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That fucking mug is the last straw.

The aggressive red lines mock him from across the room, drawing his eye no matter how much he tries to look literally anywhere else. Not only is it ridiculous, garish, but the damned audacity he has in drinking from it like it’s no big deal makes it impossible to think of anything else.

Alastor doesn’t hate many things – but seeing his mug defaced and enjoyed by that damned clown is far more than he can stomach.

His smile twitches as Lucifer brings the offending item back to his lips, taking a sip of his drink before continuing some asinine chit-chat with some of the newer staff. The ones that are too naive and star-struck in the presence of royalty to recognise they’re being played for fools. Alastor watches the bob of his throat, using every ounce of his willpower not to stand and rip the fallen angel apart then and there. Because Lucifer is just feigning interest while pretending Alastor isn’t there, acting like he hasn’t noticed he’s sat a mere five feet away.

To the point he’s refusing to even glance in that direction.

This petty show would be laughable if Alastor’s blood wasn’t boiling from the King’s obnoxious attempts to mark his territory. There’s no doubt in his mind. Not one. An unexpected staff meeting that just had to be called in the eye-sore that made up the King’s quarters was suspicious enough, but the way Lucifer has positioned himself on a makeshift throne in the middle of his gaudy lounge makes it glaringly obvious.

He’s holding court, or a mockery thereof. Positioning himself as the center of attention. Laughing, joking, even a few magic tricks. It’s as though a few sycophants is all he needs to prove his relevance.

It’s pitiful.

…

Ridiculous.

…

Even the way Lucifer is sitting is offensive! Spreading his legs wide open to take up as much physical space as possible.

Ha!

As if that will compensate for his literal shortcomings.

Alastor brings his own, far superior, mug to his mouth to hide the fact he’s two seconds away from cracking up with mocking laughter. The opportunity to mock Hell’s excuse for a ruler isn’t one he’d usually pass on, but he’s quick to note that would give away the fact he’s paying close attention to Lucifer’s every move.

And Alastor isn’t going to give that bastard the satisfaction of letting his irritation show.

However, considering it’s crystal clear that Lucifer is watching him just as closely, he makes sure the mug is tilted at the perfect angle as he takes a sip of the lukewarm tea. Yes – tea. The pathetic excuse of an angel isn’t deserving enough for Alastor to waste his precious coffee on, afterall.

It also gives him the perfect opportunity to make sure there’s no way Lucifer can miss all the details he’d added after yesterday’s class.

Thinking on it, the class itself is likely why His Majesty is insisting on being an insufferable showboat today – even more so than usual.

He’d taken quite the shine to yesterday's ‘bonding’ activity, spending the first hour of the pottery painting class hunched over and utterly transfixed with his sub-par creation. Taking pride in a craft, no matter how pitiful, was somewhat admirable. But with how far he was bending over the table, one would think he was asking for some lewd comment about his backside.

It may have been the only way the King received any sort of attention from anyone these days, but it was borderline obscene.

Not that Alastor was paying him any mind, of course.

But there certainly was something… distracting about the way Lucifer’s serpentine tongue stuck out while he worked that made him look even more sin-uous than usual.

Which, well.

Honestly, the jokes just wrote themselves at this point. Alastor couldn’t and didn’t resist.

It only occurred to him much, much later, that the quip was likely what had led to the horrors that occurred afterwards. But by that time he’d already spent hours defacing the mug he was now holding, and made a point about how little he cared to be lumped with such a task, so it was all by the by.

Normally, he wouldn’t have spent so long on such a trivial thing, but how could he not when the Princess of Hell herself was just so very eager about her latest bizarre idea? After staying up far too late – and likely inhaling more than a few gallons of rainbow sugar sprinkles or whatever she used to give herself so much energy – Charlie had come up with the ‘amazing’ idea to have the hotel denizens paint their own mugs.

A harmless enough activity… Until she told them all to switch with someone else halfway through.

Lucifer had, of course, tried everything in his kingly power to have his darling daughter be the one to finish his mug. Unfortunately for him, the princess was absolutely insistent that they switch with someone they wouldn’t normally pick. That was how Niffty received the honor of finishing Charlie’s mug with heavy splashes of red and mysterious brown bits that she had evidently scraped from underneath one of the lobby’s coffee tables. A cascade of trades followed in which Husk switched with Vaggie, Angel switched with the little egg creature, and Cherri threw her mug out the window before leaving with a careless flip of her hair.

That left Lucifer and Alastor.

A situation that Alastor, at that time, was oh-so-pleased to relish to the fullest.

How could he not when the King’s face had sunk oh-so pitifully as he realised he was forced to hand over his newest creation to him!

Charlie’s final stipulation was that they had to finish the mugs in the privacy of their rooms, to be presented and shown off at the next staff meeting. The moment she finished explaining, Alastor had snatched the King’s mug from his tiny hands and melted away, only coming back to thrust his own mug hard into Lucifer’s chest. He then spent several very, very long hours scribbling over the disgustingly adorable duck painted on the side.

With a bit of blood for flair, of course.

He’d been so pleased with his additions that he’d initially looked past the insistence that today’s meeting take place on the opposite side of the hotel, even going as far as to put on his good coat for the occasion. The one with slightly fewer holes than his other coat.

Only the best for the unholiest of beings, after all.

He’d set off early, demented masterpiece in hand, swinging open the doors to Lucifer’s quarters with a spring in his step.

Which was when he’d spotted it.

His creation, the delicately painted mug he started, had been defaced with a large red circle, a line down the middle, and framed with two words.

DEER SEASON.

Lucifer, that pompous, self-centered, wholly decorative feather duster had copied him.

Whatever smart remark he’d definitely not spent hours rehearsing in his head vanished in an instant, with a sea of red flooding his vision as he stumbled toward a vacant seat. One directly across from Lucifer, to not let him out of his sight. That had landed him next to Angel, who took several double takes between them both before bursting into hysterics.

Then, to really rub salt into the wound, the Spider had mockingly cooed over their designs while implying they had a matching set.

Angel was lucky he still had all six arms.

Lucifer didn’t react. Not visibly.

Instead, he kicked the meeting off with all the showboating he had in him, which seemed to be a disproportionately large amount for such a small body. The word ‘overcompensation’ briefly crossed Alastor’s mind, but he forced himself to hold his tongue. It would never do for him to accidentally reveal that he was… mildly perturbed by the ghastly thing in Lucifer’s hands.

No, best to grin and bear it, as Maman always said.

…

Even though he still wanted nothing more than to rip that damned mug away from the King and smash it directly into the space where his nose should be.

The blood rushing in Alastor’s ears thankfully made it possible for him to ignore the entire meeting. He simply sat there, smiling, while Lucifer said something, then Charlie said something, then Lucifer waved his hands around, then the staff burst into applause. He did everything he could to not look at the thing in Lucifer’s hands the entire time, but alas, it was so disastrously tacky that it kept drawing his eye, begging for ridicule.

And it very much deserved ridicule. Because clearly, the King had also spent hours on this mug. Had likely kept Alastor in mind the whole time, snickering to himself over how angry, how peeved, Alastor would become over it.

Except Alastor isn’t peeved.

He most certainly isn’t.

His refined tastes are simply offended by how downright ugly it is.

Not like the one he held close to his chest. His additions weren’t sloppy scribbles overlaying the initial design. They turned the fluffy little duck that had no place in Hell into something with true character.

They weren’t even remotely alike. In fact it was offensive to even suggest so.

Unfortunately, it was considered poor decorum to show that offense by grabbing said offensive item with one’s tentacles and hurling it out a window. It was also, apparently, unsporting to ‘accidentally’ scatter embers from the nearby circus-themed fireplace all over the room and watch Lucifer’s world burn again – literally.

Which meant that either Alastor is going to find an underling to tear limb from limb this afternoon, or the hotel will soon need another rebuild.

“Alright, everyone!”

Lucifer’s voice is somehow louder than the clap of his hands, both booming in the otherwise intimate space, making Alastor flinch several beats before he realises the King is now far closer than he was several seconds before.

Directly next to where Alastor is sitting.

Interesting.

“I believe that covers everything for today,” Lucifer continues, forcing Alastor to flatten his ears to his skull to stop them from ringing, “Let’s do this again. Same time next week? I’ll make sure there’s more snacks too.”

Oh thank Satan.

Alastor stands up gracefully, not wanting Lucifer to notice just how ready he is to flee from this hellish room and never return. He turns around, mentally making up his excuses to avoid any future meetings at all costs as he adjusts the pillow he’d been sitting against back to its perfect place.

Then, without hesitation, he makes his move for the door.

“Nuh uh, not you, Alastor.”

Even more Interesting.

Pushing down the urge to gloat about his obvious victory, Alastor pretends that he doesn’t hear the mention of his name, more than ready to give the King a healthy dose of his own medicine. He keeps his eyes trained on the door and marginally adjusts his pace, safe in the knowledge Lucifer wouldn’t dare risk causing a scene just to gain his attention.

But there’s even more of a spring in his step as he walks, safe in the knowledge that he’s managed to set up camp under the King’s skin and successfully mask his own irritation.

Just a few more steps and he’s out of there, then he can go back to his tower and ride this little high all the way until dinner time—

Why can’t he move?

What?!

Eyes shooting down his body, Alastor releases a screech of feedback when he finds a black hand wrapped firmly around his forearm. While the grip appears to be loose to the naked eye, there’s a kind of strength there that Alastor can’t pull against.

One that’s preventing him from moving a single inch.

“Did you hear me, Bellhop?” A dark tone takes over Lucifer’s voice as he leans in, breath hot against Alastor’s neck, “I said not you.”

He freezes while several pops of static echo through the still air. His grip tightens on his cane, the metal creaking in warning as his irritation roars to fever-pitch.

For a moment, he half-wonders if there is a way to land him in some plane even lower than Hell if he should punch the Devil – only to dismiss the thought as his eyes not-so-subtly flicker into radio dials.

