stopped, and didn’t sound like it was going to. He listened to it, trying to ignore how it was making his headache worse and instead identify what was making it. It was then, after an embarrassingly long moment, he recognised the sound as Niffty’s signature knock, and that it was coming from his door.
“Yes, Niffty?” he called, clearing his throat when his voice came out a little croaky, rough with sleep.
“Mister Alastor, sir? Are you in there?”
If he wasn’t so sure that she was incapable of the emotion, Alastor would have sworn that she sounded almost… worried. It was most unlike her. He narrowed his eyes a little, perplexed. Come to think of it, her presence was rather unexpected, too; not completely unheard of, but there were very few situations that would require her to come to his room to wake him.
And to be honest; given how much she’d imbibed the night before, he would have expected her to be curled up in some dusty corner somewhere, among the bugs and detritus.
It must be important. Some sort of hotel emergency that required his attention as the executive producer.
“Yes, yes, I’m here. Give me a moment, Niffy dear, I’ll be right with you.”
She didn’t wait for him to open the door, and instead continued to call to him, relief evident in her voice:
“Sir! Sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor, and Miss Charlie said it was okay for me to show him to your room. He’s been waiting an awfully long time.”
A visitor. Alastor cocked his eyebrow, running through the possibilities. He didn’t often get visitors, and none of his acquaintances would be so brazen to come so directly to him. Even Mimzy met with him in the hotel’s lobby, having the good sense not to push the boundaries of their friendship beyond something publicly acceptable.
A carefully-honed warning sense joined his headache in an alerting pulse. He felt his guard go up, the fine hairs at the back of his neck begin to prick and stand on end.
He knew exactly who the visitor was. But, surely, he wouldn’t have the audacity to come seek him out in his room?
No, he would. This was part of the game, especially after last night at the bar. Lucifer was determined not to let anything lie between them. Last night was yet another taste of how far he would go to keep Alastor on the back foot, keep him angry and pressured.
Alastor swore under his breath. His respite had indeed been a brief one; the stifling feeling of being under constant scrutiny came back in full force. And while he was still in the dark as to why Lucifer was still pursuing him, it was clear that something had to give somewhere: Alastor could either keep on retreating whenever slightly threatened by Lucifer’s presence, keep on giving up ground until he was all but hounded from the hotel, and give up on his chance to be free of her chains… or take on the King of Hell.
Alastor licked his lips.
To own the soul of the first fallen angel; the cause of the original sin and the fall of mankind was a precariously delicious thought. It was foolish, no, outright dangerous. Risky beyond all belief to even try.
And yet Alastor was tempted.
Lucifer had been the one to flaunt the possibility in the first place, and now that the words had been suggested: go on then, if you can - Alastor realised that he wanted it. The things he’d felt when Lucifer’s blood had coated his tongue, when he’d had his pale, delicate body beneath his own, struggling against him, his tentacles, his desire to hurt.
He could do it too. Without the constraints of a deal or contract, he was strong enough to take Lucifer on; he was sure of it. Lucifer had proven before, even when Alastor was hobbled by their deal, that it was possible to make him drop his guard an succumb to pleasures of the flesh. If Alastor challenged him now, Lucifer wouldn’t be able to command him so easily, wouldn’t be able to orchestrate his body into doing… things… against his will.
There would be nothing but the battle of wits and wills. And Alastor excelled in both.
Alastor grinned, his eyes flashing full of malice and want.
“I’ll be out presently.”
Of course, he was going to take his sweet time. Make Lucifer wait. If he wanted to torment Alastor that much, he would.
And Alastor would make him regret it.
Bolstering himself as he formed a plan, Alastor swung his legs over the side of the bed, carefully stretching his back and shoulders. His neck clicked with an audible crack that was more than a little bit satisfying; his headache dissipated with the unsettling sound and his ever-growing confidence.
He had a number of options available to him; brute force was an easy option, and often his go-to when facing lesser demons... but probably was a bit gauche for challenging Lucifer. Lucifer was too smart to willingly enter into a deal with him, and threats and coercion were out of the question. The answer was surprisingly simple: Lucifer was a slave to his carnal desires, and lust was a sin for a reason.
He could use that, could exploit it for all it was worth. Once he had Lucifer alone in his room, with all the privacy that afforded, he could let Lucifer have his fun until his guard was down and then strike. And he would take everything he could from him.
Lucifer didn’t know what he was walking into.
Alastor found his cane and, opening a portal, pulled out a heavy silk dressing gown. As he tied the sash at his waist, he made a mental note to bring over the rest of his things later, and maybe do a little redecorating; those apple-and-snake motifs really were an eyesore. With a wave of his hand, he dispelled the unnatural darkness and the minions that dwelled in the gloom. His own shadow was the only one to remain; it smiled at him encouragingly, cocking its head to one side.
Finally, he ran his fingers through his hair to comb the worst of the tangles, and found his monocle from where it had fallen to the floor at some undisclosed point in the evening.
There. He was ready. He felt like himself, confident, even a little giddy at the anticipation of being able to face Lucifer head on and beat him at his own game.
Perhaps even remove him as a source of constant irritation.
