Archive of Our Own

The robes that Alastor had been forced to wear itched terribly.

He could feel the dyed wool scraping raw the points of contact it made with his skin: the back of his neck, his throat, his knees. He was only grateful that he had been allowed to wear a light cotton tunic beneath - the thought of wearing nothing but the robe made him shudder. 

It was a long and heavy thing, covering him from toes to wrist to throat. Its hood was pulled up over his head, hiding away his face and hair from prying eyes. It was dyed the deepest, darkest crimson, an endeavor that cost the dyers weeks worth of work every year. They had had half a century to perfect the recipe, however, and the result had been a dye that was the same unsettling red as fresh arterial blood. 

Alastor was poked sharply in the small of his back, forcing his bare feet to move faster. He gritted his teeth beneath his hood, wishing that he could turn and snatch the damnable prod from between the Aunt’s fingers and take it to her flesh. He would relish in her screams as he snapped it against her face over and over and over again. But alas, there were Brothers on every side of him just waiting for a chance to beat him into subservience if he dared to lay a hand on the Aunt. He had learned that well enough during his first few days at the Altar. 

There was once a time that Sacrifices were treated like a precious commodity. Each one was revered and cherished, showered with gifts and food before being sent on their way up the mountain. Perhaps once the people of the village truly believed that the Serpent would not only remain indifferent, but even shower them with gifts for providing such a healthy, whole Sacrifice. 

Now that time was over, and had been for as long as Alastor could remember. It was no longer a joyous day when a Sacrifice was chosen, their name drawn from a pool of candidates by the Council each and every year to be given the honour of hiking up to what most considered was their doom. Once, when the Choosing had been a day for celebration, dozens would come forward, offering themselves to the Serpent to keep their families safe and their village well. There had needed to be a draw simply to sift through the many candidates who had vied for the honour. Now there was a draw of a much different sort. 

Every healthy person in the village from the age of eighteen to twenty-one was required to put their name in the pool, where it would be sifted through at random by an old, wizened Counselor. He would blindly pull a name, announcing it before the entire village, and for that year the unlucky he or she would be the Sacrifice. The Aunts and Brothers would march forward, their prods and clubs in hand, seizing the unfortunate someone from the crowd and marching (or sometimes dragging) them off to the Altar for seven days of preparation. 

The preparation had been the worst part for Alastor, even more so than the Choosing. He was twenty-one, an age when everyone held their breath, hoping and praying that their names were not drawn so that they could finally be free of the anxiety that plagued them this time every year. He had heard his name be announced, had seen the Brothers and Aunts come for him through the crowd. As his elbows were seized and he was marched away he had seen the way that people averted their gaze, already accepting his fate, already putting him from their mind. Already forgetting him. 

The only person who had said a word had been Rosie, Alastor’s dearest friend. She had forced her way through the crowd, shoving aside a Brother who moved to block her path before flinging her arms around Alastor’s neck. She just managed to plant a kiss on each of his cheeks before they were being dragged apart, she to be tossed back into the sea of onlookers and he to be forced up the steps to the Altar. 

Once inside everything had changed. The Altar was truly nothing more than a manor carved into the side of the mountain. It boasted a ballroom, huge kitchens and many rooms for guests, designed for the celebrations that used to take place every night for seven days leading up to the day when the Sacrifice would make their way to the top of the mountain. Now it had fallen into disrepair, all but one wing unusable. It was a dim, dank place, the walls dripping with condensation and boasting nothing more than bits of moss and unicellular organisms that had congealed to make slimy pools of muck.

Alastor was shown to his room and was immediately stripped of his clothes and forced towards a steaming bath. He tried to put up a fight but was beaten for his efforts, a pattern that would repeat for the entire length of his stay. He was scrubbed harshly by the Aunts until his skin was pink and raw, then put into a muslin tunic and sat at a table nearly overflowing with food. He had been forced to eat until he was sure he was going to vomit, then shoved into a cot and left there beneath the watchful eye of a Brother until he had fallen into a fitful sleep. 

All of his seven days had been similar. He was forced to eat until he was sick four times a day, and it didn’t take him long to realize why. They were trying to fatten him up for the Serpent, and if that wasn’t a disparaging thought, he didn’t know what was. 

Ultimately though, the food he could accept. It was the prayers that he could not contend with. 

He was shoved to his knees before an effigy of the Serpent at dawn and dusk and given a small book of prayers he was required to recite in order to please the powerful being, or some other such nonsense. He refused, earning himself dozens of lashes across his back, ass and ribs with the whip-like canes the Aunts bore, but he didn’t care. If he was to be led to his death as nothing more than a plump chicken ripe for roasting, he damn well would not pray to the monster that was doing the eating. 

On the morning of the seventh day Alastor rose before the sun so that he could watch it bloom from between the trees of the vast forest outside his window. If it was to be his last sunrise, he wanted to enjoy it. 

Just as the first rays began to brush his face the door to his chamber was flung open and a pair of Brothers strode in. They hauled Alastor from his bed and dragged him to the effigy room. When he refused to kneel they struck the back of his knees, sending him sprawling before the statue of the Serpent. They gave him an hour to say his prayers as they did every morning. He steadfastly refused, choosing instead to sit in defiant silence and glare at the statue before him. 

When the hour was up the Brothers hauled him to his feet once more and brought him back to his room. They sat him at the dining table, where he unwillingly gorged himself on bacon, bread, eggs and fruit. When he could eat no more he was put in a tub of scalding water and scrubbed until he bled, then brusquely dried and put into his tunic and crimson robe. 

By then the sun was high in the sky, signaling it was time to make his climb. He was escorted from his room by six Brothers and two Aunts and walked through the dreary halls of the Altar, heading further and further into the depths of the mountain. 

The stone beneath his bare feet was ice cold, quickly freezing him up to his ankles. He could hardly see a thing, but the Brothers and Aunts were old friends to the ritual and knew where they were going even with the absence of light. Several long minutes later, they reached the end of the tunnel and were met with a large wooden door. 

“Here is where we part,” the Aunt that had prodded him intoned. “You will follow the path to the top of the mountain, and there you will be faced with the Serpent. May he bless us with another bountiful year in the light of this Sacrifice.” 