But Lucifer doesn’t let up. Doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even move a muscle until Husker brings up the tail end of the staff and closes the door behind him, without so much as a backward glance or concerned expression for Alastor’s well-being.

Honestly, you just couldn’t get good staff nowadays.

“Well then,” Alastor says stiffly, turning his neck completely around whilst trying to stay calm, “To what do I owe the displeasur—”

“—Cut the crap, Bambi.”

Normally, Alastor would snark such an underhanded response. But he notices rather quickly that there’s actual venom in that tone, and it forces his mouth to snap shut. He narrows his eyes at the King, but Lucifer merely flashes him a quick smirk, taking a slow sip from that damned mug as the footsteps fade before setting it aside on the coffee table.

“We both know why we’re here.” Lucifer says, throwing himself back on the couch before gesturing for Alastor to do the same, "Let's just get this over with.”

Something in the tone – distinctly lacking any bite now – makes Alastor’s chest flutter. The odd reaction, probably something to do with adrenaline, puzzles him enough to take his seat without further complaint.

He neatly folds one leg over the other as he pushes that sensation down.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the foggiest idea—”

“—Your staff.” Lucifer cuts him off by raising his hand. Annoyance is clear in those eyes, shining bright enough that Alastor can’t help but stare, moderately transfixed, as Lucifer continues, “Or your microphone, thingy— whatever it is, you broke it, right?”

Oh.

That’s not what he expected Lucifer to ask about.

Alastor’s internal radio skips as his stomach does a particularly peculiar maneuver, making it seem as though it sinks several inches.

In the sparse few times he’s felt that sensation in the past, he’s associated it with disappointment.

But, quite obviously, that isn’t the case right now.

“How astute of you to notice.” Forcing his smile wider, Alastor tilts his head to the side, batting his lashes multiple times to drive home his sickly sweet attitude, “And what of it?”

“I’m going to fix it for you. Properly.”

For a beat, Alastor can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. For the last few weeks now, he’s been walking about with his cane in stitches, with the only comments from his fellow demons being about how much of a shame it was to be ruined.

But now, Lucifer’s willing to fix it for him? Just like that?

Something’s more than a little off.

“And why would you do that, Sire?” Alastor clears his throat, bringing his mug up to take a very long sip of his tea before pulling it away with a smack of his lips, “It’s not like you to be charitable outside of helping yourself.”

Unable to stop himself, Alastor lets the laughter he’s been holding back all afternoon escape as the comment has Lucifer growling low in the back of his throat. The temperature of the room spikes suddenly, as heat rolls off the fallen angel in waves.

While he did loathe the whole Lucifer moving in with them situation, it was moments like this that almost made the whole farce worth the constant headache. Like now, with sparks of irritation dancing around the King, making him look even more ridiculous in his anger.

It’s quite the sight, but Alastor can hardly pay attention to them. Not when he’s got Lucifer finally beaten.

Or, so he thinks.

“As I was saying. I’ll fix that cane of yours. However— ”

Lucifer pauses, eerily calm again as he lifts up his own mug. The temperature of the room plummets back to normal as he takes yet another sip. He tilts it at Alastor, smirking as the painted dead deer head catches his attention.

“—Once that’s done, you’re going to pack up your things and get out of my sight.”

“Ha! No.”

The retort comes out before Alastor even has a second to think about it. His answer wouldn’t have changed, regardless, but the speed he claps back alarms them both. He steals his nerve over being caught out, reminding himself again how he landed in this mess.

He’s the one tasked to watch over the Hotel by Charlie herself, and no matter his motivations, the last thing he will allow is for her deadbeat father to change that.

“I’m afraid that won’t happen, Lucifer.” Setting his cup off to the side, Alastor stands up, straightening his bow tie before sneering down at the King, “Now if that’s all, I’ll be taking my leave.”

“The Hell you will!”

In a flourish, Lucifer is suddenly standing before Alastor. His breathing is heavier now, allowing his nasal slits to flare before he jabs a finger into Alastor’s chest.

“I’m done playing stupid games, Alastor. Not when it’s clear you don’t give two shits about anyone here. Now either leave or I’ll—”

“You’ll what… force me?” Alastor counters with another step closer, forcing Lucifer to stumble a little while he clicks his teeth, “How will poor Charlotte react to losing more of her dear friends?”

Lucifer grabs his lapels in the next beat, golden eyes flickering red as steam bursts from the corners of his mouth, “Keep my daughter's name out of your filthy mouth.”

Any sensible demon would take such a threat from the literal Devil as a sign they’d gone too far.

But the satisfaction wrapping around Alastor’s lungs makes the need to drive the knife in further and twist far too tempting to resist.

“Again, you’ll resort to what, exactly?” He starts, making a show of leaning down to match Lucifer’s height, “A duel? Fisticuffs?” he tilts his head mockingly, inching close enough to feel the brush of steam against his lips, “Handbangs at dawn?”

There’s a beat, one where Alastor would swear on his mother’s life that the King’s alabaster skin flushes a brilliant gold. It gilds the delicate curve of his cheekbones, causing him to glow with divinity long lost.

Meanwhile, those eyes flick down to his lips – a hawk lining up its strike.

The next Alastor finds himself staring up at the glass ceiling with a sharp pain radiating through his back.

Well then.

Manic, disembodied laughter escapes his lips as he summons several tendrils to launch for his opponent as well as push him back to his feet. He rolls his eyes as the sudden movement causes more twinges in his lower back, almost wanting to mock Lucifer for choosing a seating arrangement so sterile it couldn’t even take a little roughhousing.

But the King’s hands circling his neck cuts that thought entirely short.

“Get those things off me,” Lucifer hisses, insisting on invading his personal space yet again despite the inky tentacles pulling at his shoulders, “Or I’ll throw you into the infernal pit myself.”

Alastor doesn’t listen. He sends a pulse to the ones wrapped around the King’s form, making them twitch and falter, as though struggling to maintain their grip. He waits, watching hungrily for that little flicker—

There. Surprise glints across those golden irises.

And he strikes.

The decoy tendrils slip away, throwing Lucifer off balance, making him land against the coffee table with an undignified thud. There’s not even a beat before Alastor’s additional appendages allow him to return the favour by wrapping themselves around that pale neck.

He follows them, looming over the fallen angel with a sinister grin, shoving an additional tendril in the imbecile's open mouth when he tries to speak.

The muffled sound – half growl, half shriek – sends a ripple of triumph through him. He drinks in the sight, ego swelling at the way the appendage writhes past spasming muscle, pushing deeper.

A fleeting victory, yes, but oh, how sweet it is.

“This is hardly a fair fight, Sire.” Alastor gloates, “I was merely doing what you won’t and leveling the playing field.”

The words barely leave him before pain sears hot up his tendrils – a rapid, blistering heat that tears a groan from his throat. He forces himself to suppress a shudder as he yanks back what’s left of his tendril from Lucifer’s mouth. Smoke curls from the blackened stump, a result of the flaming spouts now dancing at the corner of the King’s mouth.

“You think I couldn’t beat your ass if I wasn’t the Devil?” Lucifer's voice is now polyphonic. His eyes flash deep crimson as horns grow from his head. “Is that it?” His tail lashes behind him, wings spread wide,“You’re full of it.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘correct,’ Sire,” Alastor drawls. His smirk widens as Lucifer’s eyes narrow. With a dismissive flick of his hand, he gestures to the King’s form.

What little there is, of course.

“Though perhaps I should be honored. First Temptation himself, so threatened by a lowly Sinner that he’d bring out his full demonic glory to squash me like a bug!” He throws his head back with a cackle, ignoring the additional smoke billowing from the King’s mouth, “Why, I’m just tickled pink!”

There's a pause. A slow blink – left eye first, then the right. Then, in an instant, the demonic features disappear.

Surprisingly, Alastor is actually disappointed to see them go – something he’s sure will require examination later.

But not now, not when the King is back on the ground and quite literally sizing him up.

“You know, for once you’re right. You’re not worth wasting that form on.” Lucifer says, his voice back to his usual smooth tenor before his face twists into a sneer, “You want me to beat your ass without my powers? Alright then. I’m game if you are.”

And thus, the rules shift.

Quickly running down a mental inventory of what he can get away with, Alastor’s smile grows wide enough for his stitches to pull at the corners. Teeth, claws, and flesh only. No tendrils, no wings. No shadow minions or sound waves or spouts of flame from any part of the body.

A gentleman’s agreement they’ll refuse to shake on – mainly because both of them know Lucifer is not foolish enough to enter a deal with Alastor, no matter how prideful he is.

Alastor lunges first, catching Lucifer by the collar and dragging him into a brutal headbutt. The crack of their two skulls echoes around the room, but the fallen angel only snarls and retaliates with a fist to Alastor’s ribs.

Pain sears, they stagger, but neither gives ground, elbows and knees lashing out at each other in ugly, efficient bursts.

Lucifer’s teeth snap against Alastor’s shoulder, ripping new holes into Alastor’s good coat. He answers that kindness with a vicious rake of his claws across Lucifer’s face, inflicting thin cuts that heal themselves far too quickly. The fight devolves into a vicious grapple and a storm of snakes and breathless grunts as each tries to pin the other more efficiently than before.

But with each pass, Alastor’s frustration mounts. Red and black may dance at the edges of his vision, though all he can focus on is the obnoxious ethereal being before him. Lucifer is flushed gold in fury, pupils narrowed into slits. When he lashes out, he strikes like a viper, the blow both brutally strong and viciously quick. But even more surprising is the way he dodges despite being so close to Alastor’s teeth and claws; he undulates out of the way, body seeming to flow like water from one blow to the next.

Such serpentine movements. How fitting.

Other different settings, he’d even go so far as to think he might be fascinated by such practiced grace. But then Lucifer’s fist collides into his ribs, far too close to the stubborn wound that’s taking an age to heal that the King knows full well he has, and any admiration vanishes in a puff of smoke.

