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“Heya, hot stuff.”
Lucifer jumps, dropping his cane. The world reorients itself just enough that this isn’t quite an inconvenience to him: it hangs in the air by his hand for a long, slowed-down moment, until he recovers from the surprise enough to nab it again. He laughs loudly, pivoting on his heel and doffing his hat respectfully.
“Angel Dust!” he greets with a flourish, resettling his hat. “That’s your name, right? How nice to properly meet one of my daughter’s, eh… little friends! You’re pretty good with a gun, you know! Or six!”
Angel Dust bends at the waist, lowering himself closer to Lucifer’s eye level with a poise that can only be attributed to a lifetime of modeling, and leans one of his four arms onto the hotel hallway wall over Lucifer’s head. Good god, the man is tall! Lucifer is a little vertically challenged himself—not that it matters when one has three pairs of wings, thank you!—and he didn’t miss the “short king” comment Angel threw his way when Charlie was first introducing everyone, but goodness! This sinner is very nearly two of Lucifer put together! And very svelte despite the fact.
“Aw, don’t tell me that all you see when ya look at me is one a’your baby girl’s friends,” Angel says, pouting. Lucifer tries not to stare too obviously—it seems like a weird thing to do to your kid’s friend, even if the advertisements plastered on every surface in the Pride Ring make not looking at Angel Dust rather difficult. “Unless… you want me to call you daddy?”
“Whoa-ho!” Lucifer’s hands shoot up, palms out, and he trips backward over his feet to stumble a few steps away. “Haha! Wow! Sorry, buddy, but I try not to pay for things like that! Not, er, that there’s anything wrong with that, I mean, but—personal choice! Boundaries! Thank you, but no thank you!”
Angel frowns, straightening out and propping a hand up on his waist. “Uh, that’s not what I was offerin’. I don’t do that stuff anymore—not off shift, anyway. Actually, uh…” He glances down for a second, twiddling the thumbs of his two lower hands bashfully. “My boyfriend’s been tryna get me to do things just cos I like ‘em more. So.” His lower arms cross while the upper ones make a ‘so, there’ gesture.
Lucifer swallows. “What, really? And you tho—uh, you thought…” He gestures vaguely at himself. “... Me?”
Angel grins, stepping into Lucifer’s space now that he’s apparently not picking up resistance anymore. “Yeah, hot stuff! Have you seen ya’self when you roll up those sleeves? And when the spooky eyes come out—rawr.” He bends over, propping his arms up on his knees and fluffing up his chest with a practiced, sultry smile. “The Pride Ring’s hottest porn star an’ Daddy Morningstar himself, no strings or finances attached—is that a match made in hell, or what? Whaddaya say?”
Lucifer’s throat is a little dry as his eyes travel involuntarily down the long—long—curve of Angel’s body. He clearly knows what he’s doing with the way he poses himself, and Lucifer would be lying if he didn’t want to feel how soft that fur is, or what someone nearly twice his size could do to him with four arms—
But that’s not usually the type of thing people are looking for when they proposition “Daddy Morningstar.” Still, it’s been a while since somebody wanted Lucifer—er, mostly because he’s spent the better part of the last decade hunched over his desk, locked in his rooms, doing nothing of particular worth, and not really speaking to anybody except Charlie on the blue-moon occasions that he works up the nerve to call her… and inevitably fumbles the conversation completely. It's… kind of nice to feel wanted, actually.
And if Angel isn’t trying to pick him up as a client, that means he actually wants him. Or Lucifer Morningstar. Which is him! Of course. Haha. Not, uh…
“—Alrighty, then!” Lucifer says before he can talk himself out of it.
“Really?” Angel Dust’s eyes light up. “I mean—great! Let’s go, then!”
He grabs Lucifer by the arm, and it’s a blur of hallways and doors as Angel drags him to his rooms. Lucifer gets so distracted by being dragged that he forgets to protest. Angel Dust’s door is cute—he’s got photos pinned up on the front of it, and Lucifer stutters to a stop when he catches sight of a selfie Angel took together with Charlie, their cheeks squished together.
“Aw, so precious…” he mumbles, reaching out—and then Angel yanks him inside.
“I’ll show ya my whole Voxtagram later,” he promises, winking. “Got lotsa pics like that there! Just turn on ya’ adult content filter.” He pauses, then smirks. “Or don’t.”
“Hah,” Lucifer says weakly, and tries and fails to not break out into a cold sweat as Angel’s door thunks closed behind him.
Angel’s room is very…
Pink. Fluffy. A little messy, but in a curated, aesthetic way. There’s an enormous, light-up vanity mirror with a surprisingly small makeup collection on it (or, it’s surprising until Lucifer remembers that Angel Dust also lived in the version of the hotel that collapsed—whoops) and with more photos plastered all over the edges of the frame. Most of them are sexy shots of Angel Dust, but there are some candids and friend selfies, too. Charlie, Vaggie, Husker—even a single shot of the strange little housekeeper looking zoned-out as all hell, and a blurred flash of red-pink coattails beside her.
But mostly it’s Angel Dust. He has posters of himself up, airbrushed and dressed up and posed, and, hell, now that Lucifer is looking, he doesn’t know how he ever got his attention off of Angel Dust before. His long, lithe legs, the towering heels, the lidded looks like he’s ready to reach through the poster and just—
“Heya, short king, I’m flattered and all, but a picture lasts forever. If ya want the real stuff, it’s right ova’ here.”
