Chapter Text
Things began to fall back into a, well, not a normal rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless. That was, until Charlie had called him out of the blue one Saturday afternoon. Another one of her usual updates: classes were going well, she made it through midterms, how she might have had a little too much soju at the new Korean barbecue place her girlfriend took her to. He’d never quite get over the pride of being the first one she came out to earlier this year, despite their fragile relationship. If there was one thing he could be for her, it was a safe space, and he was glad she felt the same. Maybe one day she’d bring the sweet girl home to meet him. She sounded lovely, and he wouldn’t be completely surprised if wedding bells were in their future. Hopefully things would work out better for her than it did for him…
“Dad,” she said, practically rolling her eyes through the phone, “it’s time you got back out there. Like Mom. You know… try an app. Swipe. Whatever. Humans date.”
Lucifer groaned. “Charlie, I am not going to—”
“Just do it,” she interrupted. “For me. Please. Or I’ll guilt you for the next decade.”
And so, reluctantly, he did.
The restaurant had been sticky with cheap varnish and bad lighting. The man across from him — Andy, or maybe Adam, he couldn’t remember — had ordered two racks of ribs and eaten them like a man possessed. Between bites, he’d asked if Lucifer “planned to put out,” and when Lucifer’s face had gone pale, the man had shrugged and said, “Then we’re definitely splitting the bill.”
Lucifer went home early, tipsy, humiliated, and reaffirmed in his long-standing suspicion that modern dating was an elaborate social experiment designed by Satan.
He tossed his coat over the couch, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and slumped down with a bottle of wine. The house felt painfully silent again — every creak, every sigh of the floorboards felt almost… accusatory.
And there was the radio.
He glanced at it. It sat dark and still, the faint gleam of brass trim catching the low light. He hadn’t spoken to Alastor in days. They had gotten into a bit of a tiff. Al wasn’t a fan of him leaving the house, especially at night, and Lucifer wasn’t a man to be controlled; not by his ex wife, nor by a demon.
Probably for the best, he told himself. He didn’t need that smug asshole reminding him he was right, and that this ‘date’ was a huge waste of time.
But his thoughts betrayed him.
He thought of Alastor’s grin, sharp and knowing. The sound of that voice, smooth and theatrical and utterly infuriating. The way the demon had looked at him — like Lucifer was both prey and entertainment. A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with fear.
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, and went to the kitchen. Ice cream. That would help. Ice cream and a trashy smut romance novel. Self-care, the modern way. So he settled on the couch, tub of ‘the tonight dough’ in his lap, spoon in hand, and tried to lose himself in someone else’s story.
Pages turned, the last of the ice cream was left to melt on the coffee table, and the wine flowed through his veins like molten honey. Lucifer let his head fall back against the couch, his eyelids fluttered closed as he snaked a hand underneath the throw blanket on his lap. He bit his lip when his fingers grazed his stomach, then slipped past the waistband of his underwear— pants long since discarded.
If there was one thing being divorced taught him, it was that he didn’t need a woman — or a man for that matter— to blow off some steam. Sure, having a partner was lovely, sometimes, but right now, he was drunk, a little sad, and really horny.
“Stupid fucking— ah, — fairies… and their dumb—mm— mates.”
Maybe reading wasn’t the best idea for his current headspace, cause now all he could think of was getting railed overtop a table of his half used palettes by someone tall, dark, and handsome. He palmed himself, the familiar length feeling heavy in his hand. What would he look like; sprawled out, pale skin smeared with color? Would Alastor draw shapes? Swirls? He could almost feel the ghostly drag of claws as he imagined them trailing pigment over his body. Pyrrol Red here, some Aluzarin Crimson there. He wouldn’t even care if the demon used his brand new tube of Cadmium Red, as long as those ghostly fingertips were touching him.
Lucifer groaned, stroking himself faster now. Would it affect Alastor as much as it affected him? Perhaps the paint would remind him of blood, some sick ritual befitting the demon. He dug his thumb into the tip, smearing the bead of precome that leaked out. He was close, but he didn’t want to come— not yet. He pictured himself flipped over, paint smudging across his desk— or perhaps a canvas, if they had enough forethought to lay one down. A beautiful art piece, each thrust from the demon another stroke of the brush— his body.