After that, their blows become more frantic, less finesse and more demonstrative of the months of animosity finally coming to head. It doesn’t take long for their discipline to crumble, and, much to Alastor’s glee, it’s Lucifer who breaks first.

The second he escapes from the chokehold Alastor almost had him in, Lucifer’s wings burst open in a sharp, violent snap. Their span is blinding – light from Hell’s sky catches along each edge, bathing the Devil in terrible beauty that forcibly reminds all of what he once was. He crouches low, then leaps upwards with a savage angelic grace, driving the air into a gale that rattles the furniture below.

Never one to be outdone, Alastor answers just as brazenly. Shadowy limbs burst outward from his back, dragging himself into the air after his quarry. He doesn’t so much soar as lurch and yank himself aloft. His movements are unnerving, insectile, completely graceless – but none of that matters.

If there is one thing Alastor has learned throughout this fight, it is that the head of the snake must be cut off before it strikes again.

There’s a single, undeniably electric moment where their eyes meet from their respective elevation, with so much said as matching grins return to their faces.

Lucifer lunges first, but he’s faster. While they’ve both broken rules in the use of tentacles and wings, they simultaneously drop the additions when Alastor’s knee makes contact with the King’s stomach.

While the correct tactical move would be to let Lucifer crumble before kicking him while he’s down, Alastor foolishly follows the blow by grabbing both of the King’s shoulders, his claws easily shredding through that tacky suit.

That slip sends them both hurtling to the ground while Lucifer counters by delivering a sweeping kick to the crux of his knees.

They land in a heap on the carpet, narrowly missing the edge of the coffee table; Alastor is flat on his back with the King’s smaller form partly straddled across. Lucifer’s claws catch at his arm, and Alastor hisses, shoving him back with a sharp twist of his shoulders.

Then their legs lock awkwardly as Lucifer drives his weight forward, once again gaining the upper hand.

Which Alastor snatches away by hooking a leg fully around the King’s back to flip their positions.

The furious glare Lucifer gives him as that stupid hat is knocked off his head is worth its weight in gold. .

But without the use of any hell-given powers, they quickly devolve into an adrenaline-fuelled tangle of limbs. They kick, claw, and scramble against each other, neither willing to admit even the slightest hint of defeat. It's an utterly childish exchange— grappling, rolling, trading blows that neither of their reputations would recover from if they were caught.

What would the papers say?! Alastor thinks while shoving his knee between the King’s legs to hold him in place.

It would be more than a simple scandal, but still, his pride won’t let him give up the fight.

Alastor will not yield. Not to him.

Lucifer tries again to flip them, but with his larger frame, Alastor can easily hold him in place. It’s comical the way the King’s smaller body thrashes against him, trying everything he can to be the one on top, whilst utterly failing with every flail of his limbs.

That is, until he decides to literally shred Alastor’s coat from his back with nothing but a swipe of a singular claw.

His good coat.

Alastor’s temper flares, certain that little move is in breach of their rules. The air becomes thick with static as he prepares to spit vitriol about foul play, yet he’s silenced by a swift uppercut to his jaw.

He tries to shake it off, but Lucifer doesn’t yield, sinking those claws around his jaw to the point of piercing his skin. The scramble shifts their positions, allowing him to at least get a hand on one of Lucifer’s wrists to pin above his head despite his neck snapping at the strain. It hits him then just how bony the former angel is, with his hip jolting when something digs painfully into it.

Wait.

Lucifer uses that slip to push harder against his jaw, shoving the meat between his thumb and forefinger against the mouth Alastor can no longer close. Laughter bubbles up through his chest at the King’s oversight, with him happily letting that misstep run its course until he has that ridiculously small hand between his teeth.

Naturally, he does what any reputable cannibal would do when presented with a golden opportunity and bites down hard.

Oh no.

The taste is possibly the most incredible thing that’s ever graced Alastor’s mouth, much to his immediate and abject horror.

It should’ve been obvious that the blood of someone as ancient and as powerful as Lucifer would be nothing short of sublime. In Alastor’s defence, the idea of associating the literal thorn in his side with something pleasant was an utterly ridiculous until mere seconds ago. A groan bubbles up from deep within his chest as he narrowly avoids the urge to close his mouth around the fresh wound and suckle.

“Hey, hey— stop!”

Lucifer snarls, taking advantage of the world tilting on its axis by flipping their positions to pin him against the plush carpet. His hands dig deep grooves in Alastor’s shoulders as he struggles to detangle their legs, hot steam spilling from his lips the second he’s able to sit atop Alastor’s pelvis.

A move that somehow angers the pitiful ruler more.

What?!

“What is it now?” Alastor growls with a grimace of his own as he tries and fails to break free of the entirely unfair hold, “I don’t recall biting down on a hand rudely shoved into my mouth being against our rules.”

To add insult to injury, he licks the remnants of his victory from his teeth, making sure Lucifer is watching as he savours every drop.

The slap to the face is unexpected, but not entirely undeserved.

“No magic includes no fucking magical canes, dumbass.” Lucifer spits while Alastor tries to blink him back into focus, while an almost pleasant warmth radiates through his cheek, “I don’t know what you’re planning, but stop fucking poking me with that thing.”

The words ring through Alastor’s head for a few beats, but no matter which way he looks at them, they don’t make a lick of sense.

Perhaps he’s concussed, or Lucifer is finally losing his mind, but there’s something here that’s not adding up.

“My Microphone isn’t—”

Wait!

In eerie unison, both their eyes snap toward Alastor’s seat. Sure enough, his microphone hasn’t moved a single inch from where it’s resting against the couch. The eye at its center is actually narrowed slightly, clearly judging them for this little squabble. Mortification floods his entire being even before Lucifer shifts what's quite the plush posterior in his lap.

No.

They both gasp as Alastor’s spontaneous erection is given an unhealthy amount of pleasurable friction, a moment almost rivaling the explosion of Lucifer’s blood on his tongue. It’s bliss, then reality hits, and Alastor does the only thing he can think of in that situation.

Breaking free of Lucifer’s hold on his wrist to frantically grasp at the King’s crotch.

The weight that meets his palm confirms that he’s not alone in his shame, but rather that they’re both unbelievably yet unarguably rock hard.

WHAT!?

Lucifer’s eyes go wide as he pulls back, gaze rapidly flicking between Alastor’s lap, the hand on his cock, and whatever state Alastor’s face is currently in.

Then, he laughs.

“Damn, Bambi. I had no idea you felt that way about me.” Lucifer says with a suspicious amount of glee, “That explains a lot, but I thought you weren’t into the whole— Oh fuck”

In hindsight, squeezing the cock still in his grip is exactly the definition of a mixed message, but Alastor isn’t exactly thinking clearly right now.

It does the trick, with whatever drivel Lucifer was about to spout cut off in an instant. Alastor watches in glee as the Supreme Ruler of Hell lets out an odd, strangled noise somewhere in between a squeak and a moan.

He should feel pleased at being able to one-up the King despite the perilous situation he’s found himself in. But the scant air between them feels too hot, their laboured breaths mingling too intimate, and the way Lucifer’s golden eyes are turning hazy far too alluring.

Despite how mortified Alastor is with himself, he can’t deny the way his cock throbs when Lucifer’s body bucks against him.

No. no. They’re not doing this. He can’t, they can’t, he—

“You’re in no position to talk.” Alastor snaps, cutting off that dangerous train of thought himself, “I suggest you remove yourself from my lap and shut your fucking mouth.”

He squeezes again, harder this time, intending to allude to the amount of pain he could cause.

Instead, he’s forced into the front row seat of Lucifer’s plump lips parting on a gasp before the body above him shudders in obvious pleasure. Those hazy golden eyes roll to the back of his head, plump thighs quivering as Lucifer seems to fight every muscle in his body not to collapse against Alastor then and there.

Then Lucifer’s eyes meet his, that sly grin grows, and Alastor feels his heart skip.

“Make me.”

Fine.

He surges upwards, summoning just a few tendrils to hold Lucifer’s head in place. Their lips crash together in a thunderous clash of teeth that should be painful but only seems to send sparks of electricity down his spine. Lucifer gasps into the kiss, his golden eyes growing wide, letting out another one of those unkingly squeaks before Alastor forcibly shoves his tongue deep in the fallen angel’s mouth.

Alastor’s quite sure he’s about to be disintegrated into dust or worse but then the King moans loudly against his lips, going along with the switch far too quickly.

That’s information he’s sure will prove useful in the near future, but right now, Alastor can barely fucking think.

Lucifer tastes exactly like divinity should, like a clear stream running over a bed of golden sand. Alastor’s senses are immediately filled with flashes of nostalgia, tart apples, and the sharp acidity of brimstone after rain. An iron bite floods his taste buds as his teeth scrape Lucifer’s lip, causing precious ichor to well up from the tiny wounds he leaves there. All the while, his tendrils tighten and his claws ball into fists while clutching onto Lucifer’s vest.

This time, it’s his moans that are barely suppressed by their lips. But there’s something tantalizing, intoxicating, and disgustingly addictive in the Devil’s blood that demands appreciation.

Is this what it feels like to go up against First Temptation himself?

Alastor isn’t sure if it’s the sting of his claws or the sinking of his teeth into that plush lip that wakes the King up. Regardless, he soon realizes that unholy power is found in more than the way he fights. Lucifer bats away the tendrils around him effortlessly before taking charge, forcing that long, ribbon-like tongue into his mouth with shocking strength, smacking aside Alastor’s tongue like it’s nothing before diving into his throat.

Once again, he’s forced to taste divinity at full force, the tingle across his tongue alone enough to make his eyes roll back and for heat to thrum deep in his bones.

Fuck.

With what feels like months worth of tension bleeding into every press of that agile muscle against his own, it’s a wonder they don’t combust spontaneously against the carpet. What started as more of a clash of teeth to the point of pain quickly gains rhythm. Becoming almost sensual. Lucifer’s lips are soft, unfairly so, and the way he whimpers whenever Alastor catches him with a misplaced fang is almost as addictive as his sublime flavour.