“May he bless us,” the others murmured. 

Alastor winced against the bright sunlight as the door was opened. When his eyes adjusted he saw the path he was supposed to take: nothing more than a small, winding trail that led up the side of the mountain. Many years ago the villagers would have lined the trail, cheering as the door was opened and the Sacrifice stepped forth. They would have thrown flowers and crumbs of bread at his feet, kissed his cheeks and touched his robe as he passed. They would have known his name, and would have shouted it in blessing as he passed them by. 

Now there was no one and nothing besides the small path curving through the trees. The only thing crying out was a bluejay, its harsh warble seeming to mock him from high up in one of the towering pines. 

“Move, boy,” a Brother commanded. He landed a shove between Alastor’s shoulder blades, causing him to stumble out onto the trail. Alastor turned to shoot the Brother a glare over his shoulder, but already they were closing the door, locking him out in the great beyond. 

“Fuck you,” he whispered as the door closed with an ominous thunk. 

Alastor was half-tempted to abandon the trail altogether and flee into the forest, but where would he go? He had no idea which side of the mountain the cave had led to. All he could see around him were thick trees and huge columns of rock, their surfaces carved out by thousands of years of streams and spring runoff. He had no food, no weapons, and no water. Hell, he couldn’t even reliably track the sun unless he chose to kick around the entrance of the cave for a few hours, waiting for it to start making its descent across the sky. Even that was not truly a viable option, as it was more than likely that the Brothers and Aunts were still watching him from within, ready to drive him off with their canes and cudgels if needed. 

Sighing, he decided to simply move forward. There was no way in hell he was actually going to allow himself to be a sacrifice to the Serpent, but he might find somewhere near the top of the mountain that would offer him an aerial view of the woods below, allowing him a chance to plot his escape. He started off, flipping the middle finger up to the bluejay who mockingly called to him as he went. 

It wasn’t long before the heat of the day and exertion of climbing began to make him sweat. The already-itchy robe became unbearable where it made contact with his throat, and without a second thought he stripped it off, tossing the burdensome wool into a nearby thicket. He was left in his thin cotton tunic, which fell to about mid-thigh and gaped open at his sternum where the laces had come loose. 

After about an hour Alastor began to crest the mountain. While he had always been relatively fit the steep hike left him panting for breath, his curls plastered to his face with sweat and his tunic clinging to his back. His feet were the worst; sticks and tiny rocks had left them torn and bleeding, and he didn’t even want to contemplate the infection that may be brewing there. He swore once he found his way off of this fucking mountain he would return to the Altar and pay back the Brothers and Aunts tenfold for each and every injury and humiliation he had endured. 

By luck alone he stumbled across a small trickle of water flowing down the rockface and almost collapsed with relief, his dry, parched throat crying out for the tiny dribble of glacial water. He was quick to guzzle down as much as he could hold, then splashed the water over his face and hair, not caring as he drenched his tunic. He rinsed his aching, bloody feet as best he could, sitting down in the dirt to try to pick out the little rocks and slivers. 

Alastor was so focused on his task, wincing and muttering with each new piece of debris he pulled from his feet, that he didn’t notice the soft, leathery sound of flapping wings from behind him, nor the quiet thumps of something large yet light on its feet striking the ground. 

He did notice when a hot, sulphurous wind blew across the back of his neck, ruffling his wet hair and making him freeze, his heart leaping in his chest. There was a loud snuffling sound, as if some giant dog was scenting the ground, searching for it’s prey. 

Slowly, Alastor released his injured foot, letting it drop back to the ground. He turned, careful to keep his movements unhurried, not wanting to startle whatever creature was behind him. 

Please don’t be a bear, he thought wildly. Please don’t be a bear, please don’t - 

All thoughts flew from his head as he caught sight of the creature (or rather, creatures) that stood behind him. There were two of them, lumbering beasts with furred bodies, glowing yellow eyes and huge, curving horns. They were each roughly the size of a horse, with coarse fur and leathery, bat-like wings. 

Dragons, his mind half-hysterically supplied, and terror unlike anything he had ever known filled him. Everyone had heard stories of dragons: fiercely territorial beasts, known for their love of shiny objects and their habit of burning villages to the ground and feasting on the flesh of the fallen. There had not been one seen in this territory for half a century, and now Alastor was face-to-face with not one, but two of the vicious creatures. 

He quickly leapt to his feet, his pain forgotten in the wake of his panic. The dragons raised their heads, eyeing him with indiscernible expressions. One lifted its head and shot a jet of white-hot fire into the air, flapping its wings excitedly. The other began to move forward, hundreds of pounds of sinuous muscle and raw power lumbering its way towards him. 

Without a thought Alastor turned tail and ran, sprinting back down the path to his left. He ran as fast as he could, the pain in his feet nothing compared to the thundering of his heart, pure panic sinking its claws into his mind and forcing his legs faster as he practically flew back down the mountain trail. 

An unholy screech erupted from behind him. Whether it was a noise of rage or excitement, he did not know, and didn’t care to find out. He pushed himself faster, veering to the right and vaulting over a fallen log, adrenaline pounding through his veins. He knew his efforts were likely fruitless; the dragons had his scent, and the creatures were known for their love of the chase. 

Sure enough not a moment later something slammed into him from behind, sending him sprawling. Alastor shouted in surprised pain and terror, flipping himself onto his back and scrabbling backwards through the dirt, trying to put distance between himself and the dragon before him. 

He needn’t have bothered. The beast was on him in a second, pouncing on his supine form like a kitten might pounce on a mouse while its twin circled the scene, thumping its tail into the dirt excitedly. Alastor screamed and flailed, trying to shove at the dragon pinning him to the earth, but it didn’t budge even as he pounded his fists against its chest. Instead it simply curled its massive forelegs under his body, pressing him tight into its ragged fur. Alastor’s shout of alarmed terror was muffled against the beast’s chest, his cheek pressed tight to its breastbone. He felt the powerful muscles beneath his cheek elongate and contract, its wings stretching out wide and flapping, lifting them into the air. 

