Work Text:
Alastor checked and re-checked his book, making sure for perhaps the dozenth time that he had his incantations right. He never used to believe in any of this stuff: black magic, rituals, Satan worshiping. He used to think that the people that participated in such acts were simply fools and fanatics, looking for an excuse to project their deviancies onto a hellish scapegoat.
That had been until he had accidentally summoned a demon of his own.
He had been going about his usual business of gutting his prey and feeding them to the gators, not even realizing that he had been kneeling in the remnants of a cultist’s fire. Alastor had hummed to himself as blood oozed from between his fingers, sticky and smelling strongly of copper. It dripped down to the ground, dotting the faded outline of a pentagram drawn in the ashes he knelt in.
Suddenly, the temperature had begun to drop, making his breath curl around his face in wispy puffs of smoke. The blood coating his fingers and arms had coagulated almost instantly, jellying up and making him shiver from the cold. Mist swirled, thick and heavy and seemingly from nowhere, coalescing between the trees until a figure stepped forth.
Alastor had quickly gotten to his feet, his heart pounding and his knife held out defensively in front of him. The figure stepped closer, the mist surrounding them fading away to reveal a woman, short in stature with a hand on her hip, an easy, arrogant smirk on her face.
“Hey there, big boy,” she purred. Her voice was tinny and warbling, as if run down a phone line from miles away. Her form flickered in and out of existence, fading then reappearing in random pulses. “What can I do ya for?”
The knife had slipped from between Alastor’s limp fingers, landing with a dull thunk on the ground between his feet. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end, every nerve in his body screaming at him to run.
He was about to do just that, his legs tensing and toes flexing, preparing to turn him around and launch him off in the opposite direction, when the being sighed and rolled her eyes, clearly put out.
“Look, pal,” she said snarkily. “You were the one who interrupted my evening. Are we gonna make a deal or not?”
“A- a deal?” Alastor asked, bewildered.
“Yes, dumbass, a deal. That’s why you summoned me, ain’t it? Though I can’t thank ya for using this rank-ass little pit, a crossroads would have made the connection way less wonky.”
She crossed her arms and cocked her hip, leveling Alastor with a judgemental stare. “So, whatchu want? Fame, fortune? I hear there’s a bit of a recession goin’ on up here; you wouldn’t believe the amount of deals I’ve made just for you mortals to get a little cash in their pockets. Or are lookin’ for love? Dame or gent, I don’t judge. Just know I can only give ya lust potions, the real deal ain’t possible for us lowly crossroads demons.”
“I… think there may have been some sort of mistake,” Alastor said faintly. “Forgive me, but I didn’t mean to summon you. I didn’t even know it was possible.”
The crossroads demon pooched out her bottom lip and huffed out a breath, fluttering her bangs. “Fuck sakes,” she sighed. “Well, I gotta get back to it then. You ever want to make a deal, bring yourself to an actual crossroads and we’ll take it from there. Ask for Genevieve, that’s my name. Whatever you do, don’t go messing around with Frank, he’ll bust your balls and skimp out on the goods. And good lord, man, watch where you’re cuttin’, yeah? Not every demon’s as nice as me. Coulda got yourself in a lotta trouble, pal.”
Alastor nodded, his head spinning as he tried and failed to recover from whatever the fuck was going on. The crossroads demon - Genevieve - gave him a small waggle of her fingers.
“Ta!” she said, and then she disappeared into another swirl of thick mist.
That had been almost six months ago. Since that fateful night Alastor had thought of little else beyond the implications of what it would mean to make a deal with a demon. He was already quasi-famous from his radio show and therefore had no lack of money despite the Great Depression hitting hard all over the country, and he most certainly wasn’t looking for love. No, his curiosity-turned-obsession lay in a much simpler desire: power.
He knew he was doomed for Hell already, so why not make the most of his time on Earth? Ethereal power, the ability to bend people to his every whim and wish, mastery over the shadows, unlimited, unfettered control… oh, yes. He very much desired that.
