Archive of Our Own ^beta

Between the clashing egos of its residents, the constant flow of lost souls in need of “rehabilitation,” and the faint, ever-present hum of Hell outside the doors, silence was more rumor than reality. Still, Charlie had convinced herself—against all odds—that today might be peaceful.

She should’ve known better.

“Tell me, little man,” Alastor’s voice cut across the lobby, smooth and sharp like a blade wrapped in velvet, “is it possible for you to speak without hearing the sound of your own voice echo endlessly in that cavern you call a head?”

Lucifer leaned against the back of a chair, golden eyes narrowing just slightly. His smile was pleasant, infuriatingly so. “I might ask the same of you. Your broadcasts carry on for hours, and yet you expect others to endure them in silence.”

“Ah, but people listen to me,” Alastor countered, his grin flashing wide and feral. “I daresay your audience is somewhat… captive. A forced congregation. If they had a choice, well—” he gave a delicate shrug, “—even the roaches might scurry elsewhere.”

“Oh, please.” Lucifer’s voice dripped with disdain, though his posture remained languid, controlled. “You mistake notoriety for charm. And you mistake your knack for noise as a talent.”

Alastor tilted his head, faux-polite, though his crimson eyes glittered with malicious glee. “And you mistake yourself for relevant.”

“Relevant or no, you still seem to cling to every word I say. Curious. It’s almost as if you can’t help yourself.”

“Hardly,” Alastor sniffed, straightening his bowtie with a flick of his wrist. “I keep listening the way one can’t look away from a car accident—ghastly, yes, but with a sort of morbid fascination.”

Lucifer’s smile sharpened. “You compare me to an accident, and yet you’re the one who looks perpetually run over.”

Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose. This had been going on since breakfast, back and forth like dueling banjos, escalating until the entire hotel staff gave them a wide berth. Husk had retreated upstairs after muttering something about needing more gin. Niffty scuttled past them, feather duster in hand, pretending not to hear. Even Angel Dust had given up trying to stir the pot, and that was saying something.

Charlie finally cracked.

“Enough!” she snapped, stepping forward with her hands on her hips, voice ringing sharp enough to silence both of them. “You’ve been at this all day, and I can’t take another word. Stop bickering. Now.”

Lucifer immediately pasted on a cherubic smile. “Of course, my little star.”

Alastor bowed mockingly, wide grin locked in place. “Naturally. Wouldn’t dream of defying you, my dear.”

For a heartbeat, Charlie allowed herself to believe they’d actually listened. Then Alastor leaned just slightly toward Lucifer, voice low enough only the devil could hear:

“Though really, what’s more tragic? A car accident… or a washed-up almost-god trying to prove he’s still important?”

Lucifer’s smile never faltered. Not an inch. But something cold and hot all at once flickered through his golden eyes, and Alastor knew— knew—that he’d stepped too far.

…Delicious.

Charlie huffed, muttered something about tea and aspirin, and disappeared toward the kitchen. The moment her footsteps faded, Lucifer lifted a hand, snapped his fingers so subtly the sound barely existed.

Alastor didn’t notice at first. Not until the conversation lulled, not until Lucifer sauntered away toward the window, humming, looking infuriatingly smug. Then Alastor shifted his weight, the fabric of his trousers brushing in a way that felt… wrong.

His grin faltered.

Subtly, he adjusted his stance. Something soft and unfamiliar pressed against lace—lace? His eyes widened, darting down, and sure enough, beneath his pressed slacks, the distinct, alien cling of silky underwear hugged his hips. The realization hit harder when a cautious brush of fingers confirmed what was now absent between his legs.

Oh… he didn’t.

Alastor’s sharp teeth clenched together, smile stretched taut as panic shot up his spine. No—Lucifer had. The bastard.

Across the room, Lucifer turned just enough to meet his gaze. His expression was all lazy amusement, golden eyes glinting knowingly. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

Alastor swallowed down the immediate urge to screech bloody murder. Because what would he say? What could he say?

Sorry, everyone, but His Majesty here has swapped my cock for a—

No. Unacceptable. Unthinkable. He would not hand Lucifer that satisfaction. He composed himself with effort, spine rigid, grin stretched as wide and fake as a carnival mask. But his crimson eyes burned holes into the back of Lucifer’s suit as the Morningstar strolled off, humming a jaunty tune that Alastor now recognized as mockery incarnate.