“No!” Alastor screamed, redoubling his efforts to escape. He clawed and writhed, even bit down against the flesh of the beast’s chest, but none of it mattered: he was helpless as the dragon took to the air, carrying him along with it as its unwilling passenger. 

He squirmed, managing to turn his head just enough to catch a dizzying glimpse of the ground quickly receding below him. Nausea swooped through his gut and he clenched his eyes tightly shut, unwittingly burying his face into the creature’s furry chest with a moan of anguished terror. He hated heights. 

He couldn’t say how long they flew for; only that when it was over, the dragons hit the ground with twin thumps and released him, leaving him to roll across the rocky ground and land sprawled on his back. The smell of brimstone and sulphur immediately hit his senses, making him gag as he rolled onto his side, fighting hard against the urge to vomit. 

A loud snuffling across his ribs made Alastor jump, and he was quick to roll until he was in a sitting position, his back pressed against a huge boulder. The dragon that had sniffed him blinked in surprise, tilting it’s head curiously. 

“Get away!” Alastor snapped as it moved to sniff at his ankles, his voice coming out much stronger than he actually felt. 

The beast flinched back even as its twin moved forward, bumping its long snout against the side of the first dragon’s face. They made no move to attack him, simply bumbled around and eyed him curiously. 

Alastor was perplexed. All of the stories he had ever heard of dragons painted them as vicious, bloodthirsty creatures, yet these ones seemed more like large goofy dogs than anything. Why had they taken him all the way here, to what looked to be a rocky, desolate cliff face, if not to devour him? 

The dragons suddenly flinched back, whining and huddling close to one another. They nipped at each other’s flanks anxiously, backing away from what Alastor saw to be a large split in the rockface. The crack was massive and shaped almost like a bolt of lightning, splitting out in hundreds of different places as if something immense had been thrown against the side of the mountain, creating the huge fissure in the stone. 

He was suddenly aware that he could hear something coming from within the crack in the rock: a low, dense scraping noise, as if something huge was being dragged across a wooden floor. The hair on his arms stood on end when he saw movement deep within the shadows of the cave, and a moment later his eyes were widening and his mouth was dropping open into a silent scream of terror as the creature that lurked within the cave was revealed. 

It was massive, easily clearing ten feet in height even without the burgundy coloured horns curling up over it’s head. Its shape was roughly humanoid, with honey coloured hair framing a man’s face, its torso, shoulders and arms all lean, corded muscle that boasted incomprehensible strength. That was where the similarities ended, however. 

Its skin was white as fresh snow, its eyes glowing a deep, ominous red with only slitted, snake-like pupils to break the solid colour. Two massive white-and-red wings flared from its back, feathered instead of skeletal and leathery. Its hands were tipped with wickedly sharp claws, each one over a foot in length. 

Alastor’s eyes trailed downwards, and he suddenly understood the odd noise he had heard. Right where the creature’s navel would be if it had one, its skin began to melt into scales. A huge snake's tail replaced where a pair of legs would normally be, adding another twenty-odd feet to the creature’s already staggering length. Its scales were a blood-red crimson on the bottom that faded into iridescent white towards the top, each one flashing like an opal as the creature moved out into the sun. 

“Razzle, Dazzle,” the creature said, its voice so low and gravelly that Alastor could feel the vibration in his bones. “What have the villagers gifted us today?” 

The dragons whined, practically tripping over each other in anxious excitement. The creature from the cave chuckled, the sound as deep and ominous as a distant storm. Its crimson gaze shifted, its slitted pupils dilating in intrigue as they lit upon Alastor. 

The Serpent, Alastor thought dazedly as it slithered towards him, clearly curious as it reached out one massive hand to where Alastor cowered against the rock, his knees drawn up to his chest so tight he was causing himself to be short of breath. When those horrible claws were but a few inches away he finally found his voice. 

“Don’t touch me!” he yelled, his voice coming out much higher than he would have liked. “Don’t you dare! Get away from me!” 

His hand blindly grasped at the many rocks littering the ground around him, his fingers fumbling over one roughly the size of an apple. Without thinking he grasped the rock and threw it, watching with horrified fascination as it flew through the air and struck the creature right between the eyes with a satisfying thud before pinging off and coming to rest several feet away. 

The Serpent and Alastor both froze, staring at each other wordlessly. Hysterical, suicidal laughter clawed its way up Alastor’s throat as the creature blinked slowly, its brow furrowing in confusion. He was half a second too late in clapping his hands over his mouth, the sound bursting from his lips before being cut off abruptly by his own hands. His eyes widened, the certainty of his own demise filling him. 

The creature tilted its head, those peculiar eyes regarding him with open curiosity. It made no move to approach him, simply watched as Alastor wrangled himself under control, choking back the wild, panicked laughter that still threatened to seize his chest. 

“No one has ever laughed at me before,” the Serpent said as Alastor finally managed to get himself under some sort of control. “Screamed, cried, fought, pissed themselves - but no one has ever laughed.” 

Alastor didn’t know what to say. His life was hanging by a thread, and even if he tried to run the dragons would simply drag him back (that is, if the Serpent did not reach him first). These were surely his final moments, and he would be damned if he would spend them cowering against the rock, mewling like a lost lamb. Steeling himself, he lifted his chin, looking the ancient being in the eyes. 

“Get on with it, then,” he said, his voice coming out strong despite his fluttering pulse. “If you’re going to eat me, be quick about it. And I’d rather you didn’t tear me to shreds while you’re at it, if it’s all the same to you. One quick bite ought to do it.” 

The Serpent blinked, it’s eyes widening in shock. Then, it began to laugh. 

It was a deep rumbling sound, so intense it caused the small pebbles scattered across the ground to tremble. Alastor could feel the vibration deep in his chest, like the pounding of some huge drum. He gawked at the Serpent as it wiped the tears from under its eyes, its amused grin bearing two rows of large white fangs. 

“You truly are a delight, little gem,” the creature purred. “Your village has been delivering its Sacrifices to me for more than a century, and yet here you are, an enigma amongst the usual drivel they send up the mountain.” 

“I- thank you?” Alastor said, the words tumbling from him in shock. 

“Perhaps I need not devour you at all. Though, it is tempting. You smell delicious.” 

