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It was a wholly unremarkable day in a wholly unremarkable week. Nobody had tried to attack the hotel in over a month, the guests hadn't been getting into fights – Alastor hadn't even been bothered by intrusions into his airwaves, by a certain somebody trying to broadcast over the top of his time slot.
He would ordinarily be rather bored by such monotony – but for some reason he found it oddly comfortable. It gave him the opportunity to devote his attentions to his radio show, something that had been sorely neglected of late – what with his duties about the hotel of a day, not to mention the demands on his attention of a night.
Alastor hummed absently along to the record he was playing, unable to recall the title. Or the words. That was a little odd, for him, but he was sure he could check the record sleeve after the music finished, just to make sure he properly credited the artist.
He flinched, a phantom touch brushing down the back of his neck – so light that the finely shaved hairs on his nape stood on end. Utterly bizarre, because nobody was permitted within his broadcasting tower but him – especially when he was on the air.
The record sleeve sat on his desk, and Alastor leant forward to read the title. He adjusted his monocle, brows furrowing as whatever text was there blurred and spilled, like somebody had dripped ink into a glass of water.
Again, a faint touch crawled over his skin – over his hips, this time, a squeak of surprise echoing from his throat as the music played on.
Sparks of heat followed in the wake of that invisible touch, and Alastor had half a mind to cut his broadcast right here – to sink into the shadows and race to Lucifer's rooms, to demand the king explain what he was doing. Because it had to be Lucifer.
Nobody else would dare harass him in such a way.
Alastor pushed up the slider on his desk, hissing static cutting into the melodious notes of the music he still couldn't name. His nipples tingled as they peaked under his shirt, threads of sensation darting under his skin as his ears twisted back and his lids fell to half-mast. He opened his mouth to announce the next segment of his show–
And sagged back in his armchair, head tipping back against the headrest as his fire crackled by his side.
The book he'd been reading slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor with a heavy thud. He couldn't recall what book it had been, nor whether it had been very interesting. Under his clothing, his skin felt as though it were swarming with fire ants, mapping out paths of heat over his torso and down his thighs. A flicker of arousal sparked in his guts – and Alastor glanced around, shooting a suspicious glare into the shadows.
Though it wasn't something Alastor usually had an interest in doing, the way his pulse thumped on the back of his tongue and his pulse sped through his veins was tempting him towards the unusual – and he rather thought he could be forgiven this indulgence.
He slipped a hand between his legs, pressing his palm to the front of his slacks and letting out a somewhat surprised whine to find himself already hardening. His ears pinned back to his skull, lazy warmth trailing up his spine and coiling through his nervous system.
Hadn't he been doing something? Something that didn't involve him sitting in his rooms, reading a book that he couldn't recall?
He must have finished his broadcast. Finished it and made his way down here, trying to clear his mind of these degenerate distractions by losing himself in a good book. It was the only thing that made sense, and so it must have been true.
Alastor considered making his way to Lucifer's rooms, vaguely wondering why he wasn't already there. They'd long since established that he spent more time in that suite than his own, and when it came to relieving a problem such as this, there was no greater expert than Lucifer. Perhaps the other man could also figure out why Alastor hadn't been able to recall the title of the record he'd been playing – or the book he'd been reading.
A grunt escaped him as teeth grazed his side. The warmth of his clothing–
Was a hot breath, pausing as he shifted. Waiting until Alastor turned his head, burrowing more deeply into the pile of pillows beneath him and curling one hand into the sheets at his side.
His claws curled around the handle of the frying pan, sizzling away on the stove. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of cooking bacon and toast, the water in the pot just starting to reach a bubbling boil. Hot enough to set it swirling – to crack an egg into it and start that painstaking task of poaching each and every one to perfection.
It was a task he did well, and did regularly. Breakfast for the other staff members of the hotel, a silly little habit that one might say promoted camaraderie. In truth, Alastor merely figured that if he were making enough for himself, he might as well make enough for anyone else lucky enough to be awake so early.
Defying all expectations, the Morningstars were in attendance – for once. Though their name might suggest that they were early risers, more often than not they would be stumbling down the stairs, half-dressed and with hair tangled or sticking up every which way. Alastor got the impression that Charlie, at least, might be a morning person – were it not for the fact that she spent so many nights pouring over her plans, trying to work out the formula for redemption.
Lucifer spent his late nights pawing over Alastor.