Time passed — he wasn’t sure how long — before he realized the air in the room had changed. He froze. There was a faint crackle of static. Then a voice, dry and amused.
“Well, well. Don’t stop on my account.”
Lucifer ripped his hand back out from under the blanket so fast it could've caught fire. . “Jesus—!”
“Not quite,” Alastor’s voice purred. “But thank you for the association.”
Lucifer’s heart hammered in his chest. He scrambled to sit upright, cheeks flushing red. “Were you— How long have you been—”
“Listening?” Alastor’s chuckle was low and lilting. “Oh, just long enough to enjoy the performance. Your cries of pleasure,” he said with mock delicacy, “are surprisingly just as delectable as your misery.”
Lucifer stared at the radio in horror. “You—! You can’t just say that!”
“Why not?” Alastor asked innocently. “You mortals are such peculiar creatures. You do these things alone, in the dark, and then pretend they didn’t happen. In Hell, it’s a far more… communal affair.”
Lucifer groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He wanted to die. Or throw the radio out the window. Possibly both.
“Do you even understand what privacy means?” Lucifer snapped.
“Of course,” Alastor said, sounding amused. “It’s that arbitrary boundary you draw between one act of indulgence and another. How quaint.”
Lucifer blinked, incredulous. “What would you do if someone watched you—”
“Getting off?” Alastor interrupted smoothly. “I wouldn’t notice. It’s never been my sin of choice. If I’ve ever lusted, it’s only for blood.”
Lucifer stared at the radio. “You’re telling me… you’re a virgin?”
A long pause. Then—
“That is not the terminology I would use!”
Lucifer’s laughter burst out before he could stop it, loud and genuine and slightly hysterical. “Oh my God. You’re a demon, but you’re pure!”
“I beg your pardon! I am refined!”
“You’re pouting,” Lucifer said, wiping at his eyes. “You’re actually—”
“I am doing no such thing!” Alastor protested, voice sharp and indignant. “I simply fail to see the appeal of the act. It’s messy. Noisy. Wholly Overrated.”
Lucifer grinned despite himself. “How would you know? Virgin.”
“Hmph!” The radio emitted a brief burst of static.. “If I wanted to engage in such base frivolities, I could! I simply prefer to dine on despair. It’s more… sophisticated.”
Lucifer leaned back, still laughing softly. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“I don’t sleep,” Alastor said dryly. “But if I did, I’d dream of throttling you for your insolence.”
“Touching,” Lucifer murmured. “You’re terrible at flirting.”
There was a pause, then a faint, amused hum from the radio.
“You’re smiling,” Alastor said.
Lucifer froze. He hadn’t realized he was.
“…Shut up,” he muttered.
“As you wish,” Alastor said, clearly pleased with himself.
The radio went quiet, though Lucifer swore he could still feel the demon’s grin in the air — a sharp, teasing presence, smug and unrepentant.
He finished the last of his ice cream, cheeks still warm. Deep down, Lucifer knew that every time he laughed, every time he let Alastor get under his skin, the line between fear and fascination blurred just a little more.
It was becoming alarmingly easy to forget that there was anything unnatural about the radio in the corner. Alastor’s faint crackle of static while Lucifer painted, the lilting jazz that filled the silence, the occasional snide comment or unsolicited advice— Lucifer pretended not to look forward to it. He told himself it was just background noise; company in a house too quiet for comfort.
But then the nights came. As did the dreams.
They started innocently enough: hazy, half-formed images, warmth and softness and the kind of comfort Lucifer hadn’t felt in years. But one night, the dream deepened — heavy, vivid, real.
An impossibly tall, lean, body draped over him. Soft lips pressed against his, somehow both searing hot and icy cold all at once. Sharp teeth grazed his neck, deep purple bruises were sucked into his skin. Clawed hands roamed over him; between his legs, long fingers wrapped around his aching cock—
And then the warmth bled away. The sheets vanished. The air grew thick and humid, alive with the croak of frogs and the drone of unseen insects.
Lucifer’s eyes snapped open.