He knew he wasn’t likely to get it from some feeble crossroads demon, however. No, the kind of power he craved would have to come from something far more powerful, far more ancient and more than likely evil.
He had spent months digging into every witchcraft, black magic and ancient text he could find. He did hundreds of hours of research and spent endless nights gathering materials, sketching out the sigils and practicing the Latin required. Finally, nearly half a year later, he was ready.
His research had brought him into the circle of some rather… unseemly types, but in doing so he had found the necessary materials required. An altar, carved of the darkest marble, with matching icons and religious artifacts to be placed on top. Incense and the correct herbs to burn. A bowl made of goat’s bone, in which he would place a combination of herbs, sheep’s blood and a lock of his own hair before setting it on fire and placing it on the pentagram carved into the soft soil of the forest.
Alastor was ready. He had forgone the black robe, thinking it was a rather foolish notion. He was a man of practicality, not an idealistic fanatic, and was here simply to make a deal. If whatever demon he summoned thought that he would be prostrating himself at their feet, begging for their blessings, they would have to think again.
He quickly lit the small offering bowl, placing it in the centre of the pentagram before stepping away. He pulled out his book and began to chant the incantation, careful to keep his voice clear and precise. The Latin flowed from him effortlessly, weeks of practice ensuring that the incantation was flawless. Though the only English translation he had found had been a broken, jumbled mess, he had understood the words demonic power and of the highest order well enough.
He kept his eyes on his book as he chanted, but in his peripheral vision he saw the fire flickering in the goat’s skull bowl suddenly blow out. The lines of the pentagram began to glow, filling the forest around him with an eerie red light. The ground in the middle of the pentagram started to move, shifting and bubbling like a thick stew in some great cauldron. Still, Alastor chanted, his voice raising into a booming crescendo as he reached the peak of the incantation.
He stopped, panting for breath as he clutched his book and stared at the pentagram. For a moment nothing happened, the only thing breaking the stillness of the night being his rapid breaths and his pulse thundering in his ears.
He had a split second to begin feeling disappointed before the ground exploded. Clods of earth and debris flew everywhere, sticks and stones whistling off between the trees and bits of dirt flying high into the air. Alastor just managed to duck before a rock the size of his fist was shooting past where his head had been not a second before. He hit the ground in a kneeling position, dropping the book in favour of bracing his hands behind his head protectively.
Just as suddenly as it started, it was over. There was a long moment of silence, the only sound being clumps of dirt slipping off of the trees they had hit and plopping to the ground. Alastor dared to glance up, expecting the huge crater that had been formed in the earth.
What he was not expecting was the figure that knelt inside.
The being (for surely whatever was kneeling on the ground was no man) had skin so white it glowed in the dim light of the forest. Golden hair flecked with bits of mud and dirt shadowed it’s face where it had bent it’s head. One knee was planted in the ground, the other leg raised in a bent position next to it’s face, revealing charred skin that began mid-calf and ended with a goat’s hoof planted in the dirt. From his position Alastor could see part of the figure’s bent back, and the two huge, terrible scars framing it’s shoulder blades, with the beginnings of what looked to be a smaller matching set below.
His heart leapt in his chest, trepidation and curiosity filling him as he continued to warily examine the being kneeling in the crater. He flinched like a frightened animal when the figure moved some moments later, slowly raising it’s head to take in it’s surroundings. Almost immediately, it’s gaze zeroed in on Alastor.
Alastor scrambled to his feet as the figure began to rise, not wanting to be on uneven ground with whatever he had summoned. It was clearly ancient and powerful, and he would need to put his best foot forward if he had any hope at all of getting what he wanted.
He quickly dusted himself off and watched as the figure fully stood, taking in the smouldering gold-and-red eyes and the flawless, marblesque skin. The being was entirely naked, something that while Alastor had not been expecting, didn’t particularly bother him. He had seen his fair share of the naked male form (albeit as corpses, but even still, he had) and the being seemed to more or less follow those same principles, save for the fact that it’s skin was entirely flawless - there was not a single mark, mole, freckle or scar to be found.