One of them asked a question, and Alastor's ears twitched as his brows furrowed. He couldn't hear them over the sound of the bacon spitting and hissing on the stove, the overhead fan working hard to extract the grease filled air from the room before it could stain. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a muffled thump and a curse, as if somebody had dropped something off the table – or hit their elbow, perhaps – but both Charlie and Lucifer seemed in as good spirits as ever, talking animatedly about the activities planned for the day ahead.
Alastor turned his attention back to the bacon, staring absently as the pink meat refused to brown. It was dancing about in the pan enthusiastically enough – it should have started to show some colour by now.
His tail flicked under his belt, his breath catching in his throat as a trickle of sensation ran up his inner thighs. A flush crept into his cheeks, and he glanced over his shoulder once again to shoot a reproachful glare Lucifer's way, for doing such a thing with Charlie in the room – but Lucifer wasn't there.
Charlie was talking to Angel, flipping through her notebook. There was no sign of Lucifer having been there at all. Alastor, suspicious now, lifted his nose and sniffed at the air, trying to pick out the telltale scent of apples and cinnamon that always followed an impromptu vanishing act from the man – but it was non-existent.
He could smell only the homey flavours of cooking bacon, though it was still as pink as if it had just been taken out of the fridge. This really was taking far too long.
Alastor stepped back from the stove, lifting a hand to his neck to loosen his tie and his collar, inexplicably warm. Warm – yet shivering. His skin shuddered as nerves twitched down his chest, like the faint scrape of sharp claws trailing down his torso. A soft, feedback-heavy sound crackled in his throat as one of his nipples hardened, pleasure spider-webbing out across his chest.
His cheeks flamed, and he glanced over at the kitchen table to make sure Charlie and Angel hadn't noticed.
Alastor was in the kitchen alone. Nobody else tended to get up this early, so his paranoia was unwarranted.
He really ought to set an alarm for every other resident of the hotel, if only so they could stop wasting so much time.
Alastor turned back to the performance he'd been watching, propping his arms on the railing and leaning forward to get a better look. Lucifer's royal box was wonderful, of course, but sometimes Alastor wished he could be closer to the action. A hand pressed against the small of his back, and he turned, his grin widening to see Lucifer standing at his side.
The railing bit into his hips as he straightened, and it was–
The nip of sharp teeth, a hot tongue flicking over sensitive nerves as Alastor let out a slurred whimper. Hands were pressing against his thighs, and Alastor parted them with a sigh, something tangling around his hoof.
Lucifer laughed as he helped Alastor up – and Alastor glared at the offending coil of rope that had been left in their booth. It was meant to hold back the curtains, but it had obviously come loose, enthusiastically embarking on its new career opportunity of becoming a tripping hazard.
They returned to their seats, and Alastor sank into his.
He kept sinking, as though his seat were no more substantial than candy floss, and Lucifer was above him – flapping his wings, his smile bright as they soared through the clouds. Now, this was unusual – Alastor didn't like flying, and he was sure he'd been somewhere else but a moment ago.
His efforts to place his thoughts were stifled as Lucifer swooped, Alastor's stomach jumping up into his chest as his pulse raced in his ears. The rustling of Lucifer's feathers above him was muffled, their odd noise like shifting fabric. They landed, and Alastor recalled just what they'd been doing.
Alastor was wearing a satchel, and it was from this satchel that he pulled a set of explosives, grinning up at Lucifer as he watched. It was a terribly hot day. Alastor lifted a hand to his collar to loosen his tie – only to find he wasn't wearing one.
His shirt was–
Hanging open, the spill of silk brushing against his ribs as his chest rose and fell far too quickly. A sputter of feedback echoed in his throat, his body flinching against the press of something slick against his hole. A hushed voice muttered something soothing, and Alastor–
Looked up to see Lucifer watching him expectantly, his hand outstretched for the detonator Alastor was holding. Alastor shivered, claws tightening around the bag still in his grasp as pleasure skimmed over his flesh and his hole twitched against nothing. Heat fluttered over his frame, a whine escaping him through clenched teeth.
Something was definitely happening.