But what’s making Alastor’s head spin is how responsive that short frame is.

It’s becoming hard to tell where he ends and Lucifer begins with how many parts of his body the King is pressed flush against. It doesn’t take long for Lucifer to take charge in more ways than just their kiss. Not that Alastor is complaining, in fact, he’s pretty sure he’s the one to demand more of that delicious pressure when he hooks one of his ankles around the King’s calves.

But when he does, it’s Lucifer who takes advantage of the new angle by rolling his hips.

Which, Oh.

Heavenly doesn’t begin to describe the feeling of Lucifer’s cock sliding against his own. The friction of what feels like a disproportionately big length for Lucifer’s size is somehow made more decadent with the layers of fabric between them. Alastor can’t help but arch into it, chasing the high until he has to break the kiss to gasp for air.

When their eyes meet, when he’s forced to confront the unbelievably erotic sight of Lucifer fucking Morningstar flushed and panting above him, what they’re doing finally hits him.

Oh.

Oh fuck no.

He didn’t just kiss the King.

They’re not both harder than brimstone and pressed against each other.

Alastor is not a beat away from whining at the loss of the tongue in his throat, and—

“I’m game if you are,” Lucifer repeats, breathless, then winks.

Then his expression snaps back into a challenging smile, and it’s like all Alastor’s pride evaporates into thin air.

He doesn’t bother with summoning any additional help to meet Lucifer’s lips, nor does he wait for the invitation to buck up against his lithe form. They both groan against each other’s, picking right back where they left off and then some.

The already searing temperature skyrockets as they move together, torn between more of that addictive friction and taking charge of the kiss in turn. Alastor can feel himself becoming impatient, wanting the rush of rapid escalation before either of them has the sense to pull away. He pushes at Lucifer’s shoulders, finding purchase in the lapels of his jacket, which he uses to push the offending item away.

The hint is taken, with Lucifer quickly ridding himself of what’s left of his jacket before pulling Alastor upright and removing the tatters at his wrist. The shift in position is minute, but it rocks Lucifer’s entire length of his own, the jolt of pleasure rapidly ushering away any lingering doubts. He joins the King in tossing the strips of fabric aside with their lips somehow still attached, before widening his legs and rocking upward.

The bout of feedback spikes in the air around them as the pleasure explodes through his entire body is far too loud, but Lucifer takes it all in his stride.

Rocking against him again and again and again.

In the back of his mind, Alastor knows that there are far more efficient ways to be doing this. But he can’t bring himself to stop, not even for a second. It doesn’t matter. His claws dig into Lucifer’s arms when his thigh is grabbed and pushed backward, shredding his shirt, which sets off a chain reaction.

Several of his shirt buttons pop open when Lucifer leaves his lips to nip at his neck, and he manages to unravel the King’s tie with a few desperate tugs. It’s a victory he relishes a little too much in, making sure it caresses Lucifer’s skin as he pulls it away, before covertly pocketing it for safekeeping.

Why? He isn’t sure. Or, rather, he refuses to think further on it when he’s got more immediate situations to deal with.

Like the way Lucifer returns to his mouth once more with a moan that borders on desperate, or the way the King seems unable to stop touching him, even for a second. It’s something Alastor wants to chide him about when they break with a gasp, but the wicked glint in Lucifer’s eyes steals the words straight from his throat.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask what the King is thinking before Lucifer reaches between them to where Alastor is aching with need, splitting the seam of his pants with a single swipe of his claw.

“How dare you—” Alastor starts, cutting himself off with a hiss as his painfully hard erection springs free, “Fuck.”

The self-satisfied look doesn’t get a chance to properly form on the King’s face before Alastor reaches up to return the favour. He shreds the seat of Lucifer’s pants with a comically loud rip, but he’s the one left gasping when it reveals just what the King has been hiding behind that tacky suit.

Alastor knows he’s attractive, using his charm to his advantage even though he can’t see it himself. But it’s hard not to feel inadequate when Lucifer looks even more resplendent than all of his earthy depictions combined. He bites his lip, trying not to lose his nerve as the body that looks like it’s chiselled from the finest marble returns between his legs, only to abandon those self-conscious thoughts the second they make contact.

It’s impossible to feel anything other than overwhelming lust when the entire length of Lucifer’s cock slides against his own.

The friction before may have been addictive, but the sinfully smooth glide is something else. Alastor can’t hide his moan as the King’s swollen head brushes his own, nor the shiver when he catches Lucifer biting his lip. There’s a beat when he notices that, despite Lucifer being big for his stature, he’s definitely winning in terms of sheer size, but that’s quickly pushed to the side when the King takes himself in hand.

And makes sure to brush against every last inch on the next pass.

“Like that?” Lucifer practically purrs, the seductive lilt pulling yet another whine from Alastor’s lips, “Who knew the big bad Radio Demon could make such pretty sounds.”

“You can—” Alastor breaks himself off with a gasp as Lucifer goes one step further, spreading his fingers wide to take them both in hand, “You— you can hardly talk.”

He cringes at the brokenness of his tone before slipping further when Lucifer strokes them both from root to tip. His hips buck without his permission, and that only makes the glide even more sinful.

Then that exquisite pressure vanishes.

“And yet,” Lucifer lets himself go before making Alastor almost howl when he presses his thumb into his oversensitive head, “You’re the one dripping.”

He presses again to prove his point, forcing Alastor to watch as evidence of his arousal flows freely over his hand. It makes his stomach twist, the embarrassment close to unbearable, but Lucifer doesn’t let up.

Providing the perfect distraction from his shame by bringing his soiled fingers to his mouth.

The same tongue that had been in his throat mere moments ago flicks out to taste while the King’s expression darkens, “Want me to take care of that?”

Yes.

Alastor bites his lip hard, teeth gouging the flesh there until he can taste his own bitter blood. He watches as Lucifer blinks in slight confusion before those golden eyes widen and a wild, almost maniacal grin almost overtakes his ethereal features.

“You—”

He starts, but to say what, he has no idea.

Whatever it is dies the second Lucifer lowers his face between his trembling legs, tail swishing in the air behind him. Alastor has mere seconds to register the King’s firm hands pressing his knees apart before a hot breath ghosts against his inner thighs.

Oh.

Alastor opens his mouth to speak again, only for his words to unravel completely when those soft lips brush against his cock.

“Oh!”

His voice is lost to him completely as Lucifer’s tongue flicks out and traces a torturous line along the underside of his cock. The next thing he knows, those plush lips are pressing kisses over the head, all while that clever tongue traces the path of his vein.

Fuck.

Alastor’s hips jerk instinctively, a desperate moan escaping him as the king finally takes him in his mouth. The heat is unbearable, hellfire itself. Lucifer’s tongue swirls around the head of his cock, brushing almost reverently against the slit. His hands scramble for purchase, but finds nothing, forcing him to clench his fists instead. Tiny beads of blood well up, but they are nothing compared to the glide of Lucifer’s tongue, the tight undulations of his throat, the shockwaves of pleasure that surge through Alastor’s veins.

“L-Lucifer—”

Alastor gasps, his voice breaking as Lucifer skillfully swallows around him, pulling him deeper, deeper, deeper. The vibrations of a smothered laugh echo up his length. Those slender hands tighten on his hip, bruising in their grip, pinning him in place as Lucifer’s head bobs with relentless rhythm.

It’s too much. A rush of pleasure that he’s denied himself for, apparently, far too long. It’s everything.

Body arching upwards, Alastor finds he’s already desperately seeking out Lucifer’s heat. His thighs tremble, breath comes in ragged gasps, with every nerve begging him to surrender to the ecstasy just out of reach.

But—no.

He can’t—he can’t surrender. Not to Lucifer. Not to anyone.

With a low snarl, Alastor’s tendrils are out again, wrapping around Lucifer’s waist. The King lets out a startled squawk as he is yanked from his position and flipped mid-air. In an instant, he’s swung around so his pelvis is the one against Alastor’s face, with his lips wrapping around the King’s cock without a second’s hesitation.

Alastor has many uses for his powers, some that even he has questioned before. But nothing could prepare him for what his body allows him to do next. Before Lucifer could open his mouth and ruin the moment yet again, Alastor takes the King’s cock all the way to the back of his throat. Then, without warning, he taps into his power—

—and his throat begins to vibrate.

The sound that escapes Lucifer is strangled, stuck between a moan and a curse. Slim hands fly to Alastor’s hips, as if unable to decide if he should be pushed away or pulled closer. The King writhes above him, hips rolling against Alastor’s face to chase after even more friction.

“Oh, that’s not f—” Lucifer hisses, voice thick with arousal. But when Alastor angles his head and takes even more of the Devil’s length in, the word dissolves into a guttural groan, “Fuck! Keep doing that. Keep doing it or I’ll—fuck. I’ll kill you if you stop!”

Alastor grins around him, the vibrations intensifying as he takes Lucifer in deeper, savoring the way the King’s fingers scrabble desperately across his flesh, the way his hips buck involuntarily. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mixture of spice, iron, and sweetness that makes Alastor’s head spin. He can feel Lucifer’s cock twitch in his mouth, hear the staccato of his breath as Lucifer desperately fights to maintain control.

But control is quickly slipping away – for both of them.

Lucifer retaliates without hesitation. He has to stretch himself to his limit with their height difference, even prompting Alastor to move forward with him, but somehow he manages to engulf Alastor with his mouth once more. That serpentine tongue flicks against the sensitive underside of his cock, the only warning he gets before he’s almost swallowed whole.

Which, naturally, only prompts him to intensify his vibrations.

But even with their one-upmanship, it’s clear the dual sensations are overwhelming. Alastor’s vibrating throat and Lucifer’s relentless suction quickly create a feedback loop of pleasure that leaves them both gasping, moaning, and clinging to each other like their lives depend on it.

And fuck, if it isn’t downright heavenly.

The room fills with the sound of their mutual desperation – wet, hungry noises, broken gasps, and the occasional muffled curse. Alastor’s tendrils tighten around Lucifer’s hips, holding him in place as he works him with a ruthlessness that matches the King’s own.