“You’ll let me go?” Alastor asked, relieved hope filling him. His hopes were dashed when the Serpent’s grin widened, its eyes narrowing lecherously. 

“Oh, I don’t believe I will. How could I release such a precious jewel? No, I think that I shall keep you, little mortal. You can be my own perfect little pet, kept for my amusement. It does get rather lonely here on the mountain, after all.” 

Alastor gulped, his heart beginning to race once more. This thing wanted to keep him as a pet? The gods alone only knew what that would entail.

Before he could react or even try to get away the Serpent suddenly lunged forward, seizing him around the waist with one of its huge, clawed hands. It dragged him away from the boulder as he yelped and kicked, lifting him easily until he was level with its face so that it could inspect him. 

“You’re a scrawny little thing. Did the Altar not feast you before your climb? Most of the other sacrifices were much plumper,” the creature mused as it poked at Alastor with one of it’s claws, causing him to squirm. “No matter, you are not for eating anyway. Come, come, let me show you to my hoard!” 

Alastor didn’t even have time to protest before the Serpent was turning and carrying him towards the huge, jagged crack in the rock. The twin dragons yipped eagerly and followed, loping along behind them as the Serpent ducked its head and tucked in its wings, entering the dim, narrow cave. 

The ambient noise from outside cut out with startling abruptness, leaving only the sounds of the dry dragging of the Serpent’s snake-like tail along the stone and the thumping and bumping of the dragons as they followed along behind. There was next to no light, and Alastor vaguely wondered if the Serpent had some sort of night vision, or was simply that adept at navigating its way through the rocky tunnel. His ears popped as they moved deeper and deeper into the mountain, his trepidation growing and the urge to cling to the Serpent’s thumb tucked over his waist coming on suddenly and strongly. He had never been afraid of confined spaces, but this was taking claustrophobia to a whole new level. 

After a few moments Alastor began to realize that he could see once more. He blinked as the light grew brighter, and suddenly they were ducking through another entranceway and emerging into a huge cavern.  He couldn’t help but gasp, his eyes widening as he turned in the Serpent’s hold and caught sight of what lay within the hollow hidden deep in the mountainside. 

There were literal hills of gold, gems and jewels spreading as far as the eye could see, the precious metals and stones wrought in every shape and design a person could imagine. The treasure was separated by trails running through it, each stack taller than Alastor’s head. It seemed to be sorted into some manner that he could likely never hope to understand, but that the Serpent seemed to know well enough. 

“My hoard,” it said simply, tilting its head to stare smugly down at Alastor, who was still looking out into the sea of treasure with huge eyes. 

“You- how is this possible?” he whispered, his mind reeling. This was more bounty than any human could ever hope to see even if they lived a hundred lifetimes, and yet he was seeing it right now, his mouth agape with wonder. 

“I am very, very old, little mortal, and I have been to many places in this wide world. Did you think that your village is the first that I have acquisitioned, or that I have only ever demanded a human sacrifice?” 

“I never really considered it,” Alastor admitted. 

“Well, consider it now. My hoard is the largest you will ever see. No other dragon could compare,” the Serpent said, completely self-satisfied.

Alastor couldn’t help but roll his eyes as they moved further into the cavern, the Serpent traversing through the piles of treasure with practiced ease. Even though the hoard was certainly impressive, the Serpent was clearly a show-off. 

As they traveled Alastor looked up at his captor, contemplating. Without even looking down at him the Serpent hummed, cocking his brow. 

“Is there something the matter, pet?” 

“I was wondering what I should call you,” Alastor admitted. “Back at the village we all call you ‘the Serpent’, but I’m curious to know if you have a true name.” 

That time the Serpent did look at him, cocking its head curiously. After a moment’s deliberation it shrugged, looking back towards their path. 

“I was called Lucifer once, long ago. You may call me that if it pleases you.” 

“Lucifer,” Alastor repeated, testing the name on his tongue. It wasn’t half-bad, he supposed. At least it wasn’t something boring and terrible like ‘Grog’. 

The Serpent hummed in approval as they moved deeper into the cavern. After a few more minutes they seemed to reach their destination, though the pile of gold they had come to a stop next to looked the same as any other in Alastor’s eyes. 

Lucifer lowered him down, setting Alastor onto his feet before retreating. The moment Alastor put his full weight back on his feet he cried out, the remnants of his painful hike making themselves known as he wobbled and tried to keep his balance. 

“Are you injured?” Lucifer demanded, turning back towards Alastor. 

“I- my feet, they just-” 

He was interrupted as Lucifer suddenly loomed over him, the Serpent’s eyes narrowed into assessing slits. He reached out and seized Alastor’s ankle, spilling the human backwards into a pile of coins as he brought Alastor's foot up to his face, frowning when he noticed the blood that marred it. 

“Was this a result of being brought here?” he asked sharply, his gaze snapping over to where Razzle and Dazzle frolicked next to a large pile of sapphires. They immediately stopped, whining when they noticed the Serpent’s attention on them. 

“No! It was from hiking up the mountain, not from them.” 

“You have bruises here too, and here,” Lucifer hummed, trailing one long claw up Alastor’s calf. “Are these from your hike as well?” 

“No, they’re from the Brothers and Aunts at the Altar. They didn’t exactly have a great appreciation for my wit.” 

“They beat you?” asked Lucifer, his ethereal gaze lifting to Alastor’s face. 

Alastor swallowed, inexplicable warmth suddenly flooding to his cheeks. “Yes. I wasn’t fond of following orders, you see. They were not amused.” 

Lucifer nodded, his eyes dropping to rove over the human’s form. Suddenly, his hand shifted, rucking Alastor’s tunic almost all the way up to his collarbones. 

“Hey!” Alastor shouted, scrambling to yank the tunic back down and cover himself, his cheeks burning. “You can’t just- what are you doing? Stop that!” 

He shrieked as Lucifer lolled out his tongue, two feet of forked red muscle sliding out from between wickedly sharp fangs. Alastor panicked, struggling in his hold. Lucifer said he wasn’t going to eat him, oh gods, had he changed his mind? Had he-

The Serpent flicked his tongue upwards, running it along the bottom of Alastor’s foot. Alastor shrieked again with ticklishness and surprise as the forks of Lucifer’s tongue lapped between his toes, covering his foot in thick, sticky saliva. 