“Who dares to summon me?” the demon growled, his voice low and terrible. A coiling, whip-like tail lashed behind him as he placed his blackened hands on his hips, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Alastor coldly.
Alastor stepped forward, clearing his throat. “I did. I wish to make a deal, demon.”
There was a moment of silence where they simply regarded one another, facing off with the altar between them. Then, the demon began to laugh.
It started as a chortle, which quickly progressed into a fit of hysterical laughter. The demon bent over, slapping at his knees, howling like a hyena. Alastor frowned, his annoyance growing into full-blown rage with each second that passed.
“I’m glad the prospect is so entertaining for you,” he snapped. “Now if you’re quite finished-”
The demon held up his finger, bent double and still laughing. Alastor ground his teeth, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. How dare this creature mock him? He was not unused to being blatantly disregarded - an unfortunate ramification of having darker skin in a state where the politicians often paraded around in white hoods, chanting and carrying torches - however those people often met quick, untimely deaths at his own two hands. This particular being was likely untouchable, and it irked Alastor to the extreme.
When the demon was finally finished he straightened up, wiping his eyes and shaking his head, chuckling to himself. Alastor watched with ill-disguised contempt, his upper lip pulled into a sneer of distaste. He stepped around the altar, moving to stand directly in front of the demon in a bid to command his full attention. He got it, the demon fully standing to regard him with sparkling, mirth-filled eyes.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” the creature said, a cocky smile playing on his lips.
Alastor immediately bristled. “I know well enough. A crossroads demon cannot give me that which I desire; I require something much more powerful. I supposed you would fit the bill, if the ritual worked correctly.”
“Oh, it worked, alright,” said the demon. He crossed his arms and eyed Alastor up and down, scrutinizing him in a way that made the human absurdly want to curl up and hide. He pushed the feeling aside and stood up straighter, allowing the demon to look his fill. After a moment he shrugged, uncrossing his arms and settling into a more relaxed posture. “Alright, big guy, I’ll play ball. What exactly do you want?”
“Power,” Alastor said immediately. He cursed himself internally when the demon grinned and cocked a brow. “I- ah, I summoned you in the pursuit of power. I have no need for money or fame or love. I want the ability to harness the shadows, to conjure and shape them at my every wish and whim, to be able to step through them and travel to wherever my heart desires. I want to know what it means to command the night itself.”
“Well, whatever I was expecting, it certainly wasn’t that,” the demon mused. A bolt of satisfaction went through Alastor when the being looked as if he were a tiny bit impressed. “Oddly specific, but to each their own. Do you understand how a deal works though? You only get what you give.”
Alastor rolled his eyes. “Of course I understand. You’ll likely want my soul, correct?”
The demon shrugged nonchalantly. “That kinda lost its appeal a few millennia ago. You may have something else I need though…”
He hummed and approached Alastor, moving to walk around and inspect him like one might inspect a prize horse. Suddenly and without warning he leaned forward, inhaling deeply.
“Did- did you just sniff me?” Alastor asked, aghast. The demon didn’t answer. Instead, his lips curled into a smile, his eyes sparking with what could only be described as greed.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
“I- how dare you ask me that!” Alastor snapped, heat filling his cheeks. What was wrong with this creature?
“Oh yes, you are,” the demon purred in delight. “Excellent! That shall be your half of the deal. I give you the power that you seek, and you provide me with your essence. It’s quite powerful, especially when a virgin is as old as you are. Fine wine, and all that.”
“I am not old.”
“No, but your purity is. There isn’t much innocence left in you, but Lust is a pretty powerful Sin, and you remain almost entirely free from it. You contain just the right element of… untouched that I need.”
Alastor hesitated. It was a tempting offer: his blood for the power he sought. He had been prepared to sell his soul, after all, and what was a little blood in comparison to that?
Nodding to himself, he stepped forward, offering his hand to the powerful being. “Okay, demon, have it your way. I accept your deal.”
“Excellent,” the demon grinned, clasping Alastor’s hand within his own taloned one.