He was standing ankle-deep in water again. The same bayou from before, lit by that wrong, greenish moonlight. The trees hung heavy with moss, and the fireflies blinked too slowly — a beat off from natural rhythm.
He turned in a slow circle, chest tight. “Not again…”
A voice, smooth as static, drifted from behind him.
“You were whimpering my name.”
Lucifer nearly jumped out of his skin. Alastor stood just beyond the water’s edge — tall, elegant, and utterly out of place. The sharp lines of his grin caught the faint glow, teeth like white fire.
Lucifer felt heat rush to his face. “I—what? I wasn’t—”
“Oh, but you were,” Alastor said lightly, stepping closer. “Quite passionately, I might add.”
Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest, glaring — though the effect was weakened considerably by the crimson flush climbing his neck. “You have no boundaries, do you?”
“None that matter,” Alastor said, voice lilting with amusement. He tilted his head, eyes flicking downward pointedly. “And yet, despite your indignation… you appear rather excited.”
Lucifer followed his gaze, realized what he meant, and groaned into his hands. “Oh for the love of— You can’t just—! Don’t look at me like that!”
“Like what?” Alastor asked innocently, his grin widening. “You seem uncomfortable. I could… help, if you’d like.”
Lucifer blinked at him. “You— what?”
“Help,” Alastor repeated smoothly, voice dropping to a purr. “Just because I’ve never participated doesn’t mean I haven’t observed. Frequently. And I am a fast learner.”
Lucifer sputtered. “Observed? You— you watch people?”
“In Hell?” Alastor said, almost laughing. “Darling, it’s practically a public sport.”
Lucifer buried his face in his hands again. “You’re— I don’t, I don’t even know.”
“You could wake up. You could leave,” Alastor murmured. He leaned closer, red eyes bright as embers. “But you haven’t.”
Lucifer hesitated. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He should say no. He should. But he didn’t.
“Fine,” he muttered, voice barely audible. “Show me what you think you know.”
Alastor’s grin sharpened — predatory, delighted.
“Oh, this will be fun.”
Lucifer couldn’t deny the thrill that ripped through him when Alastor knelt in front of him. All 7 feet of ancient horror, bending at the knee for, who? Him? He should’ve been terrified at even the thought of those sharp teeth coming close to his dick, but instead, it just gave an eager twitch underneath his boxers.
The demon cocked his head, quickly glancing up at Lucifer before he gently— so gently— tugged his underwear down. He pulled back in surprise as Lucifer’s length sprang free, already flushed and leaking at the tip. He wasn’t wrong earlier— Lucifer was rather excited.
Alastor reached up, grasping him and giving a tentative stroke as a clawed thumb rubbed surprisingly soothing circles into the boney edge of his hip.
“You— you don’t have tooOoohhhh fuck.” Lucifer’s voice warbled out into a surprised moan when the demon leaned in and licked a stripe from base to tip. His tongue was slick— impossibly so, coated with faintly black tinged saliva— and strong, pressing against him with delicious pressure.
Alastor hummed, amused, repeating the motion a few more times until Lucifer’s hands found themselves buried in the bright red hair atop his head. When he finally swallowed him down— to the hilt, mind you, guess demon’s didn’t have much of a need for a gag reflex— Lucifer’s knee’s nearly buckled beneath him. The wet heat of Alastor’s mouth was intoxicating, there wasn’t even a hint of teeth as he hollowed his cheeks and pulled back, tongue laving across the underside of Lucifer’s cock. Lucifer could hardly believe the demon had never done this before, but he could absolutely believe the cannibalism. Alastor was clearly no stranger to flesh in his maw.
He couldn’t help himself when he started moving— tiny aborted thrusts into that inviting warmth. Alastor gave a slightly annoyed huff through his nose, buried amongst the blonde, unkept curls at his groin. Then, he looked up, and Lucifer nearly blew his load right then and there. Those glowing crimson eyes on him, pitch black pupils blown wide, glistening with the hints of unshed tears. Lucifer’s fingers curled around antlers as he took him even deeper, Alastor’s usual smile stretched thin around his cock, thick, black drool spilling from the corners as he moved in and out, in and out.