He can feel Lucifer’s cock throbbing in his mouth, taste the pre-cum spilling onto his tongue more and more with each pass. It only drives him to take the Devil in deeper, desperate to make him lose himself entirely while he’s still able to concentrate enough to do so.

But suddenly, it all stops.

Lucifer pulls away, Alastor’s cock leaving his mouth with a low pop! A keening whine tumbles from Alastor’s throat, quickly transforming into a surprised bleat as Lucifer once again flips them both over. The strength he uses leaves no room for resistance, and before Alastor can so much as think about complaining, Lucifer kneels between his legs.

He’s momentarily spellbound by those golden eyes blazing with a hunger that borders on feral, then panic seizies deep within his chest.

“Just what in the Nine Circles do you think you’re doing!?”

Alastor flails against Lucifer’s grip, arousal and fear gripping him all at once at the sight before him. Lucifer looms above, practically glowing with predatory lust. The smirk on his face only widens as he presses down, pinning Alastor to the floor with a single hand. The carpet burns Alastor’s back as he struggles futilely to break free. Static hisses and feedback roars all around him, growing louder when he feels something both cool yet unimaginably hot brush between his cheeks.

“I’m preparing you.” The King states simply.

How dare he act like this is a matter of fact!?

“Look, I doubt you’d like me to fuck you dry,” Those golden eyes catch his own, with Lucifer’s expression morphing into a mixture of confusion and something indiscernible. “I have the pain tolerance for that, but we both know you run away screaming over a mere cut.”

A soft chuckle escapes Lucifer as he persists, nudging a digit at the tight ring of muscle like it’s meant to go in there.

Which it absolutely is not!

Alastor hisses in protest, thrashing his body harder against Lucifer’s grip.

“And wh-who said you were fucking me?” Alastor snarls, bringing a leg up to uselessly kick at Lucifer’s chest. “If anyone here needs to be put in his place today, it’s not me, it’s you.”

He half expects Lucifer to say something snarky based on the look he receives. But instead, Lucifer merely surges forward, bending down to place a kiss along Alastor’s jaw.

“I don’t think so, Bucko. Besides,” Alastor feels Lucifer’s smirk against his skin, making him wince when those sharp teeth catch, “Isn’t there an old saying about age before beauty? Since I have you beat on that, I’m topping first.”

Alastor turns his head, meeting Lucifer’s eye, before his cheeks flare with heat.

Did… did Lucifer just call him beautiful?

No. No!He can deal with that thought later.

Right now he’s going to make sure Lucifer knows who he’s trying to fuck with.

“Perhaps that’s true, but,” Alastor smirks, grabbing Lucifer by the shoulders before rolling them over, “Unlike you, I’m a man of action. While you remain passive, at least, you did on the battlefield until the last minute.”

Laughing at his own joke, Alastor makes a show of licking his lips, bending down until he’s almost nose to face with Lucifer.

“So, why don’t you just lie back like you always do,” A shrill bit of static escapes Alastor’s as he drums his claws against Lucifer’s skin, “And let me show you how a true demon takes charge.”

It should be an easy victory. The logic is sound, and Lucifer’s wide eyed expression is more akin to a deer in the headlights than Alastor’s ever allowed himself to be.

But of course, the King has no intentions of making anything in his afterlife easy.

“Really?” Lucifer huffs, playfully rolling his eyes while Alastor gets situated between his thighs, “Such big talk when we both know you’re liable to bow out early. Just look at your track record.”

The wink that follows only serves to fuel Alastor’s hatred, making his mouth move before his mind has the chance to catch up.

“If we’re going by track records, your Majesty,” He wets his lips, knowing he’s going too far, yet it does little to dissuade him, “I wasn’t the one lying back while my daughter risked her life.”

The noise he makes when an agile tail whips around his neck is unbecoming, and yet, the mix of pain followed by pin-pricks of pleasure is enough to make his eyes roll.

Lucifer tightens his tail’s grip as his eyes darken, “Wanna repeat that?”

Without wanting to point out the obvious that he can’t right now, Alastor’s almost tempted to nod if it means he can experience that rush a second time.

Instead, he keeps a calm expression, not wanting the King to see just how close he is to cracking. He dips down despite the grip on his throat, burying his face against Lucifer’s neck and licking the sweat-slick skin there as a way to get the King to release his hold.

It works, with the tail around his throat going lax as its owner shivers almost violently, but he definitely hasn’t learnt his lesson.

“I’m not worried at all, Sire.”

Purposefully rolling his hips, Alastor bites back a moan as their twitching lengths brush together. They’re both thick, heavy, and drooling enough precum that the glide is utterly divine, which should be more than enough for them to throw in the towel and get on with things.

But Alastor can’t. Let. Him. Win.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” He purrs in his most seductive tone, the one usually he reserves for his sporadic late-night shows, “For all you know, I could make you see heaven again.”

He follows that with a wink of his own, hoping to give the King a true taste of his medicine.

And, for some unknown reason, it works.

“Why would I want to see heaven,” Lucifer purrs while wrapping his legs around the small of Alastor’s back, bringing them closer still, “When I could have more fun down here in Hell?”

Wait-

Lucifer’s movements are effortless, easily flipping their position once more to see Alastor landing with a thud on his back. He snarls, hissing various insults under his breath as several symbols float in the air around him.

The King just chuckles softly once again, releasing the grip on Alastor’s shoulders before resting back on his haunches.

All Alastor can do in that moment is openly gawk at Lucifer. He’s utterly shameless despite his shredded suit, and if he’s being entirely honest, Alastor doesn’t have to look long to realise why. He’s practically resplendent in this light, all pale skin and hard muscle, truly sculpted by the gods themselves. That thick length twitches as Lucifer cocks his head challengingly, another pearl of precum beading at the top.

It momentarily shines in the dim light of the room before it silently falls somewhere upon his stomach, and for a second, Alastor thinks it’s such a waste that it doesn’t land on his tongue.

His hesitation is immediately taken advantage of.

“Why don’t you be the one to lie back and let me do the work like you did with the hotel, hmm?” The King purrs as he once again moves between his spread legs, “I can remove the stick you have up here and replace it with something better.”

Alastor should laugh at the absurdity of it all. At the idea that he could be coaxed into surrender like some trembling fool. But there’s something about Lucifer’s eyes that pin him in place, something otherworldly in the way the ancient being moves that demands his undivided attention.

Something that finally makes it clear how such an unassuming, bumbling, fool was able to cause humanity’s downfall.

Before Alastor’s mind has a chance to catch up from that realisation, his breath is stolen by the feeling of a far slicker digit circling his hole. Too slick, in fact. But he’s barely half way through forming a scathing retort when the teasing ends and Lucifer’s finger breaches him.

It’s…

Oddly pleasant.

The touch is soft, exploratory, and clearly intended to coax him into accepting the intrusion rather than forcing it.

Alastor bites his lip, keeping any embarrassing sounds at bay as he pushes himself up on shaking arms. His eyes snap to Lucifer’s lowered ones, with the way the King is staring so intently at where they’re joined instantly making his face flare with heat. Which somehow makes the next thrust even more intense, with Alastor only partly able to catch a needy whine as it claws its way up his throat.

Which Lucifer seems unreasonably pleased about.

“Not all bad, huh?” He says, tone somehow deeper than before.

The noise, coupled with what Alastor can only guess is a crook of the invading digit sends shivers down his spine and makes his cock twitch violently, smearing its fluid on what’s left of his waistband.

It’s effects are instant, and Lucifer clearly knows exactly what he’s doing, but like fuck is he going to let that asshole know it’s working.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware you weren’t just stalling for time,” Alastor tilts his head, forcing his previously stiff ears to go lax as they flop to one side, “Is it even in yet?”

His answer is a scoff, Lucifer removing the offending digit, before he’s stretched far wider on the next pass.

It’s just another finger, Alastor tells himself as he chokes down an unbecoming moan from the sparks of pleasure making his whole lower half twitch, Or two?!

Questioning how many digits the King is using on him quickly disappears to the back of his mind when Lucifer starts moving. It’s far more intense, the stretch and harshness of each thrust borderline painful. Yet it never tips over, only lacing each move with danger, and Alastor—

—Doesn’t hate it?!

It’s new, it’s exciting, and apparently able to scratch the itch that Lucifer had somehow buried deep inside him. The way the King moves is precise, his goal clear, and yet there’s a level of restraint that instantly makes Alastor crave more. Despite knowing he’s playing with fire, Alastor bites his bottom lip before rocking his hips down to meet Lucifer’s hand on the next thrust.

Which apparently was the exact right thing to do with the way white hot pleasure radiates from his core.

His body betrays him, lightning sparking through his spine, pulling his back into an involuntary bow. And, despite his clenched teeth, forces a groan from his bloody lips.

That display merely earns him a pleased hum, a repeat of the same move, then an even deeper thrust. Lucifer shifts himself closer as his hand speeds up, the clear level of control and care compared to the harshness of their earlier fight almost too much for Alastor to take.

What breaks him, though, is the soft kiss against his inner thigh, seemingly unconscious in its nonchalance.

It makes his chest flutter again, and this time, he can’t even pretend it's a coincidence.

“I’m afraid if this is all you’ve got to offer, Sire,” Alastor pants, ignoring the way his stomach seems to be doing somersaults to push the words out through gritted teeth, “I doubt I’ll even notice when you’re inside.”

“Wanna bet on that, deer boy?”

There’s not a moment to even blink before Alastor finds himself airborne.

His body is torn between mourning the loss of that frankly magic touch and the sharp pain in his shoulders from being grabbed and thrown around like he’s nothing more than a ragdoll.

But he doesn’t have a chance to react to either as the coffee table enters his vision with alarming speed.

Closing his eyes, Alastor braces himself for impact, grunting loudly as his body collides with the wood grain.