The effect was instantaneous: a hot, dry wind blew through the clearing, ruffling Alastor’s hair and tingling across his skin. He gasped as golden threads of magic immediately wound their way up his arm, binding his very soul to the being before him. His knees nearly buckled at the sensation - it was so violating, magic piercing clear though the very core of him, wrapping itself tightly around his throat and settling there as a warning for him to fulfill his end of the bargain or else he be faced with the punishment of attempting to disobey.
The demon released his hand and he stumbled back, his hand flying to his chest where he could feel the deal resting heavy on his soul. He panted for breath and looked up, spotting how the demon was watching him with an impatient expression.
“Are you finished?” he asked when Alastor finally caught his breath.
Alastor shot him a glare, trying to get his wits about him. It wasn’t like he spent every day frolicking about and making deals with demons. He needed a moment, dammit.
“I’m fine,” he hissed, straightening up and brushing his hands down the front of his waistcoat. “Now, shall we proceed?”
The demon hummed and snapped his fingers. A slim glass vial appeared in his palm from seemingly nowhere, glittering faintly in the moonlight.
“This shouldn’t hurt,” he said as he approached Alastor, who took a step back on instinct. He was abruptly caught by the altar pressing into the small of his back. He watched as the demon came nearer, holding out his hand in invitation.
Alastor swallowed hard and offered his own hand, watching curiously as the demon flipped it to expose the delicate veins of his inner wrist. The demon brought his opposite hand up, crooking his finger to reveal a single, wickedly sharp claw. He brought it down and Alastor had a sudden urge to scream “wait! ”, sure that the demon was about to slit him from wrist to elbow, spilling his life’s blood all over the ground -
But that didn’t happen. Before he could get a word out the demon had pricked his wrist, creating a small, shallow cut. Blood immediately welled and spilled, tracing about an inch down his arm before veering towards the edge, dripping off in small droplets.
The demon hummed and held the vial beneath the trickle of crimson, filling it with Alastor’s blood. He watched, his eyes wide and fascinated as the vial slowly filled; when it was finished the demon stoppered it and stowed it away into some pocket dimension with another snap of his fingers.
“That’s it?” Alastor asked, jerking himself from the semi-hypnotic state he had fallen into.
The demon looked startled. “Uh, no? I still need your tears, and some cum, too.”
“I- what?” Alastor squawked, tucking his injured wrist to his chest. “You need… no! Absolutely not!”
“You don’t exactly have a choice; we made a deal, dumbass. I promise to make it good for you,” the demon winked lasciviously, making Alastor shudder.
“The deal was for my blood, not… that.”
“The deal was for your essence, actually,” the demon corrected. “That includes other things, too. It isn’t only a virgin’s blood that contains power, after all. If you’re going to go about making deals, I suggest you focus a little more on the wording, sweetheart.”
“You tricked me!” Alastor fumed. He was not going to give this filthy, vile trickster his tears, or, God forbid, his… spunk.
The demon’s eyes hardened, his tail lashing behind him violently. “I did no such thing. You were the one who failed to make specifications for our deal. You have no one to blame but yourself, sinner.”
“You scheming, thieving, lying little-”
“Enough!” the demon snarled, his eyes inverting and sharp red horns sprouting from his skull. There came a snapping sound and suddenly six huge wings unfurled into existence, blood-red and iridescent white feathers cascading down around them. “I have forgiven your hubris for long enough, human. If you had even an ounce of self-preservation, you would have shut your mouth the first time. But no, you had to test my patience, and the bounds of your own ill-judgment.”
He snarled and flew forward, seizing Alastor by his injured wrist and spinning him around. Alastor’s lip split as his face was slammed against the altar, blood welling and spilling across the black marble. He reeled as the breath was knocked from his lungs, the sharp marble digging into his diaphragm and forcing his breath to hitch hard.
“You think you can command me?” the demon snarled as he bent over him, pressing him down even harder and spilling hellfire hot in Alastor’s ear. He whined in fear, his hands scrambling for purchase against the slippery altar as the demon kicked his ankles apart and shoved a palm into his lower back, forcing his spine into a sharp arch.