“Oh fuck, Al — So good for me — shit— beautiful like this— you take me so well, ah!”
He was babbling now, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter, nothing else mattered as he fucked into the demon’s throat with abandon, and the gorgeous, insanely powerful, eldritch, otherworldly being let him. Lucifer shoved in one last time, whimpering as he came, harder than he ever had, his body crumpling and his vision going dark, dark, dark…
Lucifer woke to sunlight streaming through the blinds. His body felt heavy, boneless, his mind thick with half-remembered sensations, and his boxers… uncomfortably sticky. He wasn’t sure whether to feel exhausted or strangely refreshed. He stumbled downstairs, rubbing his eyes… and stopped dead.
The smell hit him first; something savory and rich.
In the kitchen, Alastor — or rather, a shadow of him, more solid than it ever had been before— hummed a jaunty old tune as he set down a steaming plate on the counter. Eggs, sausage, toast, even coffee; the works.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Alastor said brightly. “I took the liberty of preparing breakfast. I must say, I feel positively energized today.”
Lucifer blinked. “You…made this?”
“Well, not in the traditional sense,” Alastor said cheerfully. “A bit of infernal conjuring, a dash of creative willpower. Voilà!”
Lucifer stared at the food. Then at him. “You’re disturbingly chipper.”
“What can I say?” Alastor replied, hands clasped behind his back, grin somehow even wider. “After last night, I’m well fed.”
Lucifer groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Do not. Say. Another word.”
“Mmm. I’ll try,” Alastor said, clearly lying. “But I make no promises.”
Lucifer sat down with a sigh and picked up his fork. For a few minutes, silence settled, companionable and strange, but not unpleasant. And when Lucifer finally met his gaze across the table, Alastor smiled — less sharp this time, more genuine.
“You seem lighter today,” he said softly. “I’ll take credit for that.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it.
Days blurred into something that started to feel almost normal again. Lucifer painted. The radio hummed. Alastor’s voice filled the empty spaces of the house, looping through wry commentary, outdated slang, and unsolicited advice about brush technique. Lucifer had gotten used to the rhythm of it — the way Alastor filled the silence that used to gnaw at him. He had even stopped checking over his shoulder when the shadows flickered just slightly wrong.
That night, Lucifer was sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, half-watching a black-and-white movie on TV. The lights were dim, the air warm. A low crackle of static came from the corner of the room, subtle enough to feel like background noise.
He didn’t notice when it changed — when the hum started to crawl closer.
Something brushed against his shoulder. Not quite solid, not quite smoke. A pressure, a whisper of touch that left goosebumps in its wake.
Lucifer froze. “Alastor…?”
“Mm?”
The demon’s voice was smooth, lazy, threaded with amusement.
“Are you—are you touching me?”
“Merely testing a theory.”
Lucifer swallowed. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises.”
The shadow moved again, trailing across his arm like cool breath.
“Imagine what I could do if you let me out properly.”
Lucifer’s pulse kicked up. “Right, so you can strangle me in person?”
A low laugh rolled through the static.
“Darling, if I intended to kill you, you would have been a memory months ago. Do give me some credit.”
He hated that it made a kind of sense, hated that it didn’t make him recoil the way it should.
“Besides,” Alastor continued, voice softening, “I’ve been on my best behavior, haven’t I? I’m asking only to manifest under your supervision. Not to roam free. Just enough to stretch my legs, my real legs, as it were.”
Lucifer stared at the radio. “You promise you won’t…?”
“Cross the line? Eat your flesh and make broth with the bones?”
A pause, then a quieter tone.
“I promise.”
Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was that Lucifer was tired of being scared all the time. He sighed, set down his glass, and muttered, “Fine. Go ahead.”
The change was immediate. The lights dimmed, the air thickened, and static swelled into a low hum that rattled through the floorboards. From the corner of his eye, Lucifer saw the shadows begin to gather — twisting, merging, shaping themselves into something vaguely humanoid.
Then Alastor stood there; fully formed. Seven feet of impossible geometry and elegance, antlered and sharply dressed, eyes glowing a deep crimson that cut through the dark like embers. He looked terrifying even more-so than he did in the dreams — and somehow, absurdly, relieved.