“Calm yourself,” Lucifer rumbled between licks. “I am simply healing you.” 

Alastor shuddered in revulsion as Lucifer worked his way from his foot to his ankle, covering him with drool. The sensation of the textured tongue on his skin was not entirely unpleasant, but the thought of being covered head-to-toe in saliva made his stomach roll. 

When the Serpent reached Alastor’s knee he switched, snagging Alastor’s other foot and treating it to the same licks and laves as the previous one. He slowly made his way up Alastor’s calf until he reached the human’s knee, then moved to push the tunic up Alastor’s thighs again. 

“Ah! Um, no, thank you, that’s quite alright,” Alastor said, firmly grasping the cotton fabric in his fists and pinning it to his thighs. 

“Whyever not? Are you not injured in other places, too?” 

“Uh, no, actually, I’m fine. Thank you, really,” he stuttered, his face burning with embarrassment. 

The Serpent shrugged and pulled back, rearing up to its full height once more. “Suit yourself, mortal. If you would like to bathe properly there is a natural spring towards the back of the cavern. No doubt you will be tempted to flee, but I wouldn’t risk it, if I were you. There are hundreds of passageways throughout these caves, and one could spend years wandering them without ever finding their way out. Besides, it would not take long before the goblins found you. They so love fresh meat.” 

Lucifer grinned predatorily, showing off his full set of razor-sharp fangs. Alastor swallowed hard and nodded, shivering at the thought of being preyed upon by a hoard of blood-thirsty goblins. There were worse ways to die, but not many. 

Lucifer hummed in approval and moved off, leaving Alastor to his own devices. He waited until the Serpent was completely out of sight before sliding down the pile of gold he had been tipped backwards into and tentatively getting to his feet. 

To his surprise, there was absolutely no pain. His feet felt good as new, the cuts and scrapes no longer twinging, the muscles no longer aching. He wiggled his toes in wonderment, amazed by whatever magic laced Lucifer’s saliva. 

Testing them out, he took a few hesitant steps forward, but once again there was no pain. Grinning, he quickly strode between the piles of gold, searching for the pool that Lucifer had promised would be waiting for him. 

It took him almost fifteen minutes to find it, the seemingly never-ending mountains of riches creating a type of shimmery maze, causing Alastor to have to double back more than once. Once he did stumble across the spring he sighed in relief, glancing around quickly to make sure that Lucifer and the twin dragons weren’t lurking somewhere nearby before stripping out of his soiled tunic and stepping over to the water. 

The spring was a few degrees warmer than bathwater, causing Alastor to groan with bliss as he slowly stepped into it. The deepest section came up over his head, forcing him to paddle around until he found a little ledge to seat himself on. He sluiced the water over his hair, not caring that it smelled faintly of sulphur. It felt wonderful, and for the first time since the Choosing, he felt completely at ease. 

That is until he heard movement coming from somewhere off to his right. He quickly glanced around, his eyes widening when he saw Lucifer hovering at the edge of the pool. The huge creature hummed as he began to dip the coils of his tail into the spring, sliding forward until he was submerged up to his chest. He leaned back, shaking out his wings and laying them out across the ground on either side of him so they wouldn’t get wet, propping himself on his elbows and sighing as he relaxed. 

“What- what are you doing?” Alastor asked, shocked. 

The Serpent cracked open an eye, cocking it’s brow at him. “Bathing, of course. What does it look like?” 

“But I’m in the pool!” 

“You’re a fussy little thing, aren’t you?” Lucifer asked, tilting his head. “My poor pet. You humans are entirely too demure for your own good. Walking around in those itchy garments, calling yourselves ‘modest’ the more you cover up. Pah! I remember when your species used to walk around unencumbered and unashamed of your natural skin. And you, little gem, happen to have quite a lovely complexion.” 

Alastor blushed, drawing his knees up to his chest under the water. He had never been called lovely before. 

He jumped when he felt something brush against his ankle, looking down to see the shimmering, opulent tip of Lucifer’s tail gently teasing at him beneath the water. Scowling, he scooted away, perturbed by the infringement on his personal space. 

“Do you mind?” 

“Do you?” 

“Why yes, actually,” Alastor snapped. He had been relaxing, dammit, and now once again was finding himself being accosted by the Serpent. 

“Too bad, so sad,” Lucifer sang, and before Alastor could react the agile tip of the creature’s tail was wrapping around his calf and yanking his leg outwards, dragging him under the water. He choked, water filling his mouth as he thrashed and kicked out against the smooth tail holding him under. It relented and he came up spluttering, curses raining from his lips as he paddled back to the edge of the pool and held on for dear life, looking and sounding for all the world like a wet cat. 

Lucifer was laughing again, his head thrown back in mirth as his wings flared out behind him. Alastor grumbled and pushed his sopping hair back from his face, entirely unimpressed with the creature before him. 

“Oh, don’t be so sour,” Lucifer grinned, catching Alastor’s wrathful expression. “Haven’t you ever had fun?” 

“Forgive me, but this is not my idea of fun,” Alastor snapped. He yelped and flinched back when Lucifer’s strong, prehensile tail suddenly coiled around his calf once more, dragging him forward as he flailed and desperately tried to keep his head above water. 

He struggled, but was ultimately powerless against Lucifer’s strong grip as the Serpent cupped his waist and hauled him bodily into his lap, leaving Alastor to spread his knees and awkwardly kneel atop Lucifer’s tail. 

“There now, nice and cozy,” Lucifer teased. 

Alastor felt his face grow hot and he knew he must be as red as a cherry. He was naked and kneeling in the lap of a beast that could tear his head off as easily as ripping wings off a fly, and he had absolutely no idea what to do about it. Lucifer simply watched him as he squirmed, those slitted snake eyes keen and far too observant. 

“You told me your other injuries were nothing of note,” the being hummed some moments later, once Alastor had somewhat settled. One claw lifted out of the water, tracing across Alastor’s battered collarbones curiously. The gentle action made the human shiver, goosebumps racing down his arms. 