A breath later, there’s weight behind him and a hand clamping hard on his hips. It’s clear what Lucifer means to do, and yet, Alastor’s first instinct isn’t to fight it this time. His cock bobs against his stomach as another, far gentler, hand brushes up his side before leaving him completely, confusing him for a beat before the sound of slick flesh makes his ears twitch.

Then the air is punched out of him as he’s brutally and unceremoniously thrust into.

Which…oh.

Oh my.

Struggling to catch his breath, Alastor tries to push himself upward, only to have his plan foiled in an instant as Lucifer pulls almost all the way out, hitting far too many pleasurable points on his way.

He bites his lip, making it bleed anew, but that does little to suppress the undignified bleat when his tail is grabbed and used for leverage with the next pass. It’s rough, and a coffee table is hardly the ideal surface for such activities, but for some reason the unorthodox methods only seem to be adding to the appeal.

If Alastor had any idea that sex could feel like this then maybe he would have sought it out sooner.

“Fuck! I figured you’d have a tight ass, but you’re about to break me in half, Al!” Lucifer grunts, hands gripping harder at Alastor’s hips while he drives in deep, “Though I’m sure you’d like that, you fucking freak.”

A hiss of static escapes Alastor while his eyes struggle to remain open, “S-silence!”

He bites down on his bottom lip to try and stifle himself as Lucifer takes that as an invitation to start slamming into him properly. He doesn’t want, no, he outright refuses to give Lucifer any more of an ego boost than he already has.

Because the King is right and he hates it.

The table awkwardly squeaks beneath them with each desperate thrust, creaking and groaning under the strain of their bodies. He doesn’t care. Not when his body is alight with more pleasure than he’d felt in the last hundred years.

He’s far from an expert, given how his idea of relief is his left hand and a glass of whiskey once in a while.

But now?

It’s like his body yearns for Lucifer’s touch, drawn to it like a moth to the flame.

And it infuriates him.

He tries to protest again, but the only sounds that tumble from his lips are borderline whorish moans as Lucifer begins to press against a spot deep within him. With each torturous drag, Alastor sees stars dancing across his field of vision, almost rendering him blind as the coil in his gut begins to tighten.

But he won’t let himself break yet. Not like this.

Summoning a bit of his strength, he manages to will a few of his tendrils to rise from the ground and surround Lucifer’s limbs. The King makes a startled noise, fighting against them as his pace is effectively halted.

“I thought we agreed on no magic, Alastor,” Lucifer snarls, jerking his wrists to try and break free, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

The return of the first-rate asshole is almost a comfort, what with the almost tender way Lucifer’s been treating him.

But first things first—

“I don’t intend to violate our terms, Sire.” Alastor’s voice drops to a purr as he inches away from Lucifer, swallowing down a whine as the thick cock leaves his hole, “I just believe that taking me like this is barbaric, and I wanted a change.

He doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, he falls onto his back, arching against the plush carpet and spreading his legs wide before releasing Lucifer from the makeshift prison. His breath hitches as Lucifer launches at him with a downright famished expression, quickly settling between his thighs before slipping in with a groan.

“W-who knew you’d be one for fucking manners after the way you’ve acted,” Lucifer laughs.

Or, he tries to.

It falls away into a desperate moan as he sheaths himself to the hilt, those brilliant golden eyes rolling back as Alastor purposefully clenches around him.

“Fuck!” He cries, hips stuttering as he falls onto his hands, “Keep that up, and I’ll end up cumming way too soon.”

“How pathetic.” Alastor tsks, shaking his head before flashing Lucifer a wicked smirk, “All the back and forth we’ve gone through, and all it took was a little position change for you to almost spill? Rather disappointing if you think about it.”

The way Lucifer immediately stills should set alarm bells off in Alastor’s head, but it’s like he loses himself the second he meets Lucifer’s heated gaze.

Which has grown far more murderous in the last ten seconds.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Alastor.”

That serpentine tongue flicks out, licking along Lucifer’s swollen bottom lip in a hypnotizing way. Alastor watches it, shivering as it laps up a droplet of golden ichor before retreating back into Lucifer’s mouth.

“I had no idea that you were such a glutton for punishment.” He sneers before straightening up, grabbing Alastor’s calves, and hoists them up to rest on top of thin shoulders, “Don’t worry, I can adjust accordingly.”

Alastor opens his mouth to protest, but everything he had planned to say vanishes as Lucifer moves far faster than before. The slick sounds of their bodies coming together fills the room, underscored with a rhythmic slap that takes him an embarrassing amount of time to place.

When he realises it’s Lucifer’s heavy sack slapping against his backside with each thrust, he actually whimpers.

It’s filthy, every sweet drag of Lucifer’s cock inside of him only serves to send Alastor spiraling. His mind is having a hard time staying focused on anything, with details he’s sure to remember for the rest of his afterlife coming to him like flashes in the storm. His cock obscenely bobs against his stomach, smearing precum against the fur there while his hole flutters with each slam home.

But even through his haze, he knows he needs to get the upper hand again somehow, and soon.

Feeling a lightbulb go off over his head, Alastor holds his breath as he summons a tentacle to creep out of his lower back. It’s thin, but agile, able to slither around Lucifer’s hip, smooth and undetectable, as the King continues his brutal pace.

“Goddamn, Bambi! You feel so fucking good,” Lucifer groans as he bottoms out, flames spewing from the sides of his mouth as he pushes forward, effectively folding Alastor in half, “You should see yourself right now. So fucking proud, yet it was so easy to make you into my bit—!”

The rest of Lucifer’s speech is cut off as Alastor flicks a finger upwards.

The grin on his face widens enough to sting as the tendril he summoned pushes inside Lucifer’s entrance. It’s a tight fit, but just as slick with its own natural lubrication, making the glide remarkably effortless. He doesn’t hesitate in willing it to widen, cackling as Lucifer scrambles before moaning himself at the sudden intrusion.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, were you saying something?” Alastor cackles, rolling himself against the plush carpet as his tentacle thrusts deeper into the King, “Or have you found yourself distracted?”

“F-fuck you!”

Lucifer snarls, the wisps of flame transforming into full on hellfire as those demonic horns once again pop into existence.

But, instead of immediately pulling away and severing the tendril like Alastor had anticipated, the King’s expression actually softens.

Even if the claws sinking deeper into Alastor legs speak of the danger beneath than saccharine smile

“You thought that's enough to throw me off?”

A dark, devilish laugh slips through Lucifer's lips as he slams into him again, only this time, there’s no hint of that earlier tenderness.

Lucifer raises up onto his hooves in the span of a few thrusts, staying inside, bending Alastor even further backward. He’s practically balanced on his shoulders with the way Lucifer spreads his legs to reach deeper, ignoring the way the table groans in protest as he leans his full weight against it.

“Bambi…” Lucifer all but growls out the misnomer, slamming his hips forward before grinding in impossibly deep, “Now you’re just being kinky, and you really don’t know what you’re up against.”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck!

Alastor tries to process the new implication, but it seems like fate doesn’t want to give him a break. Not even a second after Lucifer finishes speaking, the table gives way above them, sending Lucifer hurtling down on top of his already twisted form.

A pained gasp is immediately torn from Alastor’s throat as multiple splinters rain down on top of them, gashing his skin. He can feel blood already seeping from the wounds as he shifts around, likely forcing the scarlet droplets to flow freely down the tattered remains of his suit and bruised skin.

After he’d spent so long getting every last stain out of it after his little mishap with the angelic axe, it’s quite literally adding insult to injury.

But he doesn’t allow that to slow him down. Not when he can see that Lucifer is very much caught off guard by the sudden change in position.

Which gives him the perfect opening to exact his revenge.

Summoning every ounce of strength he has left in him, Alastor quickly grabs Lucifer by the shoulders and shoves him away. He winces as the King’s length is ripped from his hole, but the momentary discomfort is more than worth it when he witnesses a stunned look pass over Lucifer’s face as he drags them both to their feet.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re—oh!”

A downright whorish moan passes through Lucifer’s lips as Alastor wills for the tentacle to push deeper inside his King while several more snap around his wrists and ankles. He makes sure the thick tendril stretches Lucifer to his limits while the rest immobilise him completely.

“You didn’t think I would let you win so easily, did you?”

Alastor’s chest heaves as he rights himself, not caring about how ridiculous he looks with his clothes in tatters around his shaking limbs. Sweat drips from his brow, droplets landing on Lucifer’s pristine floor as he walks them both toward one of the ridiculous apple-framed windows, forcing himself to pay no mind to the way his bobbing erection is affecting his gait.

He forces himself to focus as his tentacles flip the bemused King around, biting his lip as he clenches hard around the one inside.

“Alastor—” Lucifer warns as he’s pressed against the glass and held there, “Don’t— Don’t you dare.”

Alastor pays him no mind, chuckling while trailing a hand up those plush thighs before willing the appendage away.

“You of all people should know by now—”

He kicks the King’s legs apart before taking himself in hand.

“—Just—”

He zones in on the way Lucifer shivers as he smears precum on his hole, breath hitching as it clutches, coaxing him inside.

“—What a demon like me is capable of.”

In a mirror of his earlier treatment, Alastor doesn’t hesitate to push himself inside.

Good lord.

It’s hot, unbelievably so, and tight. He sees now why Lucifer had been so floored by the first pass, and yet, with how worked he is, he can’t stop his hips from snapping forward before he even bottoms out.

Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind, if anything, that slight form is more than accommodating despite it being such a tight fit. His voice warbles as Alastor fills him completely, the steam from his breath fogging the window he’s braced against. The sight is unbearably erotic, and Alastor’s mind goes wild with all the sordid possibilities such a discovery could grant him.

Starting with just how many octaves Lucifer’s voice can jump up with a hard pull on that damned tail.

This was about making things fair after all.

Setting a brutal pace, Alastor drags his claws up and down Lucifer’s form, hard enough to draw more of that delicious golden nectar to the surface. Watching more of King’s outfit fall away in tattered shreds does nothing but stoke the burning fire in his gut, and when his answer is a whine and tight heat clenching around his length, his antlers grow several tines.