Beyond the door he could hear Lucifer’s slightly annoyed voice, undoubtedly impatient at being made to wait. His instincts were right; it was him. Alastor threw it open with a needlessly dramatic flourish, cutting him off mid-sentence.
He was standing next to Niffty, looking glossy and clean and enviably well-rested. Their eyes met, and Alastor felt a hungry twist in his stomach at the sight of him. He really was beautiful, and Alastor wanted to destroy him all the more for it.
The trap was set. All Lucifer need do was to spring it, and Alastor would have his victory.
“Ah, Lucifer! What a surprise to see you here!” Alastor’s face twisted into a practiced sneer that he reserved specifically for Lucifer. “It’s been at least a few hours since you’ve darkened my doorstep. It must be a new record!”
“Fucking finally. Some bellhop you are - what kept you?”
Alastor grinned, not rising to the bait. He saw how Lucifer’s lips twitched into a smirk at the state of Alastor’s undress, and Alastor could practically feel his eyes roving over him, trailing down the exposed V of flesh starting at his chest down to the sash at his waist.
When he caught his eye Lucifer bit his lip, his eyelashes fluttering with interest.
Alastor grinned. Lucifer really did make it easy.
“Thank you, Niffty!” Alastor said, politely addressing her but not breaking Lucifer’s intense eye contact. “I can take it from here.”
“You’re welcome, sir!” she said. She turned to Lucifer and let out a girlish giggle, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “You know, Lucifer sir, you can ask me for anything, anytime.”
Lucifer was too distracted to notice her coquettish gesture.
“Uh, yeah? Thank you.”
She winked – blinked? - before skipping down the corridor, half-singing something about bad boys. Alastor waited until she was out of sight, then he stood up tall to greet his guest.
“And what is it that you want that was so urgent that you had to wake me?” Alastor asked, casually leaning against the door frame. He didn’t really care for the answer. It was unimportant. But what was important was how Lucifer was watching every shift of fabric lest it expose more skin, so thoroughly taking the bait that was being dangled in front of him. “Desperation isn’t a good look.”
Lucifer laughed, pleased as the challenge he read in Alastor’s tone.
“And look who’s sassy this morning! Do you always wake up in this mood, or am I just lucky?”
“Hmm?” Alastor rolled his eyes, feigning nonchalance. He inspected his nails. “What was that? I have no interest in entertaining whatever petty insults you are planning to throw my way if that’s why you’re here”
To Alastor’s surprise, Lucifer looked slightly… uncertain… just for a second. He shook his head, evidently dislodging the thought before catching himself, replacing his expression with an easy smile.
“No no, nothing like that. I’d like to come in. You never know who’s listening in these corridors, and I was hoping for a little privacy.”
“And if I refuse?”
Lucifer narrowed his eyes mischievously. “Are you sure you want to? The way you took off last night, I would have thought you would have preferred it not to have more of our conversations overheard by my daughter and her friends.”
Alastor’s eye twitched at the comment, and he made a mental note to make a few choice threats later. Not to Charlie, of course, but definitely to the others. He would reinforce his reputation as the Radio Demon if he needed to; it wouldn’t do have his underlings forget what he was capable of if pushed.
But to Lucifer he said: “And what is it that you’re wanting to discuss that is so secret?”
Lucifer leaned forwards, his eyes flicking up seductively.
“Wanna go again for round two? But in a bed this time, like normal people?”
Alastor bit back the genuine static screech that emanated from his throat. He caught himself and scowled; Lucifer did that on purpose.
“Will you keep your voice down?” he hissed, glancing down the corridor in haste. Just because he couldn’t see anyone didn’t mean someone wasn’t there. He sent a surreptitious shadow slithering the length of the hallways and back just to make sure.
“So invite me inside.”
Alastor wanted to deny him out of pure contrariness. This was all part of the plan, he tried to convince himself; Lucifer had to think he was winning for this to work, completely believe that Alastor was on the back foot. But if it didn’t feel exactly like before, that he felt genuinely unmoored by how easily Lucifer knew how to play him.
He stood aside, despite the familiar kick of anger begin to rise in his chest; feeling, once again, that he was too easily submitting to Lucifer’s whims.
“Did you really come here for that?” he asked as Lucifer passed, closing the door behind him with a click. He didn’t physically lock it – that would be far too obvious - but he did ward it with a shadowy barrier so that they couldn’t be uninterrupted later, no matter what anyone might hear. “What made you think I’d be at all interested?”
“Well, mainly because I saw you yesterday. Ever since you came back to the hotel, you were watching me. Every time I looked up, there you were, grinning at me like you want to devour me, and fuck, I want that.”
Alastor didn’t know what to say to that admission. It sounded so honest, so truthful that he was genuinely taken aback. Had he read the situation wrong? He glanced over to Lucifer and when he saw him making an exaggerated show of looking at the bed, no doubt taking in the tangled bed sheets and Alastor’s discarded clothing, he felt reassured. No. He was right. Lucifer was just fucking with him.
Or at least, Lucifer wanted to fuck him.
“If that is why you are here you are going to be very disappointed. I made it perfectly clear that we are done.”