He knew they were here to set the explosives on Vee Tower – they'd planned it, after all. The day had been spent getting ready for the task, and Alastor's excitement had crackled around him for the past several hours. Had sputtered and hissed, like the–
Hiss of air that trickled between his teeth, a soft groan accompanying it as he stirred. As his cock wept against his belly, hard and aching, his rim sparking with sensation as two long fingers worked him open. He was–
In a bed. Definitely in a bed. Soft sheets were rucked around one hoof, his shoulders sinking into the warmth of the mattress and his body limp and languid, still three-quarters of the way into sleep. He whimpered, heat thrumming through him, pleasure rippling along his veins as that lazy warmth turned to needy fire – but he wasn't awake enough to do anything more than shift his head.
There were fingers buried in his ass, pre-come smeared over his navel. Alastor's mind span as he inhaled the warm scent of their combined bodies, comfortable in their shared sleep. Musty and sweet, cloying and thick in the air – it was a familiar scent, and Alastor whined as Lucifer hushed him. Pleasure sparked through his body again, tingling around his nipples, clinging to his thighs – and Alastor blinked, peering down his body with bleary, sleep-dusted eyes.
Lucifer paused. Alastor's ass throbbed around the other man's fingers, and a gold flush infused Lucifer's face. His hair was tousled, his chest was bare. No – not just his chest. Alastor flicked his gaze down, taking in the blurry form of Lucifer's naked body braced between his thighs.
A faint thread of annoyance managed to coil in his chest.
“You woke me up,” Alastor complained in a mutter so thick with static, it would be a wonder if Lucifer could even understand what he was saying. Lucifer ducked his head, pressing an apologetic kiss against the inside of one knee.
Alastor twitched at the touch, feedback whining in the air as he clenched around Lucifer's claws, pleasure racing up his system anew. His cock was heavy against his stomach, in desperate need of attention – but his arms were tingling from where he'd slept on them, his fingers numb where he'd cut off circulation. They wouldn't obey him.
Sleep plucked at his mind, the warmth of his arousal trying to lull him back into unconsciousness.
“I'm sorry,” Lucifer whispered against his skin, his lips sending fresh spikes of sensation over Alastor's slim frame. “Go back to sleep, gorgeous. I've got you.”
Alastor mumbled a vague confirmation. This was not new for them, this game, and nothing in him perceived Lucifer as a threat. They were long since past that, the adrenaline that might once have fired through his body at being woken up in such a situation resting as peacefully as he had been. He shivered, tossing a disobedient arm over his chest, smothered under the weight of it.
Or perhaps it was the weight of the warmth captured within the canopy of Lucifer's bed, like the–
Warm, humid air of his bayou, insects buzzing like his static as he sprawled in his hammock. He was sinking into the pliant fabric of it, his knees hooked over the edges and his claws gripping the sides near his hips as he panted, sweat trickling under his bangs to slide down the line of his jaw. He was shaking, wriggling – and a soft voice was in his ear, telling him to relax. To keep still.
His ass throbbed around the intrusion of two – three – fingers, each twist and gentle thrust shooting pleasure over his thighs as his cock twitched against his belly. He was nude – but that didn't seem at all unusual. This was, after all, simply a dream, and Alastor mentally tried to claw his way back into consciousness, his back arching and his shoulders sinking even deeper into the fabric of his hammock as the fingers within him spread themselves. That stretch was tinged with pain, painted even more heavily with a delectable kind of pleasure, and Alastor peered down the line of his body, expecting to see Lucifer.
There was nobody there.
He was being finger-fucked by a ghost, a whimper creeping between his teeth as a hand skimmed over his ribs – and he tried again to surface back into the world of the waking. It was–
Dimly lit, the lights twinkling in the canopy above blurry and smeared, his eyes struggling to focus through the shroud of sleep still clinging to him without the aid of his monocle. Fire swam through his blood, cooking him from the inside out, and the weight above him was not a blanket. The voice murmuring in his ear wasn't the whisper of the wind through the reeds, but it could have been.
“Go back to sleep, Alastor. You're fine here.”
He was fine. He was comfortable, in sure hands – and Alastor sighed as he let his body sink through layers of darkness, hovering in the midst of nothing. The lights above him–
Danced over his skin, visible representations in the shadows. Representations of the way his nerves were sparking at every soft touch, and he shivered again. He wasn't asleep – not quite. But he certainly wasn't awake. He could feel–
The delicate silk of Lucifer's sheets under his shoulders, though it felt like the mattress was melting beneath his weight. Soft, staccato sounds were catching in his throat with every breath, little bubbles of static bursting in the air. His dick was heavy, aching – and his hole was thoroughly slicked, attentively stretched. A dull throb went through him, his rim twitching as Lucifer's fingers slid out of him. The hiss of Alastor's static was nothing more than the lap of swamp water breaking against the shore, disturbed by some distant stirring of wind.