Lucifer jumps, and flings his cane to the side with a laugh, letting it vanish. “Hah! Sorry, sorry—”
Angel is laying back on the canopied bed, having taken the minute of Lucifer’s distraction to position himself like a feast. He’s stretched all the way out, back arched and chest puffed out, running one hand through the soft fluff there while another touches his hair and a third strokes down his own thigh, showcasing the goods.
Lucifer swallows, hands flexing by his sides. Wowza!
Right! Time for Lucifer Morningstar to get some action! Some… really hot action! Angel Dust must not have been exaggerating when he called himself the most famous porn star in the Pride Ring. Lucifer doesn’t watch much of anything, really, especially since the ol’ libido isn’t always, uh—anyway, depression’s a bitch. But! He’s certainly getting revved up now! This is exactly the kind of thing he should be doing, isn’t it? Sleeping with someone famous and attractive who thinks he’s the hot shit in charge?
“How do ya want me?” Angel asks, spreading his knees just enough to suggest his preference.
“Great question!” Lucifer blurts, jumping forward. He ends up really close to Angel Dust, really quickly—awkwardly quickly? He doesn’t let himself pause long enough to think about it. “What do you like? You seem to have a pretty nice colle—uh, collection here…” His eyes flicker to the fuzzy pink handcuffs dangling on Angel’s bedpost, and then the much chunkier black leather cuffs right next to them. “—but I think we can expand on that if we put our minds to it!”
He points a finger gun at the gauzy canopy shading the bed. “Check it out! Poof!” Suddenly, it’s a heavy-duty bondage rig. “Wham!” They’re on a waterbed. “Alakazam!” They’re floating in an unknowable cosmic void permeated with the essence of lust, which mostly consists of a faint rosy perfume and the color pink. “Anything your imagination desires!”
He wills Angel’s original bed (and room) back into existence, mostly because it seems rude to permanently discorporate something without permission. He flings his hands out with a little ‘ta-da!’ and a grin, a little jazzed up. “So what did you have in mind?”
Angel Dust looks a little bit ruffled by the rapid-fire bending of reality, but still smiles—smirks? Smolders? Makes a very sexy expression that involves his teeth that still looks friendly and open. Lucifer’s grin strains and he tries not to cringe at himself.
“Wow,” Angel says, taking Lucifer by the hand. He pulls him forward, shifting until Lucifer is forced to kick his boots off and swing a leg up, straddling Angel’s waist. “Talk about talented in the bedroom! I like all kinds a’things. I’m real versatile, daddy.”
“Whoa, there!” Lucifer says, making an X with his arms. “Hit the brakes, bucko!” Fuck, what an awkward thing to call someone who he’s trying to sleep with. “I mean buddy. I mean—look, just cut it out with the ‘daddy’ stuff, okay? We’re literally in my daughter’s house.”
Angel snerks, covering his mouth with a hand—and somehow even that is cute, fuck—and snags Lucifer’s hat off his head, flinging it off to the side. “I gotcha, boss. I’m just teasin’!”
‘Boss.’ That’s a little better, he guesses. As long as he’s not thinking about Charlie during this—it’s bad enough that he’s sleeping with one of her friends, but to—right! No more distractions!
Goodness, though, Angel Dust sure is good at casually diffusing the awkwardness in a situation, isn’t he? It must come from having so much experience. With… sex. He’s probably slept with all kinds of people—certainly not anybody more important than Lucifer, depending on your standards for defining importance, but probably every type of personality under the oppressive and hovering light of heaven! …Is that rude to assume? If he’s a famous prostitute, Lucifer just assumed—he should probably know better, though, if Charlie’s taught him anything—
(Augh, he’s thinking about Charlie again. Fuck!)
Anyway, the point is, Angel Dust has experienced expectations and he deserves to have them met, especially since he’s not working right now! If Lucifer isn’t offering him money—never mind that he never exchanges money for these particular types of services—then he should definitely offer him a good time! Yeah. He can do that. He’s Lucifer Morningstar! He can curbstomp losers like Adam into the ground, plus he bagged the guy’s first and second wife!
(He’d go for the hat trick, but Lute is a little bit too insane, even for him. Plus, he’s not sure how one-sided that whole… situation… is. Was?)
Lucifer leans over, propping himself up on his arms over Angel with a smirk. Angel relaxes back into the bed and smiles, stretching one pair of arms seductively—very seductively, that does wonders for his figure and he looks so soft!—over his head while the other parts his own thighs underneath Lucifer’s legs.
Oh, god. He wants to just—put his face—
“You know,” Lucifer says, rough and low, “I’ve been told I’m very good with my mouth.”
Angel’s eyes widen in delight. “Oh, are ya? Well, it’s usually me doin’ the blowin’, so I won’t say no to a rare treat…”
Lucifer’s smirk widens into a grin and he winks. “Oh, I’ll blow your whole world, I can promise you that!” Er! Except!
Except!
“—Probably,” he hedges with an awkward laugh. “I mean! It’s been, what? A couple years? Couple… plus-minus ten? A hot minute! I might be out of practice!”
Angel blinks up at him.