Lucifer turned and stepped towards him, crossing the small distance in a few confident strides. When he reached Alastor, he reached out, running a long finger down the collar of the dressing gown. Alastor fought the urge to flinch when Lucifer strayed from the cool silk to the fine hair on his chest, trailing down the breastbone and sternum until he finally met resistance from the stiff fabric at his waist.
For such a simple movement, there was no denying that it was affecting him. There was something passing between them, some charged emotion that was making some, primal, deep need within him respond without consulting him first. The way Lucifer was looking at him was dangerous. It was as hungry as anything he’d ever experienced, lustful and shameless, and above all, perilously candid.
At the tower, Lucifer had been delighted when things took the turn they did. He’d been unashamed when Alastor had turned a chaste kiss into more carnal acts. He’d revelled in the heady mix of pleasure and pain Alastor had subjected him to, and Alastor was forced to admit that he’d enjoyed seeing the King of Hell hurt.
He felt a decisive twitch, his cock pulsing with the memory.
Alastor let out the shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. If Lucifer had trailed much lower, he would have been able to feel the beginnings of a very definite erection beginning to form between Alastor’s legs. There was no hiding it.
Lucifer obviously noticed the blunt shape begin to rise anyway, and looked up into Alastor’s eyes with a self-satisfied smirk.
“I don’t think we are. You can’t get me out of your head, can you?”
“That’s your fantasy. You’re showing you hand. Sir.”
Lucifer looked pointedly downwards. Alastor didn’t defend himself and raised his eyebrow in challenge, eyes narrowing as his smile spread wider. Lucifer grinned.
“Well, if you won't admit that you've been watching me, there was also the fact that you knocked out the power to the hotel last night. All of it, every single light and electrical doo-dad, just poof! Dead!”
“Is that so? And?”
“Now, the others think it’s because you were having a major temper-tantrum following the bartender’s choice comments – he’s hilarious, by the way, have you ever spoken to him? - but, I’m not so sure.”
He knew.
There was no way that Lucifer could know, and yet there was something in his smile, in his shark-like grin that suggested that he knew exactly why Alastor had unleashed such a surge of electricity. It was in anger, Alastor reminded himself. The power blew because he was angry.
But that was not all he felt.
Alastor shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though a warning bell was going off like a siren inside his head.
“Oh, do go on, I am fascinated to hear your theories.”
Lucifer leaned closer, closer than what was comfortable.
“Well, I thought the same at first, but then I saw something interesting in my room last night, once everything settled down. A shape on the wall, dark, like a shadow. And it looked like it was having a good time, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m sure I don’t.”
Lucifer didn’t let up. He just smiled as he leaned forward, tilting his chin upwards as if to kiss him, keeping Alastor’s eyes locked on his. A pale hand snaked forward and cupped Alastor’s cheek in a mockingly tender gesture. To Alastor, it was as brutal as a slap.
“What I saw, was someone who looked suspiciously like you - the shape of your antlers gave it away - getting thoroughly fucked. And from what I could see, there were some creative uses of your tentacles.”
Alastor jerked his head out of Lucifer’s hand, teeth bared in a sneer. He cast a sideways glance to his shadow who shrugged at him, disrespectfully. While his shadow was a separate entity in its own right – an echo of a long-devoured soul - it was so perfectly bound to his will that it didn’t have any wants or desires of its own, and so it very rarely did anything Alastor didn’t wholeheartedly agree with. And it had never done anything like this.
He wasn’t even sure it could.
“Did you come here to describe your perverse fantasies to me?” he said, fighting back a note of irritation and panic rising in his voice, “because I am not interested.”
The room darkened, shadows bleeding from the walls as an arc of green electricity beginning to swirl and coil around them both. Lucifer laughed, insolent and so unaware of the danger he was in.
"Perverse? I'm not the one with a voyeurism kink."
"I can assure you that I don't know what you're talking about."
“You sure? ‘Cause I think you need to work on your poker face.”
And with that Lucifer pushed forward; rising onto the tips of his toes, he pressed a soft kiss to Alastor’s lips, warm and gentle. There was a sharp zap of static where their lips met, the sting instantly bringing Alastor’s thoughts crashing back to the moment, the issue with his misbehaving shadow suddenly forgotten.
But not forgiven. He’d deal with it later.
When Alastor didn’t respond – didn’t push him away, didn’t snap at him to stop - Lucifer ran his hands up the back of his neck, trailing his fingers up until they could card the longer strands of hair. He pulled gently, tugging until Alastor turned his head to a better angle.
And Alastor let him. Fighting the urge to slam Lucifer against the nearest wall and bite his neck like a beast, he instead focused on his plan. All he had to do, for now, was to do nothing. Let Lucifer have his fun.
He felt his eyes closing, parting his lips to let Lucifer slip his tongue into his mouth and seek his own. Allowing a small hum of pleasure, he felt the stirring hunger from before begin to filter back, his body responding not only to the physical sensation of touch, but because of the pure opportunity Lucifer was giving to him.
He was letting his guard down.
Freely.
Foolishly.
Without the security of a contract, Lucifer was unaware that he was about the be the architect of his own downfall.