“I am the King of Hell, the original sin: the fucking Devil himself. You will supplicate yourself to me and pray for my mercy. Go on, beg me to be gracious. There’s still just enough angel left in me for that, I’m sure.”
Alastor gasped, his eyes flying wide as realization sunk in. Demonic power of the highest order… God, how could he have been so stupid?
“I see we’re finally learning,” Lucifer purred, pinching at the crease where Alastor’s thigh met his ass. “Go on, little human. Beg me to spare your wretched life.”
“P-please,” Alastor whispered. He had never begged for anything before, and it did not come naturally. “Please, don’t kill me.”
Lucifer hummed, a disappointed sound. “What a pathetic attempt. No matter. I know of other ways to make you beg.”
Alastor shuddered as he felt one long claw drag across the back of his thigh and up over his ass. His fear was making his heart pound, the rapid blood flow causing his vision to go blurry, and, to his utter dismay, his cock to harden.
He shouted in shock as Lucifer suddenly dug his claws into the fabric of his trousers, a loud ripping noise sounding through the clearing as his clothing was quite literally torn off of his body. He was left bent over the altar in nothing but his shirt and waist-coat, bare from the waist down and shivering against the cold marble.
“So pretty,” Lucifer purred from behind him. Alastor jumped as the Devil placed a hand on his ass, kneading the warm flesh. “I still need your cum, darling; would you like to do it yourself, or do you need a hand?”
Alastor whined, embarrassment and arousal warring within him in equal measures. He felt the tug of the deal in his chest, urging him to fulfill his end of the bargain.
“I- I would prefer to do it myself,” he groaned, immediately burying his face against the unforgiving marble in an attempt to cool his heated cheeks.
“Suit yourself,” Lucifer said. “Just make sure that when you finish, you get it all in here, okay?”
He set down something with a clink next to Alastor’s head. Alastor glanced up, spotting the glass jar that had been placed next to his face. It took everything in him not to whine in embarrassment, the thought of having to come in a jar for the satisfaction of the Devil almost too much to bear.
“Well?” Lucifer asked after a moment. “Get on with it. I don’t have all day, you know.”
Alastor ignored the jar for now, choosing instead to take his cock in hand. He shuddered as he tentatively stroked over the warm, hard flesh. He rarely did this, not really seeing the need or reason for such messy, vulgar business. But oh, how it felt now to pump his cock languidly, his thighs shaking and his ass arched, presenting himself like a whore for Lucifer. He whined, his forehead thumping against the altar as he continued to stroke, flicking his wrist at the head and running his thumb over and around his own foreskin.
Soon, the slick, filthy sounds of his masturbation began to fill the clearing. His knuckles were bumping against the side of the altar with every pass over the sensitive head of his prick. He was trembling, shaking like a lamb, and so very aroused.
Alastor jumped when a pair of hands suddenly settled on his hips, his own hand stilling its frantic pumping between his thighs.
“Hush, my sweet, I’ve got you,” Lucifer whispered, his voice sultry and low. He leaned forward and Alastor gasped as a hard cock slid between the cheeks of his ass, bumping against his tailbone and leaving a smear of precum in its wake. “That’s it, nice and easy. You going to come for me?”
“H-holy shit,” Alastor whispered as Lucifer drew back his hips before thrusting forward, letting the human feel the entire length of his cock.
Alastor picked up the pace once more, his hand flying up and down his shaft in a quick, dirty rhythm. His eyes rolled as his other hand shot out, scrambling for the jar and nearly knocking it from the altar before he caught hold of the rim of it. He was quick to bring it down to his cock, letting out one last choked cry before he was coming, careful not to waste a drop as he collected his own spend.
When he was finished he slumped against the altar, heaving for breath. He felt Lucifer take the jar from his limp grip, humming as he inspected the contents.
“Very good, but I’m afraid it’s not enough,” the Devil said.