“Ah… that’s better.” Alastor sighed, flexing his shoulders, his neck giving an unnervingly loud crack.
Lucifer’s instinct screamed at him to run, but instead, he just sank back onto the couch. “You’re enormous.”
“You say that as though it’s a bad thing.”
“I didn’t,” Lucifer muttered, because his brain wasn’t working fast enough to keep up with his mouth. Alastor’s grin widened — then softened. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the couch beside Lucifer. The cushions dipped under the weight, though the air still shimmered faintly where he touched it, like heat haze.
They sat there for a long moment. Lucifer’s hand twitched, hesitated, then brushed against Alastor’s hair. He expected cold. He expected it to pass through like smoke. But it was real. Soft, if a little strange — like fur charged with static. A low, rumbling sound vibrated in the air.
Lucifer froze. “…Are you purring?”
“I am not—”
The sound continued, louder.
“Oh my God, you’re purring.”
“Don’t you dare—!”
Lucifer laughed, a sound bubbling up that startled even himself. “Unbelievable. The big scary demon purrs.”
“It is merely a—resonant frequency. Nothing more.”
“Sure it is.”
Alastor crossed his arms, muttering something about “undignified mortal habits,” but he didn’t move away.
Lucifer grew bolder, letting his fingers trace the edge of Alastor’s ears, the faintly translucent outline of his jaw. The air tingled where they met, static dancing along his skin. For the first time in ages, Lucifer felt… alive.
They talked — nonsense, mostly. Movies. Music. The way human food tasted to Alastor (he said it reminded him of “memory more than flavor”). Somewhere between jokes and half-serious questions, Lucifer’s hand lingered on his thigh. The laughter faded and the static deepened. Alastor’s shape flickered — brightness surging, then dimming. His eyes went wide, confusion flashing there. Then he unraveled, collapsing into light and shadow until only the faint crackle of the radio remained.
“Alastor? Shit.”
Lucifer stumbled to the radio, flipping the switch on.
Static hissed, then the familiar voice came through, weak but steady.
“Ah… well. That was… an experience.”
“You’re fine?”
“Merely… drained. Maintaining that much of a form takes considerable energy.”
Lucifer exhaled, half-relieved, half-amused. “You scared me.”
“Imagine my embarrassment. Disappearing mid-conversation. How terribly rude.”
Lucifer chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ll live.”
“Technically, no.”
“Details.”
A pause, then: “You’re very kind to worry, you know. I could get used to that.”
Lucifer smiled faintly. “Don’t. You’ll ruin your reputation.”
“Heaven forbid.”
The static settled into a low hum again — gentle, almost like breathing.
Lucifer sat back on the couch, staring at the faint glow of the dial.
“Rest up, Al.”
“As you wish… darling.”
The radio crackled once, then went quiet.
Lucifer leaned his head against the cushions and laughed quietly to himself. He wasn’t sure what terrified him more now — the fact that a demon lived in his house, a demon he just let out… or the fact that he was starting to like it.
The house was warm and quiet. Outside, rain pressed gently against the windows, blurring the city lights into watercolor smudges.
Lucifer had dragged an old blanket over the couch and queued up a movie on the TV — Annabelle, one of those “based on true events” horror flicks that was just grounded enough to sting.
“Alright,” Lucifer said, popping open a bag of popcorn. “Educational night.”
“Educational?” Alastor’s voice drifted from the radio, smooth and amused. “Darling, these films are about as factual as a Sunday sermon.”
“Exactly why I thought you’d enjoy them.”
Static hummed, bright and almost eager. Then the shadows stirred, and Alastor began to manifest again — faintly at first, flickering in time with the light from the TV until his tall, sharp form settled in beside Lucifer on the couch.
Lucifer handed him the popcorn bowl without thinking.
Alastor blinked at it, then set it delicately on his lap, like it was a ceremonial object.
“Do I eat this?”
“You can try.”
“I’d rather not risk phasing my hand through the bowl again. It makes such a mess.”
Lucifer snorted and pressed play. The movie started with the usual ominous prologue — a doll, a haunting, the crackle of a tape recorder. For the first ten minutes, Alastor sat perfectly still, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Then he began to mutter.