The dangerous thought that he could become accustomed to such pleasures enters his mind as he pulls out until there’s naught but the tip left inside.

“What a sight.” Alastor hisses, drool running rampant down his chin as he shoves back inside with enough force to knock Lucifer against the glass, “Anyone who glances up from below will be able to see what kind of King you truly are.”

“Wait, we should—” Lucifer gasps, blackened claws fruitlessly attempting to gain purchase against the smooth surface, “Someone could see us and—”

“—Good.” Alastor interrupts, wrapping a hand around Lucifer’s slender waist, “Let them look.”

His cock throbs when he realises just how small Lucifer is in comparison to his extremities, to the point he almost loses himself when he’s able to make his fingers touch.

He hangs on by a thread, pushing himself deeper as he forces the King flush against the window.

“You wanted to make a spectacle of yourself earlier, did you not?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He can’t. Not when Lucifer’s squeezing him so tight that he’s struggling not to lose his composure every second.

“Well, now's your chance, Lucifer." Alastor growls low in his throat, pulling out again before slamming back into that tight heat, “Time to give your loyal subjects a show.”

The thought he’s gone too far is once again fleeting when his answer is a guttural moan and rhythmically tightening insides.

Perhaps he’s skirted close to a secret fantasy, or perhaps the King of Hell enjoys being knocked off his gilded pedestal a little too much. Alastor isn’t sure, but he doesn’t really care, either. Not when the result is still him fucking Lucifer hard against the window of his tacky little tower for all of Pentagram city to see.

And what a delightful vision that is.

Lucifer’s lithe form eagerly supplicates to his every whim, rocking to meet his thrusts with vigor despite each slam of Alastor’s hips punching the breath out of him. He doesn’t protest when he’s manhandled into a better angle, demonstrating remarkable flexibility when Alastor twists him to the side and raises a leg around his waist.

He even hikes it higher than needed, wanting the King to feel that stretch tomorrow, along with every bite, scratch, and mark littered across that pale skin. Healing powers be damned.

And when Lucifer compliments the shift by wrapping his tail tightly around Alastor’s waist for balance, Alastor makes a promise to himself that this won’t be a one-time thing.

Among everything else, the sight of his cock stretching Lucifer’s tight hole is addictive.

While his complaints with Lucifer on top were simply for show, there’s something unbelievably satisfying about making the King submit to his whims. Responsive doesn’t cover all the arching, the whining for more, and the eager way Lucifer gives himself fully with every thrust. Almost like he’s made for this, for Alastor alone to desecrate to his heart's content.

But it’s not enough.

It hits Alastor that he’s not going to last, but more than that, he doesn’t want to. There’s something darkly possessive overtaking him. Something that makes his claws dig in harder with each smack of their hips. His thoughts spiral, the need for Lucifer to be covered in his claim overwhelming.

Not to mention the idea of spilling inside the tight heat that’s coaxing him deeper and deeper feels less like a whim and more like a necessity.

Alastor’s breathing quickens, his thrusts turn erratic, and the precipice approaches with breakneck speed.

It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t you— Fuck—”

A fresh bout of flames slips from Lucifer’s lips as his back arches. Golden eyes meet Alastor’s own over the King’s shoulder before they narrow into slits, “Don’t you dare cum! Not yet. And not— ah— not inside!”

Alastor snarls, the need to fill that tight heat with his seed overwhelming him completely.

“Quiet”

The singular word, spoken in his true, demonic voice, actually makes the King of Hell freeze. Riding that power trip, he ignores the demands, opting to move even faster. He finds himself just as addicted to the sound of their flesh meeting as the tight heat that he very much plans on claiming.

But Lucifer quickly snaps back from whining at being split open to trying to escape his hold, writhing to escape his grasp.

Alastor is having none of it.

“If you don’t want to be defiled by a sinner like me," Bending down, he unfurls his tongue to drag it over Lucifer’s skin from the base of his neck up to a red-circled cheek while he bottoms out. "Then stop me.”

Lucifer's breath hitches, and for a moment, Alastor wonders if he's incorrectly called a bluff he can't afford to.

But then he moans loud enough for half of Pentagram City to hear, arching his back like a common whore.

“That’s what I thought.”

With renewed vigor, Alastor continues his breakneck pace. Everything around him blurs into a mixture of vague shapes and colors as he chases the release he can feel burning him from the inside out. He grips Lucifer’s waist tighter, moaning without shame as golden blood seeps out and decorates his claws. He’s so close to the edge, he can almost taste that sweet nirvana on his tongue. His cock throbs with each pass, already painting those tight walls, signalling that all it would take is a little more before he—

Lucifer tightens around him, purposefully arching to meet his thrusts, and Alastor’s world goes white.

“Oh, Fuck— just like—” He chokes on the words, bottoming out as he tips over the edge, “Oh, Lucifer!”

The earth shatters around him as his climax finally surges through him. He rolls his hips, instincts driving him deeper as hot spend shoots from his cock, filling Lucifer to the brim.

The idea he’s marking the Devil as his pulls several more strangled moans as his body stutters with half-abandoned thrusts, prolonging the sweetest relief he’s tasted in years.

For a few heavenly moments, no words are exchanged between them. They both pant heavily, sweat making it hard to keep any semblance of that previous grip, all while Alastor tries to blink the world around them back into focus.

But of course, Lucifer has to ruin it, again..

“Wow, all the build-up and that’s what you give me?” There’s a hitch in Lucifer’s voice as he shifts against the glass, as if he’s trying too hard, “Now I really know how everyone felt watching you fight Adam, over before it’s even begun.”

Normally, such a statement would drive Alastor to rip its messenger apart, piece by bloody piece. While fate has proven that task impossible considering it’s the Devil whose ass he’s still balls deep inside, they, surprisingly, don’t Illicit that reaction. He can hear how little bite there is in Lucifer’s words, to the point it’s hardly enough to even be considered a proper tease.

But the attempt at undermining him makes his blood boil just enough to play along.

“My apologies, Sire.” Rolling his eyes, Alastor swiftly pulls out, gaze immediately drawn to the way his seed—his mark—starts dripping freely from Lucifer’s hole, “How can I possibly atone for such a grave mistake.”

Sarcasm drips off every syllable, but if Lucifer notices, he doesn’t react. Instead, he spins on his heels, eyes now a brilliant crimson as his demonic features take over.

“Oh, I can think of a way or two.”

Alastor laughs maniacally as Lucifer grabs what’s left of his shirt and drags him back across the room. The use of angelic power sends another thrill through his spent body, but he’s not allowed to luxuriate in the feeling for long.

In the blink of an eye, he finds his body lifted up and slammed face-first onto the sofa.

He…really needs to talk to Lucifer about throwing him against breakable surfaces when this is over.

Maybe. Or with the way the switch makes his shriveled heart pound, perhaps he can convince Lucifer to heal him afterward instead.

But before he can even attempt to get his bearings, Alastor feels something get shoved into his outstretched hand. He looks up, eyes growing wide when he realizes what Lucifer has handed him.

The mug.

The fucking mug.

The yellow duck taunts him as Lucifer moves around him, its dark painted eyes glittering in the bedroom light while his face grows hotter from a mixture of arousal and shame. But that thought is thrown out the window when he feels a pair of hands grip his hips. Turning his head to the side, he notices Lucifer standing proud behind him, cock already in hand and rubbing eagerly against his hole.

“The tea you insisted on is still in that shitty mug of yours, Bambi,” A devious grin lights up Lucifer’s face as he sinks his claws into Alastor’s skin, “You wanted duck season? Now you’ve fucking got it.”

Lucifer pushes in without any warning, pulling another static-filled moan from Alastor’s lips as he sets a brutal pace.

“Careful,” He chides, the warning clear in the way his voice drops to that unnatural dual-tone, “If you keep squirming like that, you’ll spill it all over my couch,” He clicks his teeth before slamming in so hard Alastor’s sees stars, “That’s—ha—That’s just rude.”

Alastor wants to scream, to tell the King that he’s the one causing the mug to jostle in his hand, but any retort is stolen by the deafening slap of Lucifer’s hand meeting his ass.

He actually bleats, the embarrassing sound dissolving into a moan as the vibrations somehow make Lucifer’s cock press against all the right places. His reply is another, far darker chuckle, before a second blow lands on the same cheek.

Just as Lucifer grinds in deep.

But apparently rending him in two just isn’t enough.

“Put one of those tentacles back inside of me while I put you in your place, Sinner,” Lucifer demands, punching several embarrassingly wanton moans out of his permanently open mouth, “It’s the least you can do after leaving me wanting.”

Which—

Why is the mere thought of Lucifer asking for such things so arousing?!

Eyes rolling back from the onslaught, it’s all Alastor can do to snap his fingers and will for one of the tendrils to come back out.

It manifests with a slick pop, immediately seeking out Lucifer’s entrance. Alastor moans at the feeling of his own spend aiding the glide as he pushes the tentacle in far enough to seek out the same spot that makes him see stars.

He knows he’s found his goal when he feels Lucifer tense behind him before one of those angelic moans fills his ears.

“Enough for you, Sire?” Alastor gasps, arching his hips up so Lucifer can plough into him properly, “You should have just let me take you again if you like being filled so— oh fuck.”

There’s no hope in finishing his sentence as he’s brutally slammed into several times in quick succession. His cock weeps against the sofa cushions as he tries to match the pace with his tentacle, smearing precum against the fabric that likely will never come out.

Leaving the reminder of what they’ve done all over Lucifer’s possessions is one thing, but something the King could get out of anyone he decided to bring to his chambers.

Even as he arches to meet the onslaught, narrowly avoiding spilling the sloshing tea by keeping his arm locked in place, Alastor can’t help wondering what it will take to cement himself as something Lucifer craves.

Making sure he comes begging back for more.

The obvious hits him when Lucifer demonstrates his strength again, immobilizing him with one hand while grinding in deep.