“W-what?” Alastor asked blearily, moving to glance around behind him. What did he mean it wasn’t enough?
“I’m going to need more than this, darling. This is potent stuff, you know.”
“I can’t go again so soon,” Alastor groaned, turning back around to thump his head against the altar. “I hardly ever go at all, let alone twice in a row.”
“I could help with that,” Lucifer suggested.
“How would you- hey!” Alastor yelped, jumping away from the cool, slick finger suddenly pressed against his ass. “What on earth are you doing?!”
“Um, helping?”
“What- how is this helping?”
“Oh, dear. You really don’t know much about sex, do you?” Lucifer tutted. “Well, allow me to provide some education. There’s a fun little gland you got called your prostate, which can be stimulated from within your ass. If I play with it enough, well… you’ll see.”
Alastor shivered hard as the finger returned, circling around his hole teasingly. He had never been touched there before, and the stimulation was overwhelming, to say the very least. It felt dirty, wrong, filthy… but the way Lucifer was touching him tenderly, dipping just the barest tip of his finger inside before retreating… Alastor whined, a cocktail of confused embarrassment and arousal infusing his veins.
“Just relax for me, pet,” Lucifer cooed in his ear as he pressed more insistently against his hole. “It’ll feel good, I promise.”
Alastor struggled to do as he was bid, crying out when Lucifer’s digit suddenly slid into him in one easy glide. He had a brief, flashing worry about the claw attached to that finger, but then all thoughts were wiped from his mind as Lucifer found something within him and pressed.
A high, warbling cry rose through the trees, and Alastor had just enough self-awareness to be embarrassed about the fact that it was coming from him before Lucifer crooked his finger and did it again, rubbing against the little bump within him with hard, insistent pressure.
“Oh, oh fuck,” Alastor swore, his hips kicking back on their own volition, pressing against Lucifer’s hand.
“Told you,” the fallen angel said smugly, circling his finger over and around Alastor’s prostate. “How’s that feel, darling?”
“I- it feels… feels… ah! Oh, mm, do that again, please, please, shit,” Alastor hissed. He knew he was babbling but couldn’t stop himself. He had never felt anything like this; this all-consuming pleasure, making his thighs shake and his eyes roll. It burned through him, an inferno that licked at every cell in his body, carving him out and making him into something new: a creature entirely dominated by pleasure, his only thought being a shrieking, begging chant in his own mind of more, more, more.
Or perhaps he had said that out loud, as Lucifer chuckled and began to rub harder and faster, tightening the frantic little circles against Alastor’s walls until all of the pressure of his finger was concentrated on that one delicious, glorious, terrible little spot.
Alastor’s gut clenched, warmth blooming low in his tummy as he shook and wailed, his half-hard cock giving an aborted twitch as he came again. His cum would have dripped to the forest floor if not for Lucifer’s quick reflexes, the Devil quickly positioning the jar beneath Alastor’s cock to catch his cum.
Alastor gasped for breath, his mouth agape and cheek plastered to the rapidly-warming marble. He sighed with relief when Lucifer withdrew his finger… only to let out a startled yelp when he returned, thrusting in two and scissoring them, stretching the fluttering, grasping hole eagerly.
“I- I already gave you more,” Alastor’s voice cracked around a moan as Lucifer skimmed close to his prostate, not quite touching the sensitive gland but stroking at the skin next to and around it.
“You have at least one more in you, I know you do,” the Devil said confidentially as he worked Alastor’s hole, his movements diligent and almost compassionate, in some odd way that Alastor did not have the mental fortitude to examine in that moment.
“I really don’t think I- ah!” Alastor whimpered (fucking whimpered! What on earth was happening to him?) as Lucifer tenderly stroked over his prostate again, his touch gentle and coaxing. He built it up slowly, working Alastor like waves worked at a rocky shore, lowering his defenses and heightening his pleasure with an expert touch that entirely opposed the feverish, punishing pace he had set the first time.
