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Alastor liked kissing Lucifer.
He liked the soft brush of Lucifer’s lips over the sharp bone of his cheek when they would part in the mornings, and the firm press of Lucifer’s smile to the back of his hand when they would greet each other again in the evenings. He enjoyed the way that Lucifer would cradle his jaw - carefully, reverently, as if Alastor were something precious - and draw him in close to place a slow, indulgent kiss to Alastor’s lips, as if Lucifer had all the time in the world to be doing so.
Alastor also enjoyed the searing, open-mouthed kisses Lucifer would lay across his throat, his hand buried in Alastor’s hair to keep him in place as he used his wicked fangs to paint a mural of violet over Alastor’s skin. He enjoyed when Lucifer’s restraint would finally break and he would get a little rough, a little wild, and suck and nibble along the crest of Alastor’s ears, pulling them from their airplaned position to lavish them with attention until the fine fur there was wet and curling.
Lucifer was doing so now, his fangs worrying the thin ridge of cartilage between his teeth. He pulled back and blew air over his work, the sudden rush of cold causing Alastor to gasp and moan. His hands were buried in the back of Lucifer’s shirt, clinging to him and holding him close within the cradle of his long legs. They were on the settee in Alastor’s room, Alastor on his back with one leg thrown over the back of the sofa and the other curled over Lucifer’s hip. Lucifer was on top of him, a secure weight that could never be mistaken for oppressive, working Alastor over with his lips and tongue and teeth.
Lucifer turned his head and captured Alastor’s lips in a deep, searing kiss. He branded Alastor from the inside out, his mouth hot and lush as it plundered Alastor’s own. A need was rising within Alastor, one that he had experienced very rarely, and only ever with Lucifer. He whined and arched up into Lucifer, his body helpless against the onslaught of want coursing through it. Heat flared in his pelvis, a low throb that made him groan against Lucifer’s lips.
Yes, he liked kissing Lucifer. He liked it plenty. What he did not like was the cold dose of reality that washed over him when Lucifer shifted the hand that had been gripping Alastor’s hip to his crotch, maneuvering it to press his slim fingers against the seam of Alastor’s trousers. Alastor jolted, but not with pleasure - his desire curdled in his belly, his passion washed away in a cold wave that left him shivering.
Lucifer rubbed a firm circle into the gusset of Alastor’s pants. Warmth bloomed in the wake of his fingers, the flesh beneath the fabric responsive and flushed with heat, yearning for true contact. Alastor wanted it. He wanted it. But he couldn’t have it.
He plunged his hands into Lucifer’s hair and surged upwards, vying for control. Lucifer allowed it easily. Another enigma of his; Lucifer allowed authority to slip in and out of his grasp fluidly, as if it was of no consequence to allow Alastor to seize it for himself. Alastor’s past partners would never have allowed such a thing. Vox would never have allowed-
Alastor stifled the thought before it had a chance to bloom. He swung his leg from the back of the couch and used his leverage to flip Lucifer around, gracefully moving them until Lucifer was sitting on the sofa, his legs splayed wide with Alastor kneeling between them.
Alastor grinned up at Lucifer with a cheekiness he did not truly feel. That wasn’t to say he didn’t want this - he very much did. As if to prove the point to himself, he made short work of Lucifer’s trousers, undoing them with deft, practiced ease. Lucifer’s cock sprang upwards, flushed gold and damp at the tip. Alastor’s mouth watered at the sight. He closed his hand around the base, relishing in Lucifer’s shaky moan. Then, he leaned in, and without preamble took Lucifer into his mouth down to the root.
“Fuck,” Lucifer hissed above him. One hand landed on Alastor’s shoulder, kneading restlessly, the other tangling itself in Alastor’s hair. Alastor didn’t mind. He enjoyed the way that Lucifer tugged, the pleasant sting tingling down his nape and making him shiver. He moaned around Lucifer’s cock as he bobbed his head, taking Lucifer deep on every pass.
Despite his gag reflex being non-existent, Alastor’s eyes still reflexively watered from the intrusion into his throat. He made no attempt to blink the tears away. He knew that Lucifer liked when he looked a bit mussed. Lucifer would never dare to use the word slutty, not with Alastor, but Alastor knew the word floated in his mind all the same. One of these days, he’d have to paint his eyes with mascara and charcoal, just to let it run as Lucifer fucked his face. Lucifer would like that, he thought.