“Incorrect,” he said as the priest sprinkled holy water across the screen.
“That symbol is Enochian, not Latin.”
“No demon would waste energy tipping over furniture that ugly.”
“And for heaven’s sake, that’s not possession, that’s indigestion.”
Lucifer laughed so hard he nearly dropped the popcorn. “You’d be that guy in the theater, huh?”
“If by ‘that guy’ you mean the one with actual experience, then yes.”
Alastor’s grin flashed in the glow of the TV.
“Honestly, the dramatics! I’d have manifested as a whisper or a song. Much more elegant.”
Lucifer watched him instead of the movie for a while — the way his expressions flickered from disdain to curiosity to something almost childlike when the music swelled.
He didn’t even realize how soft his smile had gotten.
The film rolled on — exorcisms, jump scares, blood and screaming. But Lucifer wasn’t really watching anymore.
The quiet between them had changed lately, charged with something unspoken. He could feel it now — the hum of static under his skin, the magnetic pull of Alastor’s presence, the way his chest tightened when the demon laughed. He told himself it was the whiskey. Or the loneliness. Or the way the rain made everything feel smaller. Whatever it was, it made him shift closer.
Alastor noticed, of course. He always did.
But he didn’t comment — just tilted his head, curious, one brow arched. Lucifer hesitated, pulse skipping, then finally, he moved. He climbed into Alastor’s lap — slow, careful, half-expecting to fall right through him. But he didn’t. The air shimmered around them, and Alastor went still. His eyes widened, the smile faltering just slightly — replaced by something unreadable.
“Lucifer,” he said softly, voice almost a warning.
Lucifer swallowed hard. “Just—don’t talk. Not right now.”
A long beat of silence. Then Alastor’s grin returned, softer this time. He leaned in just enough that their foreheads almost touched.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, little light.”
“Yeah,” Lucifer whispered. “I know.”
The first kiss was tentative — curious more than anything. Alastor’s lips were surprisingly cool, almost electric, like static brushing against skin. Then curiosity turned into heat. The radio flickered, the lights dimmed, and somewhere, the rain outside grew louder.
Lucifer’s fingers slid up into Alastor’s hair; Alastor’s clawed hands hovered for a second, then settled on his waist — hesitant, reverent, and trembling with some strange restraint. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing like they’d forgotten how.
Lucifer laughed softly, dizzy and flushed. “You’re… full of surprises.”
“You have no idea.”
Lucifer leaned in again and Alastor met him halfway. This time it was hungrier, tinged with desperation, signs of tension finally broken. He licked at Alastor’s lips until the demon parted them, then slipped his tongue past with a confidence he hadn’t had in years. He felt Alastor’s breath catch, and against all better judgement, sought out those sharp teeth. Lucifer carefully grazed his tongue against one, the sting nothing compared to the reward of hearing the demon whimper into his mouth, his own long tongue seeking out the scant rivulets of blood.
Lucifer pulled back, partially for air, and partially just to admire his handiwork. Underneath him, Alastor’s chest heaved, his pupils were blown wide, and those adorable, fluffy ears hung crooked off to the side.
“Lucifer—“
“Shh, I’ve got you.” He smiled, cupping the demons face as he leaned back in, this time grinding his hips down as he kissed the beautiful disaster in front of him. Lucifer’s eyes went wide when he felt the massive bulge he was siting atop of, which, to be fair, made sense. The guy was almost two feet taller than him, proportionately, it was gonna be big.
The sheer size difference didn’t fully kick in though. Not when he peeled the demon’s coat off, slipped suspenders past wide shoulders, not when he nearly yanked that perfectly pressed dress shirt open so hard the buttons went flying. Lucifer’s mind was too clouded with want to think about anything other than just Alastor, as he divested the rest of his clothes, and quickly slipped out of his own. No, reality didn’t sink in until he grabbed that lovely tawny-rose toned cock and realized — fuck — that he could barely wrap a hand around it.
He looked down at Alastor who was pressed into the cushions beneath him, lips kiss swollen and eyes hooded with desire, and swore.