Alastor shook and strained, his feet shifting around and furrowing deep grooves into the earth around him. He was restless, pent up: he wanted to run from the heat burning through his core, he wanted to douse himself in cool, blessed water and be done with this entire sordid affair, but he couldn’t, the pleasure Lucifer was giving him was too great, the temptation too strong. Their deal was tugging insistently behind his sternum, encouraging him to simply give in and submit to the ethereal being behind him, to allow Lucifer to wash him in pleasure until he had taken his fill.
In the end fighting against his ecstasy was a hopeless, helpless endeavor. It washed over him as gently and maliciously as an unnoticed undertow; pulling him out to sea before he even understood what was happening. He shuddered, his orgasm feeling entirely different than the others, sparking up and down his spine before settling low in his hips, his cock (not even hard) dribbling more cloudy fluid into the jar Lucifer held beneath it expectantly.
“Good. You’re doing well,” Lucifer praised gently as he laid tiny fluttering kisses down the length of Alastor’s spine. Alastor shuddered, finding himself incapable of even answering, his mind feeling disconnected and floating far from his body. He whined, the helpless feeling inducing some manner of panic: he had never felt this way before. He had always been in control, and how he could hardly move his own arms; could hardly feel his own arms, what was happening, what-
“Shh, sweet thing, calm yourself,” Lucifer soothed, setting down the jar so that he could run a hand up and down Alastor’s side, gentling him through his alarmed writhing and shivering. “You’re alright. You’ve just hit subspace, is all. Let it go, baby. Let me take care of you.”
He wanted to, he truly did, but his rational mind was warring with his irrational: his id and superego fighting over his psyche like dogs with a bone. As he struggled, Lucifer simply stroked his hip and cooed at him with the confident air of someone who had seen it all before. He allowed Alastor his time, soothing him as the human in his grasp trembled and twitched, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of Alastor’s lax hole. He had ceased his insistent stroking of Alastor’s prostate, choosing instead to simply slip his fingers in and out in slow, gliding increments, somehow knowing that Alastor did not want him to pull away and leave him cold and yearning.
Finally, after several long moments Alastor began to relax. He gave in to the feeling of Lucifer’s hands on his skin and inside of him, melting against the altar and pushing his hips up higher in an invitation for Lucifer to do as he pleased. He let his mind drift, his rational thoughts filling with staticky white noise as he gave in to his base, animalistic urges, falling into a world of nothing but touch and taste and smell.
He sighed when Lucifer picked up the pace, twisting his wrist to fuck into Alastor deeper. There came gentle pressure as he added a third finger, stretching Alastor’s hole and working him over, edging closer and closer to the thin, now-bruised skin that formed the barrier between his prostate and eager, grasping walls.
Alastor cried out when Lucifer finally brushed over the tender spot, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as his back bowed. It was too much, despite the way Lucifer was clearly trying to be gentle: the pleasure was being chased by a deep ache, every clench of his overworked muscles burning through him.
“One more, just give me one more,” Lucifer chanted between licks and nibbles along Alastor’s shoulder blades. “I know you can do it, sweet boy. Give me what I need.”
Alastor panted, his eyes crossing and drool slipping from between his lips to pool on the altar below. The need to come was rising, making him keen with the sweet agony of it. He would have collapsed if not for Lucifer’s firm grip on his hip, his knees trembling like that of a newborn fawn’s, his muscles screaming at him for reprieve.
A gasping sob was wrenched from his throat as Lucifer began to stroke deeper, bouncing Alastor back and forth on his hand. Alastor thought he might have added a fourth finger to the three already bullying their way into his hole, but he couldn’t be sure; his world had narrowed down to the sensation of those clever digits stroking and caressing, urging his swollen gland to produce just a little more. Suddenly, a brief flash of worry cut through his pleasure-fueled haze as he contemplated a new, terrifying idea: what if Lucifer intended to try to force his entire hand in? Surely that was impossible, wasn’t it? Surely it would hurt, would tear him… but even as he imagined it his cock gave a half-hearted twitch of interest.
“L- Luci- Luc-” he slurred, trying to convey how he very much did not want a fist ramming away inside of his ass.