“I told you that the Brothers and Aunts were not overly fond of my brand of humour,” Alastor snipped. He left it at that, not wanting to discuss his abuse at the hands of his captors any further. 

Lucifer didn’t seem to catch on to his lack of enthusiasm, however. He simply hummed and cupped his huge hand behind Alastor’s back, causing the Sacrifice to squeak in mortification when Lucifer’s pinkie finger slipped down the curve of Alastor’s ass, coming to rest at his thigh. 

“There was once a time when Sacrifices would walk up the mountain eager and happy, practically glowing with health. Not that it truly mattered in the end, for they all eventually met the same fate. Even still, it is an offense how you lot are being sent to me now: meager and weak, thin and with bruises marring your meat. Perhaps the village should be reminded of what it means to anger the Great Serpent.” 

“Wait! Don’t- don’t do that,” Alastor panicked, placing his hands on Lucifer’s chest before he even had a chance to think about what he was doing. 

Lucifer blinked down at him, tilting his head curiously. “Why not? Would you not like to see your tormentors punished?”

“I… I have friends in the village. People who I would not like to see harmed,” Alastor said, thinking of Rosie. She was his dearest friend (his only friend, in truth) and he would be devastated if she fell victim to Lucifer’s wrath. 

“You are compassionate,” Lucifer said, his tone thoughtful. “It will not serve you well, little gem. The world is a harsh, cruel place that enjoys nothing more than crushing those of perceived weakness beneath its heel.” 

“I’m not weak,” Alastor snapped, crossing his arms angrily. “There’s one person I happen to care about, okay? The rest of the village can hang, for all I care.” 

Lucifer smiled, baring his sharp fangs. “You are a feisty one. I knew I made the right choice when I decided to keep you, pet,” he brought a finger up and stroked the pad of it over Alastor’s head, petting the little human like one might pet a small bird. 

“Hey!” Alastor cried, trying to bat the offending digit away, but Lucifer simply chuckled and pressed Alastor closer until he was pinned to the Serpent’s torso, continuing to pet him all the while. Alastor grumbled, his face smooshed between Lucifer’s pectorals uncomfortably.

If this was what passed as entertainment for the eldritch being, he was beginning to think he would have preferred to be eaten. 

•

A week passed by, finding Alastor having grown accustomed to his new home. Not that he was much aware of the passing time, of course. The only light in the cavern was from the huge sconces that Lucifer lit with his own flames, the cycle of the sun and moon becoming foreign to the human as he spent his days climbing through the huge hills of treasure and playing with Razzle and Dazzle. The two dragons really were nothing but oversized puppies that were simply excited to have a friend.

Lucifer had taken to teasing Alastor as much as possible, poking and prodding him, shoving him head-first into the spring whenever he snuck off to bathe, demanding long, winded stories of the outside world only to declare them as “boring” when Alastor had finished reciting them. Upon discovery of Alastor’s prudishness towards his own nakedness, Lucifer had begun impishly tugging at whatever clothes Alastor would manage to scrounge up, lifting the fabric with his tail to try to catch a peek of what lay hidden beneath. Alastor would always swat him away, storming off fuming every time Lucifer simply laughed. 

Clothing itself was a struggle without the overzealous Serpent insisting on hounding Alastor every step of the way. He had tried to scrub the dirt from his filthy tunic in the spring, but it was a hopeless endeavor, forcing him to have to rummage through chest after chest searching for any type of clothing he could find. 

The closest he had come was discovering a crate full of long bolts of cloth, dyed to perfection in nearly every colour he could imagine. He wasn’t exactly a fashion designer, and had to make due by winding the silk and chiffon around himself as best he could, creating a basic replica of short toga that usually fell to about mid-thigh. Devastatingly short, when one had a curious Serpent lurking about, rooting around his skirt at any given opportunity. 

The next problem had been food. Lucifer, being a giant reptile of sorts, only needed to eat one large meal once or twice a month. Alastor, being a tiny human, needed to eat once or twice a day. Lucifer had rumbled and grumbled as he sent out Razzle and Dazzle to forage (aka: terrorize a nearby town) for food. Despite insisting that keeping a pet was more effort than it was worth, he still commanded the dragons out once every few days to bring back fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as wild game they brought down in the densely-forested mountainside. 

Among the many queer habits the Serpent possessed, gift-giving seemed to be at the forefront. The first time he had seen Alastor struggling with his makeshift outfit he had been quick to slither off, returning some moments later with a belt made of delicate, interwoven golden clasps shaped like flowering vines. Next had been a bronze armband that hugged Alastor’s bicep perfectly, shaped like a coiling snake. Matching golden cuffs, an anklet, a ring with a delicate ruby surrounded by tiny fire opals. A circlet for his brow, resting gently in his curls. A bronze band to hug Alastor’s thigh that perfectly matched the one on his arm, the snake’s head disappearing under his clothing and resting intimately close to his groin. 

Alastor had tried to rebuff the gifts at first, but one fiery look from Lucifer told him to do so would likely mean that he would be getting put on the menu instead of the elk that Razzle and Dazzle had hunted, and so he had accepted each and every one, wearing them around day-to-day as he found various ways to entertain himself. 

His latest discovery had been a small wooden crate filled with a dozen books of different varieties. Some had been fairytales, while others had been romance novels - there had even been a study on the medicinal properties of various types of native plants. 

Alastor selected a book and settled himself into the small groove he had carved out in a large pile of coins, propping the romance novel up so he could read. He figured it was getting close to the time when Lucifer slept, as several of the sconces had been allowed to flicker out, the cavern taking on a warm, soothing glow. 

The novel was pretty tacky, telling the story of a fair maiden falling for a roguish, ill-mannered pirate who had whisked her away from her impending marriage to a boor of a prince. Alastor rolled his eyes at the overdramatized romance, but found himself reading onwards nonetheless, his face heated as he read about the pirate pushing the maiden against his desk, pinning her to the wood and pressing his large, aching member against her backside, frotting against her skirts and forcing her to feel what she did to him… 

He swallowed and flipped a few pages until he was past that particular scene, reading on until his eyes began to droop, his head lolling back against the coins. The book dropped from his hands as he tumbled into sleep, his body going limp and pliant. 