“Al— I don’t think I can take something this big. It’s been a while, and even with a lot of prep…”
Alastor’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“I, er, didn’t think you would.”
Now it was Lucifer’s turn to be confused. Yeah, he knew the demon hadn’t had any hands-on experience with this sort of thing, but if he had seen as much as he said he had, then he knew how sex worked—
“Oh.”
It finally clicked, and the raging blush spreading across the demon’s face only deepened as Lucifer stared down at him in amazement. He wanted Lucifer to fuck him. Not the other way around. Who would’ve thought? Insanely powerful demon turns out to be a bottom. Lucifer could work with that.
“Alright, then.” Lucifer bit back a smile, predatory, hungry, not too far off from the first one Al gave him those many, many nights ago. He shifted back, settling himself between those long legs, cock bobbing impatiently. He couldn’t wait to be buried deep inside the demon, but he was a gentleman, first and foremost.
“You know how this works, yeah?”
Alastor looked away, frowning. “I understand the general concept.”
“So you know, especially since this is your first time and I don’t want to hurt you, I have to open you up-“
“Yes, yes, you don’t have to say it, just get on with it.”
Lucifer huffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be a brat, I’m trying to make sure you’re comfortable.”
“This is embarrassing enough, I don’t need your narration,” Alastor grumbled through gritted teeth.
“Says the man who regularly recounts every time I’ve burnt dinner—“
“Lucifer!”
Lucifer huffed a laugh. “Alright, alright. Let me grab the lube.”
Before he could move an inch, a shadow was lifting off the floor. It’s thin tendril wrapped around the handle of the side-table drawer, pulling it open. It slipped inside and reemerged with a small bottle, which it deposited into Lucifer’s hand.
“How did you…”
This time Alastor laughed. “Don’t you remember?”
Right as he spoke the memory flooded back, and his face burned with the same mortification he felt that night; caught with his hand down his pants, a smutty novel, and a half eaten tub of ice cream. Lucifer didn’t reply, he just snicked the bottle open , and coated his fingers liberally before setting it to the side. He allowed himself to rake his gaze over Alastor one more time, before he slipped his hand past the demon’s cock, his balls, further and further until—
Alastor jumped when Lucifer pressed a finger to his rim, carefully circling it, spreading the lube around. He took the opportunity to lean forward and kiss him, and when Lucifer pushed the first finger inside, pulling a gasp from the demon, he slipped his tongue past his parted lips. Lucifer took his time working him open, soothing the stretch with deep kisses and whispered praise. He didn’t stop until he was 3 fingers deep, and Alastor was panting underneath him, cock dripping onto his stomach, untouched and throbbing. Lucifer was in a similar state. He had chewed his lower lip near raw, his cock achingly hard, begging for any stimulation. Lucifer hissed when he grabbed it, slicking himself up as he scooted forward, lining himself up to the demon’s entrance.
“You ready?” He was breathless already, barely able to hold himself back from pushing forward and chasing his own pleasure.
“Please. Yes, Please.”
And that was all it took. Alastor’s shaky voice, the haze clouding his eyes. Lucifer pressed into him, flesh yielding to flesh, searing hot and wicked tight. He slid in slowly, taking his time, until he was pressed to him; ass to pelvis.
“Hey, breathe.” Lucifer smiled down at Alastor, reaching out to rub a thumb against his cheek.
“Not— ah— necessary for me.” He grit out, chest heaving despite himself. “Now — fuck— move.”
Lucifer obliged. He pulled his hips back, nearly leaving the demon entirely, before pressing back in again, slow and deep. He dragged moan after warbled moan out of him, steadily picking up the pace until the movie was drowned out by the sound of skin slapping against skin. Lucifer gripped Alastor’s hips tightly as he pounded into him, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. Alastor’s cock slapped against his stomach, his navel a wet pool of steadily flowing precome. Lucifer groaned, feeling his end barreling towards him. He reached out and took Alastor in hand, stroking him hard and fast, he angled his thrusts just so until he had the demon seeing stars and whimpering his name.
“Fuck, Alastor. I’m so close— need you to come for me.”