The bastard was going to pay for this.

Alastor lasted a grand total of ten minutes.

Ten.

Agonizing.

Minutes.

He forced his grin to stay in place while Niffty chattered about dusting schedules, while Angel tried to drag him into some joke about Husk’s drinking habits, while the faint, unfamiliar pressure between his thighs made his every movement unbearable. The lace chafed in places it absolutely shouldn’t have touched… The absence between his legs was maddening, foreign and wrong, yet every shift of fabric stoked an unwelcome heat low in his belly.  He fought to keep still while Angel cracked another crude joke, while Niffty chirped about the curtains. His grin wavered and his claws dug into his palms.

When Lucifer strolled back through the hall, humming merrily, Alastor snapped.

In three strides he was on him, claws curling tight into the devil’s sleeve. “A word,” he hissed, dragging him through a side door before anyone else could notice.

Lucifer allowed himself to be pulled, golden eyes glinting with satisfaction. The door slammed behind them. The corridor was narrow, dim, the walls lined with flickering sconces.

“Fix it,” Alastor spat, trembling with fury.

“Fix what?” Lucifer smoothed his cuff, feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what,” Alastor growled, tail lashing behind him. “This ridiculous little trick of yours. Reverse it.”

Lucifer tilted his head, all honeyed innocence. “Darling, you’ll have to be more specific. I’m afraid I can’t read minds. Not even yours, as delightfully noisy as it is.”

Alastor’s grin faltered into a snarl, sharp teeth bared. “Don’t play coy with me. This… abominable mockery of underwear—” he gestured furiously at his waist, fingers twitching like claws “—and the rest of your little alteration—”

“Ohhh.” Lucifer’s smirk widened. “That.”

“Yes, that!”

Lucifer chuckled, soft and maddening, pressing a hand to his chest as though touched. “You noticed.”

“Of course I noticed!” Alastor nearly screeched before forcing his voice back down to a furious hiss. “You insufferable prick. Give me my cock back this instant.”

Lucifer’s smile sharpened, dangerous. “Why? You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am not—” Alastor cut himself off with a strangled sound, teeth grinding together. His body betrayed him, the soft throb low in his belly intensifying the longer Lucifer pressed close. He refused—refused—to give him the satisfaction of hearing it.

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed, molten gold in the dim hallway. He brushed a knuckle down Alastor’s jaw, tender as a lover, cruel as a tormentor. “You’re blushing.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Oh, but you are. Red as a cherry.” Lucifer’s hand drifted lower, fingertips teasing the sharp line of Alastor’s vest, lower still, until the faintest pressure pressed at his hip. “You should see yourself.”

Alastor slapped the hand away, heart hammering in his chest. “You… insufferable wretch. I swear, I will—”

“You’ll what?” Lucifer asked sweetly. “Tell everyone I swapped your little cock for something prettier? That you’re strutting around in lace and practically dripping for me already?”

Alastor’s breath hitched, fury sparking into something perilously close to shame. He shoved away, pacing the narrow length of the corridor, running clawed hands through his hair.

“You can’t possibly expect me to—”

“I expect nothing,” Lucifer interrupted, smooth and calm, as if he hadn’t just unraveled Alastor with a few choice words.“But you, my dear, expect everything. You expect to have the last word, the sharpest barb, the control.” He pushed off the wall, moving with lazy grace toward Alastor, step by deliberate step. “And yet here you are, flustered and flushed, begging me for your cock back.”

“I am not—”

“Not yet,” Lucifer corrected, golden eyes glittering.

Before Alastor could unleash another tirade, Lucifer snapped his fingers. The air shifted, heavy and sweet, shadows peeling back like curtains. In the blink of an eye, the narrow corridor dissolved into the familiar expanse of their private suite—rich carpets underfoot, velvet drapes drawn, the chaise longue waiting in the center of the room like a stage set for what came next.

Alastor stumbled, regaining his balance with a snarl. “You will fix this. Now.”

Lucifer’s eyes raked over him, slow and deliberate, drinking in the sight of him trembling with fury, lace pressing tight beneath his clothes. “Mm. I’m not sure you’ve earned it.”

The room seemed to close in, thick with unspoken promise. Alastor’s pulse thundered in his ears. “Earned it?”

“You want me to give you your cock back?”