“That’s right,” Lucifer murmured. His hand fell from Alastor’s hair to pet over his jaw instead, feeling the way that the muscles there flexed in time with each bob of Alastor’s head. “You’re so good to me, sweetheart. So fucking good.”
Alastor’s tail began to wag madly over the seat of his trousers. He moaned and spread his legs wide, the tightening of his pants over his crotch providing the barest hint of stimulation to his aching, clenching cunt. He pulled back, focusing his attention on Lucifer’s cockhead as he worked the shaft with quick flicks of his wrist. He laved at the slit of Lucifer’s cock, catching the musky drops of precum that leaked in a steady stream.
“I’m gonna come,” Lucifer warned, breathless. His hips were twitching in aborted little movements, Lucifer clearly trying to deny the urge to thrust up into Alastor’s mouth. Considerate of him, though he needn’t have bothered. Alastor had much practice in this, after all. He opened his mouth wide and swallowed Lucifer down until his nose was nestled into the fine golden curls of Lucifer’s pubic hair.
Lucifer cried out, his hips churning as he came in long pulses down Alastor’s throat. Alastor swallowed it all diligently. Lucifer’s cum was sweet; nothing like the rancid, artificial taste of-
“Fuck, come here,” Lucifer said. He hooked Alastor under the armpits and bodily hauled him into his lap. Alastor wasn’t expecting it; Lucifer’s cock slipped from his lips with a wet, undignified sound, and he landed half-sprawled over Lucifer, his legs akimbo. Lucifer didn’t seem to mind. He claimed Alastor’s lips immediately, kissing him fiercely and delving into Alastor’s mouth with his tongue for a taste of his own release.
Alastor moaned, though it was a sound of wretched self-denial rather than pleasure. His underwear was slick, clinging to the lips of his cunt, his arousal abundant enough that surely if he glanced down, he would be able to see it darkening his trousers. Still, when Lucifer’s wandering hand roamed to the button of Alastor’s pants, Alastor gently snagged his wrist to stop him.
Lucifer froze. Alastor’s heart rose to his throat, his pulse heavy and much too quick as Lucifer pulled back to give him an assessing look. His serpentine pupils were rounded out with the remnants of his pleasure, but no less keen.
Alastor couldn’t stand the weight of Lucifer’s gaze. He dipped his head in what he hoped would be interpreted as a gesture of demurity and not the unease he was truly feeling.
It seemed to have worked. Lucifer’s expression cleared into one of misplaced understanding. Something buried deep beneath Alastor’s sternum cramped with guilt as Lucifer reached up to cup Alastor’s face in both hands and drop a soothing, gentle kiss to his forehead.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Lucifer whispered against Alastor’s death mark.
The sting of Alastor’s eyes had nothing whatsoever to do with the roughness he felt in his throat. Relief flooded in, smothering the guilt. For a moment, Alastor had worried that Lucifer would press the issue - it was not the first time Alastor had denied him, after all - but he seemed content to allow Alastor to extract himself from his lap and stand.
“Shall we go to bed?” Alastor suggested.
Lucifer nodded and accepted Alastor’s offered hand to help him up. With a snap of Alastor’s fingers, they were re-dressed in their pyjamas: Alastor in plain red silk and Lucifer in white. The snap had changed Alastor’s underwear, but did not fully remove the wetness that clung to his cunt. He could feel it as he climbed into bed next to Lucifer, an insistent sticky dampness that made his skin crawl with revulsion.
Alastor laid himself flat on his back. Lucifer immediately glued himself to Alastor’s side, as was his custom, his head on Alastor’s chest and one leg thrown over Alastor’s much longer one. Alastor wrapped his arm around Lucifer’s shoulders, cradling the smaller man to him. He took no issue with this kind of touch.
Alastor continued to stare up at the canopy above his bed long after Lucifer’s breaths had turned deep and even with sleep. The earlier guilt was creeping back in, forming a knot that slowly tightened in his chest.
Lucifer had never voiced what exactly he thought was Alastor’s problem, though Alastor strongly suspected that, with the help of his own manipulations, Lucifer imagined him to be shy about the fact that he had a cunt. He was not exactly wrong, though it was not the presence of Alastor’s particular anatomy that was the issue. It was the fact that it was broken.
The culmination of Alastor’s entire sexual experience, both in his life and afterlife, was nothing more than a macabre patchwork of repeated failures. As a teenager, before he had fully come to terms with the fact that he was indeed a man and had instead borne the label of “tomboy”, there had been one unfortunate youth that had tried his luck. Alastor had allowed him to, if only to sate his own curiosity about the act that his peers raved on about with such ardour.