And somehow that was all it took, one huskily rasped request and Alastor was falling apart underneath him. His whole body shook as his muscles seized, and with a low, desperate moan, he painted his stomach with spend. Alastor was beautiful in his pleasure, the greatest artwork Lucifer had ever created— and he followed the demon right off the cliff. Lucifer thrust in deep, groaning low and long as his cock pulsed, sending spurt after spurt of come deep inside. Lucifer collapsed forward, uncaring of the mess, the stickiness of sweat mixed with come between them.
When the screen went black and the credits rolled, the house was silent except for the faint hum of static and the sound of rain against glass.
Lucifer was half-curled against Alastor’s chest, dazed and still catching his breath. Alastor’s hand moved absently through his hair, slow and strangely gentle. Neither of them said anything for a long while. Then Alastor chuckled, low and quiet.
“You know,” he murmured, “I believe I prefer this type of possession.”
Lucifer laughed against his shoulder, voice muffled. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Lucifer smiled, and kissed him again.
Lucifer sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop balanced on his knees, a cup of strong coffee sweating condensation into the wood. Around him, the house hummed with quiet energy — brushes resting by half-finished canvases, a faint jazz melody spiraling from the radio.
Alastor was sprawled across the couch, legs dangling over the side like a grotesque, elegant cat. He had manifested fully, antlers threatening to tear the upholstery, glowing eyes half-lidded in amusement as he flicked his claws idly over a book Lucifer had let him borrow.
“You know,” Alastor said, his voice low and lazy, “you’re rather industrious for a mortal.”
Lucifer snorted. “I’m trying to figure out how not to die horribly because I’m in love with a demon.”
“Ah,” Alastor said, perking up. “Practical. I like that.”
He leaned over, eyes glinting, head tilted. “Or perhaps merely prudent. Tell me, Lucifer, how much power do you intend to give me when you finally release me from these binds?”
Lucifer sighed, stretching his fingers over the keyboard. “That’s why I’m researching, okay? I’m looking for… guidelines. Methods. Ways to—uh—negotiate a relationship with a potentially homicidal, centuries-old entity without dying.”
“Potentially homicidal?” Alastor arched a brow. “You wound me. I am strictly opportunistic.”
Lucifer ignored him. He’d spent the past few weeks digging through ancient grimoires, forums on demonology, and obscure blogs run by people who claimed they’d “tamed” spirits. He wasn’t looking to enslave Alastor — that would be cruel. But he was looking for a way to let him out permanently, to grant him more agency, without risking decapitation, possession, or the obliteration of his furniture.
The answer, he was realizing, lay in agreements and boundaries, the same way he’d structured his own life with art, therapy, and deadlines: small, enforceable rules, paired with mutual respect… and a little bit of fear, for safety’s sake.
“So, a deal,” Alastor murmured, curling a claw around a candlestick. “I like deals.”
Lucifer looked up. “A deal. Maybe a trade of sorts. Some… sacrifice of energy, a promise not to do something horrifying. I don’t know yet. But it’s progress.”
Alastor hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head like a bird. “I will behave. I find the chaos in the mortal world… boring without you, darling. You make it delicious.”
Lucifer blushed faintly, looking down at his laptop. “Stop complimenting me. It’s distracting.”
“You do know making a deal usually involves one’s soul.”
“So I’ve read.”
“Which would leave you destined for hell once you die. Eternal damnation.”
“According to my father I was headed there long before I met you,” Lucifer mumbled.
Alastor’s eyes narrowed and the static buzzed louder.
“Relax,” Lucifer continued. “Anyways, despite the divorce, I’m not… entirely against commitment.”
“Is this your way of proposing to me?” Alastor cocked a brow. “Because if so, I’m starting to realize why your first marriage failed.”
“Har har, prick.” Lucifer glared, once again looking up from his laptop. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m not doing that shit again, not for a long time.”
“But?”
“But,” Lucifer’s voice softened, his cheeks tinged with pink. “I don’t think I can let go of you, Alastor. And if that means one day— hopefully pretty far down the line— I end up in the pit with you, hand in hand, I wouldn’t be…disappointed.”
Alastor smiled, something crooked and small and genuine as he looked away. “I suppose I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”