“But I’m very trainable!” Lucifer goes on, actively watching the array of expressions on Angel’s face morphing to indicate that his trainwreck of a nervous-talker mouth has derailed and is about three-point-five seconds from catching on fire and exploding. Wait, shit, what did he just say? “Not that you, uh, have to do any training or anything for it to be good, I mean, I just—uh—”
Fuck, fuck, fuck—
“Do you have any preferences?” Lucifer finishes, a bit pitchy, face completely frozen into the world’s most awkward smile.
Angel sits up. Lucifer slides back, landing solidly in his lap, and keeps his hands firmly to himself, wringing them in front of his chest.
This is not going well. This is going very embarrassingly, isn’t it? This was a terrible idea, why did Lucifer have this idea? All of his ideas lately have been awful, one only has to take a look at the cute little fire-breathing duck he ruined by deciding it also needed to be able to do backflips to realize that. He should stop before it goes even more poorly—his daughter lives with these people, he’s going to have to see Angel Dust sometimes if he ever wants to see his daughter, and—
One pair of Angel Dust’s hands lands on Lucifer’s hips and the other on his shoulders. Angel is head-and-shoulders taller than Lucifer like this, and somewhere underneath the anxiety-ridden mortification, Lucifer’s heart gives a thump. His cheeks flood with heat, pink encroaching on the bridge of his nose as he looks up-up-up at Angel and swallows.
“Relax,” Angel Dust says, looking—maybe a little bemused, but mostly not like he’s about to kick Lucifer out of bed. Who is Lucifer kidding? He wouldn’t kick the king of hell out of bed. He’d probably have to make some polite, very kind comments about how this whole thing is not entirely what he was expecting, maybe, and—look, Lucifer’s the king of hell, but he’s not like most of the sinners down here, he can respect a withdrawal of consent that happens after an initial ‘yes’!
And it’s fine! Just fine! He’s just going to go—probably he’s going to go to his room, bury himself under several blankets, maybe jack off miserably because he accidentally touched the soft fur on Angel’s arms just now and the sensory memory won’t leave his fingertips, and then most likely cry for a couple of hours. And then spent the next several days in a blank, dehydrated haze until he remembers about things like feeding himself and performing personal hygiene. And then he’ll be good as new! And never meet Angel Dust’s eyes again. Which is fine, because Angel is really tall anyway. Nobody would even notice.
Angel Dust kisses him.
“Mm!” Lucifer squeaks. Then he remembers to kiss Angel back.
It’s soft—he’s so soft. This time Lucifer isn’t talking about the fur—it’s the way Angel kisses, gentle and slow and still fucking hot, wow. His arms trail up from Lucifer’s shoulders to cupping his jaw, angling Lucifer’s face just right so that he can tip his own head and slide his tongue into Lucifer’s mouth.
Lucifer whimpers. He’s not sure if he should touch Angel right now. Well—Angel is touching him, but it still seems—maybe somewhere innocuous? He puts his hands on Angel’s waist, decides that’s too suggestive, and moves them to his lower set of shoulders. There, perfect!
Angel squeezes Lucifer’s hips, just slightly, and Lucifer feels a little breathless. Angel’s mouth is slick on his, wet and warm and a little bit—nippy, ouch, as Angel drags a delicate tooth over Lucifer’s lower lip as he drops his hands and leans back up, ending the kiss.
Lucifer tips after him, chasing after his lips for a second before he catches himself. He’s—not quite panting, but close, and his face feels very warm.
“There ya go,” Angel murmurs into the space between them. He’s still close, and Lucifer’s eyes dart down to Angel’s mouth as Lucifer bites down on his own lip. “Thought I lost ya for a second there, boss.”
“Uh.” What was happening before the kiss, again? “What?”
Angel grins. “Nothin’. ‘Cept you seem a lil nervous and I was thinkin’ maybe I could take the lead, if you’re so inclined.”
Lucifer freezes. He feels so hot that it’s run all the way back around to cold, a wave of mixed-signal temperature confusion washing over him. “You… want to?”
Angel eyes him very consideringly. Lucifer has regained himself enough to cough slightly, hands shifting—and, oh, he’s touching Angel, isn’t he? He winds his fingers into the short fur there, biting his lip, and watches wonderingly for a moment as his hands just—get buried in it, circling the slim waist underneath. Angel’s hands squeeze Lucifer’s hips right back, gentle, and Lucifer shivers.
When he looks back up, Angel is visibly changing gears. He reaches out, cupping Lucifer’s cheek again—but lets his thumb rest on the other side, too, pressing Lucifer gently but firmly into his grip.
“You tell me, Mista Morningstar,” Angel says, petting his thumb over Lucifer’s cheekbone. “Seems to me like you’d enjoy a bit of… takin’ directions.”
“Yes!” Lucifer blurts. “I mean—if that’s not too much work—?”
“Aw, naw,” Angel denies, sweet and smiling. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll be a good boy for me, won’tcha Mista Morningstar?”
Lucifer feels his dick twitch at that, shivering from crown to unmanifested tail. “You, uh! You can call me Lucifer.”
“Dollface,” Angel says, “I’ll call ya whatever you like.”
“Okay!” Lucifer says, pitchy. “Do you—I mean, what do you want me to—?”
“Shh,” Angel says, smoothing his upper pair of hands under the lapels of Lucifer’s tailcoat, sliding it slowly off of his shoulders. “You’re doin’ fine, babydoll.”