He let that warmth curl through him. Alastor felt as if he could taste it, could let that heat crawl down his throat. He hovered, caught somewhere between consciousness and dreaming, his mind aware of Lucifer moving between his legs but his body limp and unresponsive.
If this were anybody else, he might have panicked.
Alastor felt Lucifer wrap a hand around one thigh, shifting his leg, tilting his hips. He fell ten stories as the head of the other man's cock pressed against his stretched rim, hitting the ground and exploding into shadows, coalescing back on this very bed as Lucifer pushed forward – as his cock head popped past that tight ring of muscle, Lucifer's slim fingers no comparison for his cock.
A whimper escaped Alastor's throat, one clumsy arm trying to curl around Lucifer's shoulders. It was like he was trying to swim through something as thick as creamed honey, his eyes gritty and his lashes growing damp. Whatever glued his eyes together while he slept was trying its best to do so now, and Alastor panted as Lucifer caught his arm, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of his wrist before carefully placing it back on the bed.
“Just relax, Alastor. Don't let me disturb your sleep. Just lay back and let me take care of you, hm?” Lucifer murmured into his neck, easing his hips forward and stretching Alastor even further.
His voice was calming, almost hypnotic in how soothing it was. And Alastor was tired – he really didn't mind letting this warmth roll over him, his static crackling like the–
Warmth of the sun, a sun he hadn't seen in decades but still recalled. The grass at his sides was green, the skies above a beautiful pale blue. A perfect summer's day, sweat beading on his bare skin as felt himself tipped backwards, his head pointing down the hill they were perched on. Between his thighs, Lucifer's pale body was lit by the backdrop of that sun. Alastor could just melt under the heat of Lucifer's gaze, his breath huffing between his teeth as he dug his claws into the earth and let a cry break from his throat, loud and free, completely lacking any sense of reservation.
In this world, only the two of them existed. Alastor didn't have to shiver against the pleasure coursing through him, didn't need to worry about appearances. Lucifer sank into him, hips flush to Alastor's ass. For a moment, discomfort threatened to interrupt Alastor's easy enjoyment of this intimacy–
He jerked, squeaking a faint protest. Every nerve in his ass throbbed with that sense of fullness, prickling through his awareness like thorns on a rose vine. It was something he needed to be awake for, his throat clenching around a whine as sharp claws traced delicately over his hips.
“Shh. You've had me plenty of times, gorgeous. You know you can handle it. You're so fucking – hf – good for me, Alastor.”
Good or not, consciousness was creeping in at the edges of his mind, his pulse pounding both on the back of his tongue and in his cock, pleasure coiled in a thick knot somewhere low in his guts. He was too focused – too aware of the feeling of Lucifer's shaft within him, pressing insistently against his inner walls. Every movement felt like a brand, his stomach twisting as he clawed at the sheets.
He needed something – something else, the memory of that sunlight tormenting him, wracking his mind just as Lucifer was ruining his body. It was obscene, the noises bursting from his throat. His lashes quivered against his cheeks as he tried to wake up.
A confident hand around his cock gripped his attention as surely as if somebody had slammed him into a brick wall, his blood rushing in his ears as a groan echoed in his throat. Heat thrummed up his torso, the heat of–
The summer sun, no longer beating down on him, but filtering through the leaves of the trees in his bayou. And he was back in his hammock, the air hot and humid around him as a keen reverberated off the tree trunks. He was wrapped in the fabric of his hammock, so tangled in it that he'd as soon destroy it as get free – and there was still that fullness inside him, that pressure, that sting and ache and intrusion. Now, though, the sensitive nerves at the head of his cock were sparking, and Alastor forced his eyes open.
Lucifer wasn't there.
Nobody was watching him. Relief sank into his chest as he panted, his tongue hanging over his sharp bottom teeth. The heat of his arousal crept up his torso like mist burned off the grass when the sun rose, pinching at his nipples, sensation skittering away through his nervous system until he felt as if he might just burst.