His dreams were indesernible, shadowy things, flitting in and out of the edge of his subconscious, mostly made up of vague sensations: fingers wrapping around his wrist, a large palm pressing into the small of his back, bending him over a table, the unyielding wood cutting off his air with a hitch of breath; sharp claws gently tracing up the backs of his thighs, tickling him and leaving goosebumps in their wake, forcing his legs to part; another hand wrapping around his throat, lifting his head and tilting him so that a long, textured tongue could trace up the length of it, collecting his sweat and making him whine; a finger tracing up the length of his cock, making it jerk against his own stomach as it dribbled precum; something long and slick gliding up the inside of his thighs, making him squirm and whine; huge hands spreading his legs, hot breath fanning across his crotch and abdomen, that dextrous, slick appendage curling over his cock and balls, dipping down to tickle his perineum before pushing further, licking over his hole, getting it wet and dripping before pushing inside, making him arch with a sharp moan, his legs splaying openly so easily to accept the intrusion, oh fuck, it felt so good, he was so full, that slick muscle rolling within him, pressing against his walls and stretching him wide, forcing itself deeper, his head was thrashing back and forth, his toes curling, he was going to come, he was… he was… 

He woke with a jolt, his spine arching as he cried out, his own cum spurting over his belly and chest, soaking into the thin gossamer material of his makeshift toga. The tongue within him never stopped flexing and writhing, pushing up against his prostate and prolonging his orgasm, making his thighs squeeze tight against the massive head between them. His hands flew down to grip blood-red horns with white knuckles, his voice breaking as his head tilted so far back his curls nearly brushed his spine: he had never come so hard in his life, and he was still coming, helpless to do anything but take what was being given to him. 

When it was finally over he collapsed down against his impromptu bed, gold coins tinkling together as they spilled down around his shoulders. He gasped for breath, his head swimming and his vision blurry with pleasured tears. Lucifer withdrew from between his legs, his long serpent’s tongue flicking up across his lips and his eyes hooded with satisfaction. 

“You taste just as delicious as you smell, my treasure,” he purred as he stroked one long claw over the length of Alastor’s outer thigh. “I scented you from clear across the cavern. Was it a good dream that you were having?” 

“I- what?” Alastor slurred, his head lolling as he tried to take in the powerful being before him.

Lucifer’s scales glittered as he moved, gorgeous and hypnotic. His pupils were rounded out into inky black discs, his gaze attentive as he stared down at Alastor. His wings were flared wide and puffed with arousal, showing off his deep crimson feathers and lovely ivory accents. They were undulating gently, the feathers rippling and muscles flexing in some sort of subconscious mating display. He was beautiful. 

“My poor pet, have I ruined you already, darling?” Lucifer asked in a sweet, mocking voice, removing his claw from Alastor’s thigh to trace it against the human’s cheek instead. 

Alastor made a soft noise in the back of his throat, leaning into the touch. His thoughts were coming muddled and slow from sleep and his orgasm. Lucifer’s gentle touch felt so nice, soothing the fire that zipped through his veins. He could lay like this for hours, lounging against the gold, being petted and cooed at by the Serpent, lax and loose-limbed, his toga clinging to his cock with cum… 

His eyes flew wide in realization, his hands flying down to cover his soiled crotch. Oh, sweet gods above, he had just come all over himself in front of Lucifer, because of Lucifer, what was wrong with him? 

He whined in embarrassment, squirming beneath the Serpent, trying to get away. Lucifer tutted and used one massive hand to pin him down, the claws of his index and middle fingers framing Alastor’s throat as his palm pressed flat to the human’s chest. 

“Do not tell me that this is another one of you humans’ absurd fixations regarding modesty and virtue,” Lucifer huffed in annoyance. “You smell simply divine, little gem. Should I deny myself your pleasure solely because some wrinkled old men who have never known passion in their long, miserable lives tell you it should be so? Should you ?” 

“I- Lucifer, I-” Alastor stuttered, not knowing what to say. He couldn’t deny his attraction to the Serpent; Lucifer was gorgeous, and powerful, and deadly. But even still, he had never known the touch of another, and was nervous that any wrong gesture might anger the great dragon. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never done this before,” he said pleadingly. 

Lucifer’s gaze softened, his touches once more turning gentle. “Oh, my darling. I knew that the moment I scented you. You are more pure and precious than any trinket I’ve stowed in this mountain. Let me show you pleasure, dearheart. Let me drown you in it.” 

Alastor gasped as Lucifer brought his hand down, his sharp claw tugging on the fabric wrapped over the human’s shoulder before shredding it, parting the thin silk like wet paper. He dragged the soiled garment away, tossing it aside and leaving Alastor bare in one fluid movement. 

Alastor tried to close his legs on instinct but Lucifer was there to meet him, prying his knees apart so his greedy crimson gaze could rove over the human’s supine form, Alastor’s caramel coloured skin glowing against the gold he laid in, the treasures Lucifer had adorned him with accenting the natural soft curves of his body, enhancing them delightfully. 

“Gorgeous,” Lucifer breathed, his snake-like pupils rounding out with pleasure. “Simply divine, my treasure.” 

Alastor whimpered in the wake of the praise, squirming beneath Lucifer’s attentive gaze. He felt as if he was running a fever, his face and chest flushed and his skin too hot and tight for his body, his cock thickening between his thighs once more despite having just come less than ten minutes ago. 

Lucifer rumbled approvingly at the sight, his tongue flickering out to scent the air. “I can taste your arousal, little gem,” he groaned. “So lovely, and all for me.” 

The Serpent ducked forward, making Alastor flinch, but his touch was not one of pain: instead, pleasure exploded down Alastor’s spine as Lucifer enveloped his cock within the forks of his tongue, stroking up and down in free, independent motions, leaving no part of it bereft as he worked it over and left the length shining with glossy saliva. 

Alastor cried out, one hand flying down to fist into Lucifer's hair and the other coming up to clap over his own mouth, muffling his sounds of pleasure as his sensitive prick was played with in a way that should be entirely impossible but wasn’t, not if Lucifer made it so. 