Babydoll. Lucifer flushes again, fighting the urge to squirm as the pet name sends a curl of warmth through the pit of his stomach. What a ridiculous thing to—but he likes it. And—Angel’s the one who pulled it out of the proverbial hat. So maybe it’s—fine?
“Thank you?” he says, letting Angel peel off his waistcoat, too, until he’s left in his unbuttoned dress shirt. He’s still more dressed than Angel Dust, who’s wearing a miniskirt and a crop top, the combined fabric total of which could probably just about match Lucifer’s shirt, and that’s with the height difference.
Oh, and thigh high boots. Lucifer is physically incapable of forgetting the thigh-high boots.
“You’re very welcome,” Angel says, sliding his palms up from Lucifer’s hips to his sides, petting over his ribs.
“Oh!”
“You wanna be good for me?” Angel asks, tipping Lucifer’s head back a little. Lucifer is starting to lose track of all the places Angel is touching him. It’s dizzying—his legs are splayed around Angel’s hips, and there’s a hand holding his face… two more on his sides, petting up and down, and one more sliding up his chest until Angel thumbs over a nipple, and all Lucifer can do is fist his hands in Angel’s skirt, because—
“Yeah,” Lucifer says, breathless. “I can—what do you want? I can, um—”
Angel chuckles, a lower register than he was affecting before, and pinches a nipple. Lucifer jolts a little, except Angel’s hands tighten on his sides and he just—stays in place, just like that—oh—fuck, his pants are getting way too tight.
“What a cutie pie,” Angel says, tweaking his nose. Lucifer blinks, nose wrinkling. “Deep down you’re just a puppy, ain’tcha?”
Lucifer isn’t sure if he should feel flattered or affronted. “I mean…” He flushes, smoothing Angel’s skirt out where his hands had wrinkled it.
“Now what were ya sayin’ ‘bout that talented mouth a’yours?” Angel asks, thumbing over where he’d nipped Lucifer’s lower lip. “Whaddaya say we put you to work, hm?”
“Oh!” Lucifer’s back straightens. “Yes! Yeah, I can do that—” He hopes. “—definitely!”
He starts sliding back down the bed, but Angel snags him before he can get too far—and just lifts him by the hips, making Lucifer’s breath catch and something in the pit of his stomach clench, hot and excited. Oh, boy. Oh, boy! That one’s going into the permanent memory bank!
“Nuh-uh,” Angel says, grinning like he’s figured something out. “I think I know where you wanna be for this one, babydoll.”
He lets Lucifer stumble to his feet, then presses him down to kneel by the side of the bed. Lucifer drops hard enough that his knees thunk on the soft carpeting of the floor. His hands end up above Angel’s knees, fingers digging into the pliant material of Angel’s boots. He stares up at Angel, feeling just a little frozen, but—
Angel’s hand runs through his hair, a reassuring massage that gets Lucifer’s shoulders to relax from where they’d been hiked up to his ears.
“The stage is yours,” Angel says, smiling down at him, and spreads his thighs just that bit wider.
“Oh, wow.” Lucifer bites his tongue, smoothing his hands up Angel’s boots until his fingers hit soft flesh, and then even farther still. He rucks up Angel Dust’s skirt, tries not to swallow his own tongue when he realizes Angel isn’t wearing any underwear, and—
And then he does what he knows best!
It’s easier with the way Angel keeps petting over his hair, shoulders, even tracing little swirling designs over Lucifer’s ears as he hums pleasure in the back of his throat. Angel isn’t fully hard yet—which, oof, a little embarrassing considering that Lucifer is absolutely chafing in his pants after Angel just picked him up like that—but it doesn’t take him long at all to get there as Lucifer slowly presses kisses up his inner thighs. Angel is plush everywhere, soft skin and fur dragging against Lucifer’s cheek until he’s pressed right up against probably the prettiest cock he’s ever seen. And his ex-wife had quite a collection!
He drags his lips up the side of Angel's cock and licks his way to the tip, pressing a kiss to it. He lets the head of it pillow on his mouth in a way he thinks Angel would probably appreciate after how bitten-red he’s gotten Lucifer’s lip, sliding his hand up and down the shaft, before—
Oh, fuck.
He does not choke. He doesn’t! But he doesn’t make it the whole way down, either, and has to cover for the fact that he obviously meant to when he retreats, acutely stung at the realization that his body apparently decided to regain a gag reflex at some point in the last decade. Because he definitely used to be able to do this and now he can barely manage half a dick that, actually, he’s pretty sure isn’t quite as big as Lilith’s favorite strap was anyway, so—
Angel moans, fingers going tight in Lucifer’s hair. The tugging prickles at Lucifer’s scalp, pulling a sound out of him in turn, and he blinks back the humiliating, traitorous tears that had started stinging in the corners of his eyes.
He eases up, pressing the flat of his tongue to the frenulum of Angel’s cock as he looks up to see Angel, and—
Okay. Angel is leaning back on a spare arm, eyes closed and lip dragged soundly underneath his teeth. His cheeks are pink and he’s breathing harder now. When Lucifer twists his wrist, Angel moans with such unabashed pleasure that it makes Lucifer flush with heat, squeezing his knees together.
Okay, yeah. Lucifer can work with that.
