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Hastur’s release hit him like a truck. His knees locked, pushing his feet into the concrete floor beneath them. His back seized, arching his chest toward the ceiling. His head followed, flinging itself so hard that the haystack of a wig he called his hair slipped off and hit the ground behind him. Thick, wet heat spilled out into his pants. The jerky, sporadic thrusts of his hips smeared it between the coarse fabric and his lower belly. A groan raked across the constricted muscles in the back of his throat. Through the swirl of sensation, he felt someone cover his mouth with a hand. “Shhh, you’ll get us caught,” Ligur hissed, as if Hastur could care about anything other than the bliss exploding his brain.
A few precious, mind numbing seconds of pleasure later, and the wave crested. Hastur’s body relaxed, and his awareness returned to the broom cupboard in which he and Ligur were hiding. The force of his climax had shoved his body against Ligur, flattening the other demon's back to the cement block wall behind him. The thigh that Hastur had been rutting against was firmly planted between his legs. One of Hastur's thighs returned the favor, giving Ligur a chance to chase his own satisfaction. Judging by the hard bulge digging into it, it was still in use.
Annoyance frazzled the edges of Hastur's afterglow. He had an appointment with Lord Beelzebub, and didn't have time to wait around. He snatched the hand off his mouth, his fingers circling Ligur's wrist.
“I'm done. Hurry up.” Hastur's voice was rough and low, and he didn't hide his impatience. Ligur nodded. His free hand pulled at Hastur's hip, begging it to match his own rhythm.
“I'm almost there. Say that again,” he breathed into the space between them.
“Say what again? That I'm done?” Hastur asked. He adjusted his stance, leveraging against Ligur's thrusts. He smirked when Ligur whimpered at the additional pressure.
“N- No. Tell me t- to hurry up.” Ligur sounded like he was having trouble forming words. Hastur recognized the sign. Ligur was on the edge. He just needed a little nudge. Hastur’s smirk turned into a wicked grin. He brought Ligur's captured wrist to the wall above his head. He grabbed the hand that was on his hip and raised it to join the other. He leaned in, pressing the breath out of Ligur's chest.
“If you make me late for my meeting, I will have your guts for fucking garters,” Hastur growled. Each word held the promise of danger. “Finish. Now.”
“Uuuhhhhnn…” Ligur's hips snapped forward, nearly throwing Hastur off balance. A sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh consumed what little air Ligur had left in him. His legs buckled, and his head fell forward onto Hastur’s shoulder. Hastur stayed in place, supporting Ligur’s body while the demon shuddered his way over the peak.
This certainly wasn’t the first time they’d used each other for a bit of fun. During each encounter, Hastur learned a little more about Ligur’s particular proclivities. He was like a puzzle, and Hastur had begun to pride himself on the bits he’d been able to solve. Not that he’d ever tell Ligur. It wasn't smart to let another demon know you’d been paying too much attention to them.
Hastur waited until Ligur lifted his head from his shoulder. When it seemed like he could stand on his own, Hastur released his wrists and stepped away. Ligur leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees in a half-crouch. His chest heaved as he caught his breath. Hastur wondered why he didn’t just force his respiratory system to calm itself. Maybe he enjoyed the discomfort?
Hastur looked away before Ligur could catch him staring. He never knew what to say after these sorts of things. "Thanks" just felt … weird. So, he busied himself with digging a bucket out of the haphazardly stored supplies. The one catching the leak by his desk had somehow acquired a hole in the bottom.
“You good?” Hastur threw the question over his shoulder at Ligur. He heard Ligur straighten up and readjust his clothes.
“Yeah, I'm good. You?” Ligur's voice was nearly back to normal. Hastur gave a vaguely affirmative grunt as an answer, and pulled the bucket free of a tangle of crusty old mops and rags. He turned to leave, planning to stop by his desk on the way to the meeting.
“Hey,” Ligur called out before he reached the door. Hastur turned to see Ligur scoop something off the floor. He handed it over. It was Hastur's hair. He had nearly left it behind.
“Oh.” Hastur looked down at the wig, then up again at Ligur. “Thanks.” Ligur shrugged. Was that a smile in the corner of his mouth? He moved past Hastur, pushing open the cupboard door. On the way out, he bumped his shoulder against Hastur's.
“Don't mention it.”