“You got yours, now I want something in return,” He hisses, turning his head all the way around to flash Lucifer a deranged smile as the King’s hips slap against his ass, “Let out your wings again. Give me everything you have.”

Something entirely different flashes over Lucifer. It’s barely there for a heartbeat, but there’s no denying its existence as the slip burns itself into Alastor’s mind without his permission. It’s something raw, unguarded, unlike anything that’s ever graced the King’s face in his presence before.

It’s not quite victory that curls low in his gut at the sight, but it’s gone before he can analyse that feeling, quickly hidden by that smug smile snapping back in place.

“Demanding are we?” Lucifer attempts to drawl, but the way his hand tightens as he bottoms out speaks volumes about his own wavering control, “Tell me, Alastor, what gives you the right to say such things?”

Ignoring the way the use of his name makes his stomach flutter again, Alastor turns his head back to the couch he’s braced upon. He arches his back, tightening his insides when it makes Lucifer’s pace falter, before purposefully letting his tail flick against the King’s stomach.

“I haven’t spilt a drop yet.” He taunts, his voice sing-song and mocking even as his body trembles under the strain.

He holds his breath, wondering if it’s enough, only to be rewarded instantly as the King drapes himself across his back.

Lucifer can’t quite reach his ears in this position, but that doesn’t stop his skin from prickling when hot breath blooms against it, “Oh, I can fix that.”

It’s all the warning he gets before he’s pulled out of, flipped around, and slammed back into. The couch groans below their moans, breaking in several more spots as Lucifer resumes the punishing pace. Despite his best efforts, tea sloshes from the mug Alastor is still clutching in one shaking hand. Half the contents spill across his chest, soaking through what’s left of his shirt before it slips from his grasp and lands with a soft thud on the carpet.

Neither of them spare it a second glance.

Lucifer dips down on his next thrust, tongue tracing the lines left by the lukewarm liquid, banishing any discomfort by leaving Alastor tingling. Which only makes him moan louder, eagerly meeting every vulgar slap of skin on skin. He tries, desperately, to keep his mask in place, but it’s next to impossible with Lucifer so close and so god-damn deep.

His claws rake violently against every bit of skin they can reach, a way to grasp at control as well as a plea for more. Lucifer answers the latter, finishing the assault of his tongue with several too-soft kisses before leaning back on his haunches, laughing as he drags Alastor’s pelvis effortlessly along for the ride.

Only then does he finally fulfill the request.

The snap of Lucifer’s wings is deafening, the brilliant whites and rich reds just as breathtaking as the first time Alastor had laid eyes on them. They stretch wide above where the King is still moving inside him, as imposing as they are magnificent, blotting out everything else in existence.

For the first time in longer than he can remember, Alastor is rendered speechless.

He’s beautiful.

The reveal is almost enough to distract him from what they’re doing, so much so he can’t hold back the yelp when Lucifer uses a powerful flap to drive his next thrust. Alastor cries out, arching to meet the thrust, unable to hold back a single ounce of what should be a shameful slip of his control.

But it doesn’t feel that way, not with the way Lucifer matches him with a broken moan of his own before returning to that punishing pace.

Eventually Alastor regains his senses enough to continue his own onslaught. He returns the tendril to Lucifer’s entrance, pushing back inside while summoning several more towards him. He ignores Lucifer’s resistance, swinging his legs around his back to lock him in place when sending his appendages to caress every one of those wings he can reach.

He files away the way Lucifer throbs inside him as his wings are wrapped around as something to exploit.

Repeatedly.

But no matter how iron his will, Alastor can barely think straight from the way Lucifer is hitting every sensitive spot inside him with each thrust. His movements quickly become uncoordinated and sloppy, and when Lucifer pulls almost all the way out to once again hike his legs up to rest on those broad shoulders, Alastor almost screams.

The change in angle is everything. What felt like explosions in his already overstimulated body before now feel like they’re about to be his end. It’s like Lucifer’s stamina knows no end with the way each thrust seems effortless, even if the beads of sweat against his brow say otherwise. Even though Alastor arguably has the best view in all Hell right now with the King’s wings fluttering and bristling against his tendrils, it’s those small details he hones in on.

He’s captivated by the way Lucifer’s kiss-swollen lips part with each gasp and the tiny puffs of smoke that escape before further dampening his sweat-slick brow.

When Lucifer bends him in two to gain more purchase, he distantly registers the sound of more items in the room knocking to the floor.

It doesn’t matter.

There’s even glass shattering when Lucifer’s wings swoop above them, assisting the pace that’s starting to falter.

It doesn’t fucking matter.

Nothing but the way Lucifer is filling him, squeezing around him, consuming every inch of him matters. Over the downright obscene cacophony of sounds their making Alastor vaguely registers something building inside him again, but when Lucifer slams home next it finally hits him.

He’s going to cum.

He’s not even being touched directly and somehow this orgasm feels like it’s going to hit even harder than the last.

“Fuuuuck Bambi,” Lucifer moans, slamming a hand down next to his head, “You’re squeezing me so hard. I— fuck— I had no idea you’d feel this good” He finally meets Alastor’s eye, pace stuttering, “Wait, You’re close again, arent you?”

He doesn’t let Alastor answer, shoving a hand between them to grasp his fully hard cock as his movements devolve into something desperate and borderline feral.

“Let me help you out again, yeah?”

Lucifer pants heavily, bearing down with his full weight as his hand frantically flies up and down Alastor’s cock until his body seizes and his moans shoot up the octaves.

“That’s it, I— Fuck— I’m gonna cum with you, just a little more—” Lucifer groans, bottoming out while digging in his claws hard enough to bruise, “Scream for me, Al.”

Despite everything Alastor thinks about the pompous asshole, he gladly obeys.

His back arches, taut and sure to give him problems for a whole week as he clamps down around the cock pulsing deep inside. Lucifer groans, collapsing into his chest and rutting into him before the inevitable warmth paints his inner walls.

It sets off a chain reaction, one that sees both his now trapped cock spilling against Lucifer’s stomach as well as the tendrils he still has buried inside the King’s heat spurt with their own sticky fluid.

Considering he’s had these powers for nearly a century, he never knew they could do that.

Trust the Devil to be the one to show him that little trick, for once living up to his reputation for corruption.

But Alastor doesn’t have a chance to recover from his orgasm or relish in the feeling of being so full before the rug is snatched from beneath their bliss.

The distinctive, and now painfully familiar, sound of wood splintering around them snaps him out of the haze in an instant. Both of them yelp as the couch caves in on itself, leaving them in a heap of broken beams and cushions. Bits of dust and debris float them as they lay there in shock.

And then, Lucifer starts to laugh.

“You alright?”

The tone is far too soft coming from someone like Lucifer, to the point where Alastor’s first instinct is to scoff and roll his eyes. But he doesn’t get a chance to respond. Not when the King is pulling out of him and standing up, barely leaving him alone in the wreckage before bending down and scoop him from the ruins of the couch a moment later.

Like he weighs nothing.

“I’m not some damsel in distress, your Highness,” Alastor snaps, wriggling in Lucifer’s grasp despite that pressing him flush against the King’s firm chest, “Let me go.”

“Suit yourself.”

A devilish smirk is flashed at Alastor before he’s unceremoniously dropped on his ass, away from the worst of the wreck.

Lucifer follows him down to the ground, sitting before him with a smug look on his face as his golden eyes take in the state of the room around them.

“…You’re paying for all this, by the way.”

Snapping his head around to look at Lucifer, Alastor openly gawks when he realizes that the King is being completely serious.

“Paying for—” Alastor sputters, pops of static escaping him as his mind tries to comprehend just what Lucifer means, “You’re the one who threw me against every available surface at every opportunity!"

“I didn’t hear you complaining.” Lucifer sighs contently, leaning back on his hands with a thoughtful look on his face, “Well, ok, you complained a lot but I wasn’t paying attention. Regardless—”

Lucifer meets Alastor’s gaze, eyes twinkling with mischief as he cocks his head to the side in a taunting manner.

“It was your body that destroyed my room. So either you fix it or,” That sinful tongue flicks out, running along too sharp teeth in a threatening way. “You can explain to everyone what we did here.”

It’s bait. Obvious bait with Lucifer having far much more to lose should anyone ever find out what conspired here today.

Alastor takes it anyway.

“Maybe I should. Oh, I could do a little presentation at our next staff meeting,” He lets his eyes go wide with glee, “How to make the King of Hell whine like a whore. Ha. Ha ha ha!”

He lets the laughter overtake him, even if Lucifer’s non-reaction sets off several alarm bells in his mind.

“Hm, you wouldn’t be the first to claim they could, But,” The King’s reply is far too cool, which in turn sends a wave of both annoyance and possessiveness down Alastor’s spine as he continues, “I seem to remember you had no problems when it was me taking charge.”

Images of just that flash through his mind, but Alastor steals himself not to just throw himself down on the ground before demanding a repeat performance.

“Perhaps you’re insisting on getting on my last nerve so I’ll make you submit again,” He growls antlers creaking above his head as more visions flash through his mind, “I’ll have it where you forget your own name, Sire.”

“Pfft, God, you want to fuck me so bad again, Bambi?” Lucifer challenges, meeting Alastor’s with such intensity he can’t help but gasp, “Prove you’re worth it.”

…He isn’t serious, is he?

The thought barely crosses Alastor’s mind when Lucifer moves. He tilts his head, squares his shoulders, and spreads his legs with all the shamelessness of one who knew he was irresistible – and prided himself on it. His sideways smirk and half-hooded eyes is all the answer Alastor needs.

And Alastor, despite the lingering vitriol he feels for the uppity asshole, feels his mouth start to water.

As he launches himself at the Devil for the umpteenth time that afternoon, two things spring to his rapidly clouding mind.

One, that they’re not going to make it to dinner that evening.

Secondly, that both of their mugs sit together just out of reach upon the stained carpet, just above the spot he throws Lucifer down onto.

Perfectly intact.