Angel’s noises are a masterclass in sex appeal. Lucifer wonders if it’s naive of him to hope that it isn’t all deliberate showmanship, but either way, he sure knows how to make a guy feel like a million bucks. He moans and whimpers and pets Lucifer’s hair—and when he really gets into it, he holds Lucifer steady, rocking his hips carefully into his mouth as Lucifer lets his jaw go slack, rubbing his tongue up against Angel and letting his hand make up the difference. Lucifer can hardly see him, but just the sounds he makes get him riled up enough that he has his spare hand between his own legs, rocking against his palm in rhythm with the tensing of Angel’s legs around his ears.
And the best part is when Angel’s hips genuinely twitch, his hand going tight in Lucifer’s hair, and he says, “Ah, doll, hold on a moment—oh! I think I’m gonna—”
He tries to pull Lucifer away, but Lucifer presses down anyway, sucking down Angel’s cock until he’s coming down Lucifer’s throat in pulses, gasping for pleasure somewhere over his head.
“Oh,” Angel gasps when he’s done, Lucifer finally letting him tug his head back. “Doll, that was somethin’. C’mere, you.”
He pulls on Lucifer’s arms, leveraging him up at the same time as he pulls his own skirt back down, and sits Lucifer squarely in his lap. Lucifer resists the urge to whine as the position pulls his legs apart, tightening his pants across his dick. Fuck he’s—pretty worked up, actually.
“Was that good?” Lucifer asks, breathless, as he finds himself caught in Angel's arms.
“More than,” Angel says. He’s also breathless, but he pulls it off in a really sexy way. His hair is a little ruffled where he’s been running his hands through it, and Lucifer kind of wants to touch it, except he’s too busy clinging to Angel’s shoulders. “Woof, boss, you sure know how to treat a guy!”
“Oh.” Lucifer bites down a smile. “Alrighty, then! I just thought, since I kinda bit off a bit more than I could chew, so to say—wait, hold on, that’s a horrible mental image, pretend I didn’t phrase it like that.”
Angel cuts him off by angling one thigh up so that Lucifer is straddling it, and the motion tips him forward. He lands face-first into Angel’s chest, suddenly feeling a little bit like he’s back in the unknowable void of lust.
“Whoa, there, doll!” Angel laughs. “Calm down. And what’ve you got there, huh?”
Lucifer whines, curling his hands around Angel’s waist, and lets his hips rock down into Angel’s thigh. The friction is so good against his cock, and Angel’s chest is so soft—he feels enveloped, or even pampered, even though he’s pretty sure he’s about ten seconds from coming in his damn pants—
Hands land on his hips and still him, Angel laughing over his head.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Lucifer leans back, flushed bright red with humiliation, and Angel’s laughter softens into something kinder.
“Aw, doll, don’t look like that,” Angel says, cupping Lucifer’s jaw and tipping his face up. “You’re bein’ so sweet for me, I just can’t stand how cute ya’ are.”
“I am?” Lucifer asks, voice pathetic.
“Sweet as sugar,” Angel says, pressing a kiss to his nose. “An’ cute as a button, baby.”
A vibrating, abrasive noise rattles up Lucifer’s throat before he can stop it, and he slaps his hands over his mouth—but, fuck, that doesn’t even do anything about it, and it’s already too late anyhow because Angel’s dropped his hands in shock.
The cold horror that washes through him is pretty effective at strangling down the purr, though.
“Sorry,” Lucifer says, voice tense and cracking. “Sorry, that was—involuntary! Won’t happen again!”
Angel frowns. “How’s that, if ya can’t help it?”
“I can help it!” Lucifer reassures him, wringing his hands together. “I just have to—you know how it is, not get too worked up!”
Angel’s hands rub at Lucifer’s flanks, and he raises his other pair to do the same to Lucifer’s upper arms. “Doll, if I’m gettin’ you worked up, that means I’m doin’ somethin’ right.”
“Not that kind of worked up,” Lucifer mumbles, staring into the vicinity of Angel’s stomach. “Uh, sorry? It’s weird as fuck, aha! It’s an angel thing. A seraphim thing, I mean, not an Angel-like-Angel-Dust thing, uh.”
“...Is it bad?”
Lucifer hesitates, then shakes his head. “Not really? But it can get pretty obnoxious, so…”
At least it seemed that way when it used to happen regularly. It’s been so long, Lucifer is frankly a little bit impressed that his voice box still works that way. Or whatever part of him makes the noise: he’s not really an expert on angel biology and it’s been a long time since he’s had the chance to interact with other seraphim. He’s not allowed up in heaven by the highest-up decree that is cosmically possible, and his siblings don’t exactly condescend to descend.
“An’ who told ya that?” Angel asks, bemused.
“Nobody?” Lucifer says, voice pitching up until it turns into a question. “Uh—no, nobody. It’s just kinda—like, it sounds weird, right? It’s not like—I mean, everyone likes it when cats purr, I get that, we’re all furries down here now. And up there. But this is a little…”
“Wait a hot sec, that was you purring?” Angel asks, looking dangerously excited all of a sudden. Lucifer freezes, feeling vaguely hunted.
“...Yyyyes? Yes. Um—yeah, no. Final answer: Yes.”
Angel pokes him in the chest. “Do it again.”
Lucifer winces back, rubbing the spot Angel jabbed. “What?”
“I wanna hear it again,” Angel says, leaning down to press his face to Lucifer’s chest. “It’s from here, right?”
Lucifer stares down at himself, and at Angel Dust’s face pillowed on him. He tries to press air through whatever part of him usually vibrates like an unholy menace whenever he gets happy in a particular way. Nothing happens, except that he gets a little red in the face with the effort.