Alastor let himself whine, his hips pushing upwards – only to be forced down by an invisible hand, held in place as–
Lucifer set a slow, steady pace, each drag of his cock against Alastor's rim when he pulled out, each increase of pressure against his inner walls when he thrust forward pushing Alastor closer and closer to breaking. His dick was leaking against his belly, sticky strands of pre-come tangling in the fur that passed for his pubic hair.
Behind his closed eyes, fireflies danced, swirling in the dappled sunlight. Alastor whimpered softly, his hammock unhooking itself from the trees and lowering itself to the ground. Until he was sinking into boggy earth, the mud of his bayou seeping in to fill every part of his body with heat and need and pleasure so all-consuming that he couldn't even remember where he was.
In his bayou? In Lucifer's bed? Somewhere else, perhaps, the kitchen or his tower or even in the skies above Hell?
Anywhere he went, Lucifer followed, strumming Alastor's nerves like harp strings or pushing him deeper into the ground, into the table, into his mixing desk. His thrusts did not speed up – the steady push-pull of his cock against Alastor's ass was a pressure he couldn't escape, each thrust sawing through whatever rope held back his climax.
Until it snapped, and Alastor came with a sharp cry. Every inch of his skin was tingling, his mind still lost in the cotton-wool thoughts of not-quite-sleep and buzzing with an echo of static and mosquitoes. The light flashing behind his tightly shut lids could be the leaves shifting in a breeze – or the string-lights hung around Lucifer's canopy swaying with their movements. He spurted his orgasm onto his stomach, the delicate threads of it almost ticklish in how they landed on him.
Lucifer sucked in a breath and pressed forward, stilling as Alastor clenched rhythmically around him, his body wringing every last drop of pleasure it could from him before it considered him spent. Lucifer's hips twitched, a choked noise echoing somewhere deep in his throat as the clamp of Alastor's ass around his cock drove him over the edge.
The bed – ground, air, sky, leaves – sucked Alastor in, as if he were being consumed by whatever he was lying upon. Still his awareness struggled, his synapses shaking with residual bursts of pleasure as it echoed in his memory; as if the thought alone was enough to stir him to hardness once more, his dick twitching against his navel.
A pair of lips landed on his chest, kissing the slightly sunken spot just above his breastbone. Alastor hummed a query, swaying in place though the bed was perfectly still.
“I love when you let yourself feel it that much. You're beautiful when you're sleeping, you know,” Lucifer whispered, shifting just enough that his cock slipped free of Alastor's hole, his spend trickling out to follow as Alastor twitched against the absence of it.
He huffed something that might have been an agreement, his blood cooling and his lungs once more doing their best to draw in regular breaths of air. Whatever stream he was floating on was carrying him away, a sigh creeping through his soft smile as he felt the evidence of their sex vanish from his skin.
Lucifer's magic could not banish the slight ache from his ass, though – nor could it make the comfortable, sluggish warmth currently filling Alastor's limbs disappear. He wouldn't have wanted it to.
The lights above him were twinkling, blurred and distant when he managed to peel open his eyes for a moment. Lucifer was moving, arranging Alastor's legs back into some semblance of respectability. Covers settled over his chest, the heavy weight of them accompanied by Lucifer's arm as he tucked his head into the space between Alastor's shoulder and neck.
Those lights might as well have been stars, their bed the hill Alastor had imagined in his dreams. As Lucifer settled, Alastor curled his lip and wrinkled his nose, thumbing at the ring he'd been wearing. He slipped it off, not particularly up for a repeat of tonight's performance, however unlikely an encore might have been.
“You weren't supposed to wake me up,” Alastor muttered. Lucifer snorted into his neck, yanked from whatever half-sleep he'd been drifting in at the sound of Alastor's feedback-heavy voice.
A beat of silence passed, and Lucifer pressed a kiss against Alastor's jaw.
“I know. I'll be more careful next time. Go back to sleep, Alastor.”
He had little chance to refuse. He'd had one foot in the realms of sleep this entire time, and as Lucifer once more made himself comfortable, Alastor–
Turned to him, holding out a hand as he stood in darkness, tempting Lucifer from the light. Lucifer gave him a look of faint confusion for a moment – before a wicked grin spread over his features, a laugh breaking from his throat. He stepped forward, and Alastor dragged the both of them into whatever abyss was at his back. His coat flapped about his ankles as they fell, Lucifer's arms wrapped around–
His chest.
~fin~