“No,” the Serpent growled, hooking one claw beneath Alastor’s hand and peeling it away from his mouth. “Let me hear you. I want your cries to ring through the stalactites as I force you to come on my tongue.” 

“Oh, oh f-fuck,” Alastor whimpered as Lucifer turned back to his cock, twining his tongue around it and pumping the slick length languidly, making Alastor see stars as he was dragged to orgasm once more. “Lu- Lucifer, I won’t- I can’t- I’m not going to last, I’m going to- oh, oh, oh!” 

His hips bucked into the tight, slick sheath of Lucifer’s tongue, fucking up into the sensation helplessly as his balls drew up close to his body and his thighs shook, his spine seizing up tight before he finally released, coming in long spurts across the Serpent’s tongue. 

Lucifer hummed in delight as he lapped it all down, cleaning the rapidly-softening flesh gently before releasing it with a small plop. Alastor shuddered as his soft cock struck his thigh, the aftershocks of his orgasm singing up and down his spine. He felt spent, used, utterly wrung out: fatigue was clawing at him again, purring in his ear as it dragged him gently towards sleep. 

All hopes of sleep were dashed when he heard Lucifer chuckle, the sound low and reverberating. He opened his eyes and blearily took in the sight of the massive being looming above him, his sharp grin spread wide and leering. 

“Did you truly believe I would let you go so easily?” he crooned. “As much as you are an utter delight in the throes of orgasm, I have yet to receive my own pleasure, darling. You humans are known for your greed, but you cannot hope to compete with a dragon.” 

He slid his hand beneath Alastor, cupping the human’s waist in his palm before flipping him and sending him sprawling onto his stomach in the pile of gold. Alastor let out a shocked squeak, trying to get his bearings, but before he could even reorient himself Lucifer was lifting him once more, forcing him to his hands and knees. 

“Precious gem,” the Serpent rumbled. “Stay like that for me. Let me feel you.” 

Alastor didn’t have time to ask what Lucifer meant before something huge and hot and wet was pressing between his thighs, forcing his knees to spread further apart and bury themselves deeper into the gold. Simultaneously, a similar sensation was curving across his ass and up over his spine, bumping along his tailbone intrusively. 

“What?” he whimpered in confusion as the twin sensations crossed his stomach and lower back. He winced when his cock was forced against the wet heat, shuddering with overstimulation. 

“Hush now, precious. Take what I give you,” Lucifer urged, petting two fingers down Alastor’s side soothingly. 

It wasn’t until the two huge somethings bumped across the bottom of his chin and the back of his head that Alastor realized they were cocks, huge and red and pulsing with blood, hot between his legs and over his back. He whined, his fingers scrabbling against the gold coins as his vision swam, his mouth immediately flooding with saliva despite the mixture of fear and arousal that warred in his mind. 

“Like that, do you?” Lucifer teased, drawing himself back until he was level between Alastor’s sternum and shoulder blades before thrusting forward again. 

Alastor couldn’t help but whine and nod, drooling as he was used as nothing more than a toy for Lucifer’s pleasure, the weight of the cock at his back pinning him to the one at his front, trapping him between two relentless columns of flesh. 

Lucifer grunted and moaned, planting his hand next to Alastor’s head and digging his claws deep into the mound of gold coins. They trickled down between his fingers as he thrust forward once more, using Alastor’s entire body for friction and coating the human’s throat and hair with sticky precum. 

Alastor’s eyes rolled back as each thrust dragged Lucifer’s immense cock against his own, the comparison of the two wildly beyond comprehension. He was hardening once more, his hips rolling downwards as he frotted like a desperate animal against the hot, slick flesh he was trapped against. 

“P-please,” he moaned, not even knowing what he was begging for: his mind was filled with static, his senses with nothing but Lucifer. “Please, Lucifer, fuck me, please!” 

The Serpent laughed, a low, pleased sound. “Oh, my darling, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’m afraid it’s not possible, however much you may wish it to be. You will have to content yourself with being little more than my toy; my precious little fuckpet, to use at my every wish and whim.” 

Alastor nodded rapidly as Lucifer sped up his thrusts. Yes , he wanted that; he wanted to be Lucifer’s toy, he wanted to be used by the Great Serpent, he wanted to please. 

The thought alone had him crying out, his cock twitching pathetically as he came again. The friction was relentless, causing him to sob in overstimulation, tears pouring down his ruddy cheeks as he whined and thrashed, desperate to get away from the all-consuming grind of Lucifer’s cocks against his sore prick and now-tender ass. 

“That’s it, precious, squirm for me. Fuck, just like that, there you go, I’m going to come, darling, I’m going to cover you in it, leave you dripping and reeking of my scent so that everyone knows you are mine.” 

There came a loud, muffled clapping sound as Lucifer flapped his wings, the force of it sending coins scattering. He thrusted forward once, twice, and then he was coming, covering Alastor in the hot, sticky fluid. 

There was so much. It sprayed across Alastor’s back and up his chest, thoroughly covering him as he cried out and writhed against the sensation. Lucifer pulled back, coating the human’s ass and thighs in his spend, ensuring that he was completely covered. Cum was everywhere, dripping down his sides and off of his chest to coat the coins below him. Alastor shuddered, his arms giving out as he flopped forward onto the cock pinned beneath him, utterly exhausted. 

Lucifer panted and withdrew, sliding his cocks out from under and off of Alastor, leaving the human to crumple into the coins. He tucked himself away into his sheath then gathered his little gem up in one hand much as he had the first day they met, cooing all the while. 

Alastor was out like a light, his head lolling as Lucifer slithered over to the hot spring. He stirred briefly as Lucifer lowered him into the warm water, trying to be gentle as he rinsed his little human thoroughly. When he was finished he carried Alastor over to the soft pile of gold and silk that made up his own nest.

He curled up with Alastor cradled gently to his chest, the human beginning to snore softly. Carefully, as to not disturb the tiny being pressed to his chest, he coiled his tail around them, tucking Alastor close to him protectively, framing him between his chest and his scales. 

Yes, he thought to himself as he pressed one claw to Alastor’s sleeping face, smiling to himself as the human snuffled and whined in his sleep. He was going to keep this one. A human worthy of his hoard, who he would protect and cherish forever. 

His own little gem.