“Well?” Angel asks, claws tapping one-two-three-quick down Lucifer’s sides.
“I can’t,” Lucifer admits, feeling—some kind of way about it. Disappointed? In himself? In his own unhappiness? Usually his misery is his own problem, not anybody else’s. Especially since he stopped getting out much. He’s got a lot of things he can offer anyone who asks, but nobody’s ever asked him to be happier. Maybe he’s just sad he’s disappointing Angel Dust.
“Why not?”
“I have to…” Is there any way to say this that doesn’t sound incredibly depressing? Haha, get it? Because he’s literally depressed?
Ugh.
“... feel happy,” Lucifer says, cringing.
Angel Dust’s fingers pause in their tapping for a moment, but resume as he leans back up. “Oh? And what was makin’ you so happy ya had ta purr it out, then?”
Lucifer tries to smile, feeling squeamish. “That’s—well! As I’m sure you know, you’re a very attractive guy, Angel!”
“Hm.” Angel hums, walking his fingers up Lucifer’s chest. “Sure am, sweetcheeks. But if that was the real reason, you’d be purrin’ up a storm any time ya saw me.”
His hand cups the back of Lucifer’s neck, squeezing firmly, and something about that just makes Lucifer’s spine go wobbly.
“T-True!” he says, and then bites his tongue.
“So what was it?” Angel asks, leaning closer. He presses a kiss to the corner of Lucifer’s mouth, smiling when Lucifer tries to turn his head to get a proper kiss and fails. “Was it cos I said you were bein’ sweet for me, babydoll?”
He presses another kiss under Lucifer’s jaw, a soft, wet point of heat, and Lucifer squirms in place, eyelids fluttering. How does Angel Dust manage to make something so embarrassingly lame sound so natural?
“Did you like bein’ sweet for me?” Angel murmurs against his skin. He kisses again, lower, against Lucifer’s pulsepoint this time, and lets his teeth scrape gently over it. “Do you like bein’ a good, sweet boy for me?”
Lucifer breaks, arching into Angel Dust’s mouth. “Yes.” His voice is awfully, humiliatingly wet, right before it ratchets with that rough, clicking purr that chitters between his words. “Yes, yes—please, I’ll be good for you, I can—whatever you want, I swear I can!”
He’s grinding helplessly down onto Angel’s leg, rocking against his thigh in a way that gets him just enough friction. If he doesn’t stop soon then things are going to get really embarrassing for both of them, but Angel is squeezing the back of his neck and kissing his throat, petting his thighs, stroking his belly—he can’t, he can’t, he can’t—
But Angel can, and he does, forcing Lucifer still in his lap as his eyes flutter open from where they’d drifted closed. He’s still making noises in the back of his throat, pleased little rattles interspersed with much more human sounds of pleasure.
“There you go, sweetheart,” Angel says, warm and—and nice. He’s just being so nice to Lucifer, he doesn’t remember the last time someone treated him like this.
(Maybe he does. But those memories hurt, even though they’re plastered in framed portraits all over his walls at home.)
“Please,” Lucifer asks, unable to meet Angel’s eyes.
“Please what, sugar?” Angel tips his chin up, kissing his lips sweetly.
Lucifer doesn’t rightly know. He wants—he just wants. And maybe Angel sees that, because he doesn’t push it, instead finally (fuck, finally) dragging a hand down to unbutton Lucifer’s trousers, freeing his dick from, at least, imminent danger of ruining his own clothes.
“Way you’re bein’ so sweet for me,” Angel says, tugging long and slow on Lucifer’s cock. “I can be sweet to you, too. You wanna stay in my lap, doll, or you wanna be on the bed?”
Lucifer closes his eyes, letting a piteous noise crawl up the back of his throat as he rocks into Angel’s languid grip. “I like your lap.”
“Oh, you really do, honey,” Angel agrees, and stops touching him long enough to usher him up onto his knees. “Let’s just get you more comfortable—and more naked, alright?”
It’s not much more shuffling before Angel follows through on his mission and Lucifer is sitting in his lap again, naked and warm despite the lack of clothing. It’s all Angel Dust: he curls up just right for Lucifer to be encompassed, all gangly legs and long arms that bundle him up and never quite stop touching him, whether Angel is petting comfortingly along his flank or tugging teasingly on his cock.
“Oh, good boy,” Angel says when Lucifer settles down again, and doesn’t bother trying to hide the way his smile widens when the words make Lucifer’s cock twitch in his hand. “You like that, huh, doll? Here, put your head back down like you had it before.”
He lets Lucifer curl in, face pressed into Angel’s throat and cheek brushing against the soft fur of his fluff. He scritches his nails through the hair at Lucifer’s nape with one hand, petting and holding him with two more while the last maintains a languorous pace on his cock. It keeps Lucifer gasping, clinging to Angel as his hips rock into his grip, slow and honey-sweet, until he realizes Angel is hard again, trailing precome against the inside of Lucifer’s thigh.
“I bet it’s real difficult,” Angel says, pressing his lips to Lucifer’s temple, murmuring into his ear. “Big boss in charge, tryin’ so hard all the time, and there ain’t a single body to let ya know how good you’re doin’. Ain’t no shame in needin’ to be told you’re doin’ a good job, doll.”