“Shh, don’t try to speak. You’re almost there, sweetheart, just a little more,” Lucifer cooed.
Alastor cried out as Lucifer cupped his fingers around his prostate, fondling it through his walls and urging him closer and closer to the edge. His fingers scrabbled and curled, blunt nails uselessly trying to dig into hard marble for any kind of purchase. His eyes rolled and his mouth dropped open, a silent scream building deep in his chest as fire licked up his spine, consuming him entirely as every muscle seized.
His orgasm was like nothing he had ever experienced before. It devoured him completely, filling every cell in his body with delicious agony, making his vision white out and his ears ring. He didn’t register the frantic movements of Lucifer frotting against his ass, or the hot cum that coated his spine as the Devil found his release. He didn’t feel the rim of the jar at the tip of his cock, collecting the drooling sample that leaked from him. He didn’t feel Lucifer’s claws petting through his sweat-soaked curls, urging his head to the side so that a small vial could be placed beneath his eye, sampling from the crystalline stream that flowed freely from him.
When he came to, he realized that they were seated on the ground, Lucifer’s arms wrapped securely around his waist, pressed back-to-front with his legs spread over Lucifer’s thighs and his head thrown back over Lucifer’s shoulder.
Alastor tried to talk but all that came out was a garbled, wordless noise. His throat felt like it had been rubbed down with sandpaper, and every muscle in his body cried out in overexertion.
“Don’t try to speak. Here, drink this,” Lucifer offered, holding up a canteen bottle he had summoned from Lord knew where. Alastor quickly snatched it from his hands, guzzling down the blessedly cool, crisp water.
“Thank you,” he croaked when he was finished, handing the canteen back. Lucifer didn’t deign to take it; instead, it disappeared from Alastor’s hands with a small ‘pop’ and puff of smoke.
“Think you can stand?” Lucifer asked, shifting Alastor in his lap. Alastor nodded and forced himself to move, uncurling his aching limbs and getting to his feet. He wobbled a little but ultimately maintained his balance, waving off Lucifer’s outstretched hand as the Devil also stood.
“Have I fulfilled my end of the bargain to your satisfaction?” Alastor asked waspishly as he stretched and cracked his back. The question was somewhat rhetorical: he could feel that he had, the lump that had been sitting heavy in chest since they had sealed their deal finally dissipating.
“Yes,” Lucifer hummed nonchalantly. “As for my end, you should begin to feel the manifestation of your powers soon. Don’t go crazy right off the bat - they’re part of you, and draw their strength from your own energy. Use too much too soon and you’ll find yourself benched for a week. I would suggest building it up, like how you’d work a muscle.”
Alastor nodded, watching how Lucifer made his way back towards the crater in the ground.
“Oh, and one last thing,” Lucifer said, turning back towards him. “No more trying to summon demons, got it? It’s a pain in the ass to be dragged all the way the fuck up here to fulfill some silly request. I guess you’ll understand what I mean soon enough, though.”
Before Alastor could ask what he meant Lucifer was giving him a wink and hopping into the crater, disappearing with a loud crack like a clap of thunder.
He sighed, running a hand through his wild hair, no doubt sticking it up in all sorts of crazy angles. He had a half-thought that maybe he had hallucinated the entire wild ordeal, but no - his ass and thighs were protesting too loudly for it to have been a simple illusion. He could also feel something else, too: a small curl of something deep in his chest, burrowing into the place where the deal had struck him and taking root there, filling him with a strange, unknown sensation of power.
Heart racing, Alastor curled his fingers into a fist, his smile stretching so wide his cheeks ached with it when the shadows around him flickered and lept for the barest of moments. It would surely take time and hard work to master the full extent of his newfound power, but he was nothing if not determined.
Feeling giddy, he turned back towards the altar, only to have his smile melt from his face when he caught sight of the scraps of what used to be his trousers and underwear strewn across the forest floor in a ragged mess. He would need to find his way back wearing nothing but his shirt and waistcoat.
Fuck.