“Yes.” Alastor’s tone was sharp, commanding, though the faint crack in it gave him away. “Immediately.”

Lucifer hummed as though considering a deal. “But it would be such a shame to waste this little gift, don’t you think?”

Alastor’s grin faltered. “Gift? You call this twisted joke of yours a gift?”

“Of course.” Lucifer’s fingers rose, brushing the edge of Alastor’s waistcoat. “Do you have any idea how breathtaking you look like this? Lace hidden under all your starched layers. A secret only I get to know.”

Alastor’s breath caught when those fingers slipped lower, teasing along his stomach. “Lucifer…” His voice was tight, warning, desperate.

“Mmm.” Lucifer’s golden eyes glowed, and his smile softened. “Say my name like that again.”

Lucifer undressed him piece by piece, savoring each layer. The click of buttons, the whisper of fabric, the shudder of Alastor’s breath as his vest fell away. Until at last he stood in nothing but the lacy scrap of underwear Lucifer had conjured.

The panties clung obscenely, already damp.

Alastor snarled, face hot, voice thin with fury. “This is—”

“Exquisite,” Lucifer interrupted, kissing his throat, his collarbone, the pale curve of his chest. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see you like this? Lace suits you, darling. Suits you perfectly.”

Alastor shuddered, nails digging into his palms. “You’re mocking me.”

“Not at all. I’ve never been more sincere.”

Alastor’s claws twitched, caught between ripping the fabric off and covering himself.

“Don’t,” Lucifer murmured, catching his wrists with infuriating gentleness. “Let me see.”

“I will not—”

“You will.” A soft press of power held him in place, not forceful, but inescapable. Lucifer sank to his knees and Alastor’s body betrayed him, heat pooling low, damp spreading through the lace.

“Lucifer—”

His words cut off in a strangled cry as Lucifer’s mouth pressed against the lace, tongue tracing the wet patch already forming. The slick heat bled through, salty-sweet against his tongue. He mouthed at the fabric until Alastor was shaking, then hooked the panties aside just enough to expose swollen folds slick with want.

“Heaven above,” Lucifer murmured, inhaling deeply. “You smell divine.”

Alastor clapped a hand over his mouth, muffling the choked noise that escaped.

Lucifer’s tongue parted him, slow, indulgent, savoring every taste. He groaned against him, vibrations sending shocks through Alastor’s thighs. Fingers joined his mouth, slipping past wet heat, curling until Alastor keened.

The sounds filled the room—wet, obscene squelching; the gasp of Alastor’s breath; Lucifer’s muffled growl as he devoured.

Alastor’s knees buckled. Lucifer caught him, guided him back, and with a firm push, laid him against the chaise.

“Spread them,” Lucifer murmured, licking his lips slick with Alastor’s arousal. “Show me what’s mine.”

Alastor trembled, feigned reluctance failing as his thighs opened. Lucifer rewarded him with two fingers pumping deep, tongue lashing at his clit until his cries echoed, sharp and broken.

“Look at you,” Lucifer crooned between licks. “Falling apart on my fingers. Tell me again how you hate it.”

Alastor’s voice cracked, high and breathless. “I—loathe—you—”

Lucifer’s grin was wicked, tongue curling deeper. “Say it louder, darling. Scream it while you come for me.”

And he did. Shuddering, clawing at velvet, teeth bared as his body broke, climax tearing through him with humiliating force. Lucifer drank it down, groaning like he’d tasted ambrosia.

When Alastor slumped against the chaise, Lucifer rose. His cock pressed thick and hard against his slacks, fabric straining. He undid his belt slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact.

Alastor panted, trembling. “You—give it back now—”

Lucifer stroked his cock once, slicking it with Alastor’s arousal. “Hm… not yet. But you’re welcome to have mine.”

He pushed the lace aside, lined himself up, and slid in with agonizing slowness. Alastor gasped, arching off the chaise, claws raking the upholstery.

Lucifer groaned, head dropping to Alastor’s shoulder. “So fucking tight. So wet. You’re perfect like this.”

The lace stretched obscenely, pulled taut as his cock split him open. Lucifer thrust hard, the sound wet and filthy, filling the room with the slap of flesh on flesh.

“You hear that?” Lucifer panted against his ear. “That’s the sound of me fucking you. That’s what you’re good for, darling. My sweet little cunt, wrapped in lace, begging for more.”