He trails a hand down Lucifer’s spine, wet with something Lucifer is too gone to have noticed getting opened up, and rubs teasingly over his hole when Lucifer’s legs part automatically.
“It’s not like that,” Lucifer gasps. “Nobody owes me—”
Angel presses a finger inside of him and Lucifer cuts off with a small noise. “Aw, honey, I’m just talkin’ nice to you. Ain’t nobody owes anyone a thing, but we can all still make each other feel good.”
He crooks his finger just right on those last words, and Lucifer makes an eep—right before his control over himself falters entirely and his wings burst into reality. His tail comes along with them, immediately and immovably wrapping its entire length around Angel Dust’s thigh and leg as Lucifer groans in dismay.
“Fuck, sorry!” he says. “That happens! Fuck, these things are bulky.”
Angel Dust laughs, taking absolutely no pity as he presses another finger into Lucifer and makes his eyes fucking cross. He’s not stretching Lucifer so much as just pleasuring him in the most unrelenting way possible, rubbing neat little circles over his prostate until Lucifer’s wings are twitching, half-folded and spastic, and he’s stuck making little hitched motions with his hips, trapped between the fingers inside of him and the hand around him.
“They sure are!” Angel says, and lifts Lucifer by the hips. “Real cute, though, boss!”
“Whoa,” Lucifer says, grabbing Angel’s shoulders. “Was that enough?”
Angel raises his eyebrows, shifting his hips to rub his cock suggestively against Lucifer. Fuck, when did he get a condom on? Maybe Lucifer needs to look into the whole ‘extra pairs of arms’ thing himself. “You strike me as the kinda guy who gets his share a’practice in with this. Trust me, these hands know what they’re doin’—and feelin’!”
He’s not wrong, even if the reality of Lucifer’s depression wanks is probably not what Angel is imagining, exactly. Lucifer bites his lip, squirming a little, and utterly fails to stop his voice from cracking apart on a moan as Angel lowers him onto his cock.
“Now that,” Angel says, a little breathless, “is a pretty picture.”
Lucifer bites down harder on his lip, screwing his eyes shut, and shakes his head. It’s a lot. It’s so much—not in a painful way, just—being surrounded, everywhere, and then Angel pressing inside of him.
Angel lets Lucifer rock himself onto his cock, patient as Lucifer finds his rhythm, and then steadies him to set a languid, slow pace. It’s so fucking nice—something about it just makes Lucifer feel like he’s being pampered, especially the way that Angel hitches his hips up and rubs his cock just right against his sweet spot, until Lucifer’s eyes are rolling into the back of his head. He’s making some kind of quiet, pathetic noises, he thinks, and he can’t even bring himself to care because it’s Angel punching them out of him with every lovely motion.
His wingtips flutter against the bed, tail squeezing and loosening against Angel’s leg in an alternating rhythm. One of Angel’s hands finds Lucifer’s right horn, spawned into being alongside the wings and tail, and uses it to leverage his head back and kiss him silly.
Lucifer doesn’t know how long it lasts, except it’s long enough for him to get so worked up that he’s starting to ache, and then he’s gasping into Angel’s mouth, trying not to quietly beg because he’s supposed to be good for Angel. He can’t go being demanding, even though there’s one hand skating down his spine and another smoothing maddeningly up his inner thigh, stretching him just that bit wider, and he’s so, so, so desperate for just a little bit more—
He whines instead, a long, plaintive noise that is plausibly deniable in its wordlessness. Angel smiles into Lucifer’s mouth, pressing one last, slow kiss to his lips before he leans back. Then he kisses the tip of Lucifer’s nose, and both his cheeks, and it’s so sweet, Lucifer can’t stand it even as he wants to float cradled in this nice, gentle space forever.
He’s going to come, he thinks, just like this: with Angel inside of him and under him and all around him, promising sweetness and a kind touch even as Lucifer bends his head and whimpers pathetically into the crook of his neck—
“Angel,” he begs.
“Sweetheart,” Angel says, “Dollface, you’re doin’ so well—bein’ so sweet for me like this, purrin’ up a storm like I’ve got my very own kitten in my lap.”
It should be embarrassing, but somehow Angel makes it sound sincere rather than condescending or silly, like he means it rather than pandering to the kink (the starving, gasping need buried under his skin) that he’s found in Lucifer, and—
Something hot and wet trails down his cheek, and Lucifer is officially fucking mortified.
Fuck. Fuck. Trust him to ruin a good thing by making it weird. Has Angel noticed? He swipes a hand across his face, which definitely gives him away, and tries not to cry harder when he realizes that he’s officially that guy. The one that cries during sex and ruins everything by making it so fucking awkward even Angel Dust can’t salvage the situation.
He tries to shove himself up, a little too boneless to manage it quite right, but Angel catches his face in one hand before he can get away.
“You are wound so tight, babydoll,” Angel says, kissing another tear away before nipping the apple of Lucifer’s cheek, making him yelp. “Don’t go gettin’ caught up in your head, baby, nothin’s changed. Wasn’t it nice a second ago?”
Lucifer nods, halfway-frantic with a nauseating mixture of embarrassment and hope, and leans up to beg another kiss from Angel.
Angel obliges. He kisses him long and slow as they rock together, cupping Lucifer’s face in two hands in a way that makes him feel so contained. Eventually, he slides another hand down to Lucifer’s cock again, starting to rock up into him a little more urgently, except he still doesn’t let Lucifer get away—just keeps him there, wet-faced and warm, gasping into Angel’s mouth as he comes, trembling, into his hand.
And then keeps keeping him there as Lucifer gasps out a staccato ah-ah-ah!, overwhelmed and overstimulated, until Angel comes, too. Lucifer’s wings twitch and flex, Lucifer desperately trying to maintain enough control over his body to avoid beaming anybody in the face with a feathered appendage. He finds himself shaky, wracked with a full-bodied tremble as he comes down from the high of good sex, endorphins slowly draining out of him.
Angel just keeps smiling, pressing slow kisses to Lucifer’s mouth as he leverages them apart and gets his condom off, dragging over a hand towel with another hand for a bit of perfunctory clean-up. He hasn’t stopped petting Lucifer like a particularly nervy cat, and it’s making Lucifer a little—
Just a little bit—
He heaves a deep breath out and flops over, letting himself land on Angel’s chest and tumbling them both to the mattress, Angel squeaking in surprise.
“Fuck,” Lucifer mumbles into Angel’s chest fluff.
“Again?” Angel says, smirking. “Gonna hafta give me a minute, hot stuff.”
He makes it clear he’s joking by letting his lower arms wrap around Lucifer’s waist, winding the upper two between Lucifer’s wings until he can preen at the feathers. Lucifer lets out a shivery sigh, wings quivering from root to wingtip for a moment as clever fingers smooth their way into his plumage.
“Oh, hell,” Lucifer whimpers, eyelids fluttering. He’d been vaguely up in his emotions about something a moment ago, he thinks, but every delicate little motion of Angel’s fingers makes his brain melt further and further out of his skull. “Where did you—oh, where did you learn to do that?”
Angel smiles, all smug suggestiveness even as he lets his tertiary arms manifest and get to work with Lucifer’s lowest pair of wings. “My boyfriend’s got wings, too, doll, they ain’t new to me. Well, he ain’t got this many, but it’s all the same thing, ain’t it?”
Lucifer’s tail squeezes around Angel’s leg, fully unwilling to release him, and Lucifer gives up and follows suit by wriggling his arms underneath Angel’s body in a rather possessive hug.
“I will pay you so much money,” Lucifer mumbles into Angel’s chest, “to do this every day—or once a week, even—”
“Whoa, there!” Angel snickers. “Should I be feelin’ insulted? I put all that work into fuckin’ you silly and this is what you suddenly wanna start payin’ for?”
Lucifer nods into Angel’s fur, eyes going a little hazy again. He doesn’t expect Angel to understand: it’s not a human thing, after all. He’s sure it’s not the same for Angel’s boyfriend, either, assuming that Angel is talking about the bartender. Preening an angel’s wings, it’s not a sexual thing, really (er—well, it can be: his ex-wife really did delight in finding new and very titillating ways to take Lucifer apart), it’s just a social one. Lilith used to do it for him, and showed Charlie how to when her little fingers were big enough. Lucifer can just barely remember the awkward tugging of her childish hands in his plumage as they sat together as a family and Lucifer fondly winced and laughed his way through a toddler’s tender mercies.
He doesn’t remember the last time another one of the seraphim did this for him, though. And Lilith and Charlie haven’t touched his wings in a long, long time, either.
Lucifer fiddles with his wedding ring, twisting it behind Angel's back.
“Well…” Angel hesitates, apparently picking up on something when Lucifer doesn’t joke back. “Whatevah. Either way, you don’t gotta pay. You’re welcome to drop by anytime ya like, doll, if you ain’t off doin’ anythin’ too important for the likes of us human souls down here. I’ll do your wings, and you can do my nails. We both got three sets of each, right?”
Lucifer’s brain feels like it’s turning into goop, and his whole body feels very wrung out. Angel makes such a soft pillow, and warm, too, both in terms of being very nice to cuddle but also in the way he holds Lucifer and still hasn’t stopped preening gently through his feathers.
He can’t believe Angel is genuinely inviting him. He was very nice about Lucifer’s… whatever the hell you’re supposed to call it when someone is as deeply embarrassing during sex as Lucifer just was, but Lucifer was absolutely certain that Angel would soundly prefer not to see him again after the act. He’s not sure if this invitation extends to more intimate encounters, but—he’s not sure if he cares, either.
He hasn’t really had a reason to get out of his rooms properly in a while, and helping save and then rebuild the hotel has been enough physical activity and socializing that it made his broken brain remember what endorphins and dopamine felt like. Lucifer finds that he wants more.
“Okay,” he says, closing his eyes and snuggling into Angel a little more firmly. “You sure you don’t want a waterbed?”
“Doll,” Angel says, a little sardonic, but mostly just amused. “I’ve got the king a'hell himself purrin’ in my lap like a fucked up alien kitten. I’m just fine right here, no waterbed required. But, y’know, if you’re askin’...”
Lucifer perks up, opening his eyes. “Oh! Is there something I can do for you?”
Angel smirks down at him, crooking a finger underneath Lucifer’s chin. His voice is a register lower, Lucifer suddenly realizes, the pitchy affectation he puts on in public most of the time fading away. “Sure is, dollface. If you’re up for a ‘next time we do somethin’ like this,’ then… cute little guy like you, maybe you can call me daddy.”
Lucifer squeaks.
… And then nods, hiding his face in Angel’s chest as he flushes with heat from horn to tail.
Fuck.