Alastor sobbed, half-snarl, half-moan. Lucifer swallowed the denial in a kiss, hot and deep, tongue claiming him, mouth wet and sloppy and utterly dominating. Alastor’s muffled growl bled into a whimper as he sagged into it, his claws catching at Lucifer’s shoulders.

When they parted, Lucifer’s voice was husky, velvet edged with hunger.

“You love it. Don’t deny it. You’re soaked, Alastor. You’re milking me.”

His pace quickened, brutal, pounding until the chaise rocked. Alastor ripped trenches into velvet, body unraveling, voice breaking on every cry. Lucifer kept talking, relentless.

“You’re mine. Say it. Say who’s fucking you.”

Alastor’s voice cracked, ragged. “Y-you—”

“That’s right,” Lucifer growled, fucking harder. “Your devil. Your god. The only one who’ll ever fuck you like this.”

Alastor shattered, hips rocking into each thrust, nails raking welts down Lucifer’s back as pleasure tore through him. His climax ripped him apart, soaking Lucifer’s cock, leaving him boneless and shaking.

Lucifer didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked harder, chasing his own end, pounding him into the chaise until Alastor was nothing but sobs and gasps and incoherent curses. Finally, with a guttural growl, Lucifer pulled out, stroking himself over Alastor’s ruined body. Hot ropes of come painted across his swollen cunt, dripping over lace and skin alike.

Lucifer groaned, head thrown back, before looking down at his masterpiece with pure, unholy satisfaction. Alastor lay sprawled, chest heaving, hair mussed, eyes glassy with overstimulation. His smile was gone, his sharp barbs melted to silence, leaving only a trembling wreck beneath Lucifer’s hand.

Lucifer leaned down, kissing him softly, almost sweetly, licking the corner of his mouth clean where he had bitten his lip hard enough to bleed. “Mine.”

Alastor’s throat worked around a hoarse sound that might have been a curse. Or a prayer.

Lucifer chuckled, stroking damp hair back from his face. “That’s what I thought.”

Lucifer stood over him, immaculate save for the scratches across his back and the mess painting his cock. Golden eyes gleamed as he looked down at his lover—thoroughly wrecked, trembling, utterly spent.

“Look at you,” Lucifer murmured, “My sharp-tongued little radio star, reduced to silence. How rare. How precious.”

Alastor made a low, wordless noise of protest, trying to summon his grin back into place. It faltered, trembling at the corners of his mouth before vanishing entirely. Lucifer chuckled warmly, almost fondly, and with a snap of his fingers, the worst of the mess vanished. He took a cloth from the dresser, cleaning gently at the slick between Alastor’s thighs, tender where he’d been merciless moments ago.

“Enough of your theatrics,” Alastor muttered weakly, batting at his hand but lacking strength.

Lucifer kissed his knee. “Hush. Let me take care of you.”

Alastor turned his face away, cheeks flushed pink, body pliant under every stroke. He hated—hated—how much it soothed him, how good it felt to be tended to like this after being undone so completely.

“There,” Lucifer said softly, “Good as new. Well—” his smile curved sharper, “good enough until I decide to ruin you again.”

Alastor hissed through his teeth, summoning what little venom he had left. “Fix it. Put me back to rights. Now.”

Lucifer leaned close, lips grazing his ear. “Oh, darling. I’ll give you your cock back…” He pressed a kiss just below his jaw, lingering, smug. “…after dinner.”

Alastor’s eyes snapped open, crimson burning, but Lucifer only laughed, straightening to his full height.

“You wouldn’t—”

“I would. I am.” Lucifer smoothed his suit, already pristine again by some quiet snap of magic. “After all, I do so enjoy dessert.”

Alastor sat up with a furious growl, but his limbs gave out beneath him, leaving him to slump gracelessly against the cushions. He glared, trembling, ruined, and Lucifer only beamed like the proudest man alive.

“Rest, darling,” Lucifer said, pressing one last kiss to his temple. “You’ve earned it. And I expect you at the table tonight. Looking just like this.”

Alastor’s hiss of indignation followed him as he swept toward the door, but Lucifer only laughed, his voice ringing warm and victorious down the hall.

Left alone, Alastor collapsed back against the chaise. The bastard really was going to make him wait until after dinner.

And worse—much, much worse—he wasn’t entirely sure he minded.