The young man hadn’t even gotten his own trousers off before receiving a brisk slap to the face and an invitation to leave. Alastor had never tried again - not while he was alive, anyway.
Not until Vox.
He swallowed hard, his arm unconsciously tightening around Lucifer’s shoulders.
Vox. A man that Alastor had once admired; or had gotten as close to such an emotion that he was capable of, in any case. Vincent, as he had been in those days. An overeager puppy, as he presented himself to be, but Alastor had always seen the predator that lay hidden beneath. It had only taken a few drinks and some well-placed words to tease out the truth of the machinations that had landed Vincent in Hell. Not that Alastor could judge; he had been far worse in his own heyday.
Vincent’s petty murders seemed almost drab in comparison, but there was something about him - call it charisma, or allure, or his knack for flattery - that drew Alastor to him. He never viewed Vincent as his equal, not even after he had become Vox, but Alastor allowed himself to think that maybe, maybe, the stupid little picture box could be worth even an ounce of his time.
How wrong he had been.
It was never a relationship - never in the way Vox so desperately wished it to be. Alastor was his own man, and tying himself to another was, at the time, as abhorrent of a thought as taking a stroll through the streets of Pentagram City naked and unarmed during an Extermination Day. Vox said that was fine. That he understood. But he kept giving Alastor those looks; pleading and pitiful at first, but that had eventually sharpened with a hard, resentful edge.
“It’s just sex,” Vox had said. “I do it all the time, Al. It doesn’t have to mean anything, not unless you let it.”
He had placed his clawed hand on Alastor’s arm, then, and squeezed it in a way that had sent revulsion swooping low in Alastor’s gut.
Alastor had not realized he was broken, even then. Not until long after he had rejected Vox outright. He thought it had just been Vox; for a man who crowed on and on about his sexual conquests, he had been woefully inadequate even without Alastor’s particular abnormality hindering him. They had tried twice, and both times had resulted in a hoof to Vox’s sternum and him tumbling off of his bed with a curse. He had eventually (begrudgingly) conceded the point, so long as Alastor continued to find other ways to keep him satisfied.
Alastor had tossed him aside shortly after, thoroughly disgusted in himself that he had even entertained such a farce in the first place.
Still, his failed attempts with Vox had left him disquieted. He allowed himself to consider that perhaps it was not Vox’s repulsive nature or inadequate prowess, but a failing on Alastor’s part. He had never truly considered that part of his anatomy before - it was not a hindrance, and therefore did not usually occupy his attention - but one night, after far too much whiskey and some not-so-subtle encouragement from his shadow, he had attempted to touch himself there.
It would have been unremarkable, if not for the pain. He had attempted to insert a finger into himself and had been met with agony that cleaved him from the root of his tail to his navel, as if his finger had been wrapped in barbed wire. He had quickly yanked his hand away and brought it up to his face, expecting to see his finger slick with blood, but there was only the light shimmer of the barely-there wetness he had produced.
He had tried using oil and petroleum jelly to slick the way, thinking that perhaps friction was the issue. Nothing had worked. Each time he tried to work a finger into himself, he was met with an unrelenting tightness and white-hot fire between his legs, his body protesting the intrusion vehemently.
Alastor had eventually given up, which suited him just as well. There was no reason to achieve penetration, after all. His bouts of lust were few and far between, the rare sensation of arousal mercifully brief. Masturbation aside, he had no desire at all to engage in a sex act with a partner ever again.
Not until Lucifer.
Lucifer had awoken something within Alastor that he had thought himself entirely incapable of. Affection. Trust. Desire.
He had been nothing but attentive and considerate for the duration of his and Alastor’s relationship. Had never tried to trick Alastor into or outright push him for more. Had never pressed his advantage when it came to Alastor’s reluctant vulnerability. He was soothing without being pacifying, calm without being dreadfully dull. He met Alastor where he was at, and never demanded more.
But oh, how Alastor wanted to give him more.
It was frightening, the depth of the lust that Lucifer seemed to have awoken in him. Nowadays, Lucifer could simply walk into a room and Alastor’s cunt would flutter longingly. He would brush by Alastor or place his hand at the small of Alastor’s back, and a gush of wetness that Alastor had never before had to contend with would soil his underwear.
Sometimes, when they indulged in a slow, sultry round of heavy petting, Alastor would feel an ache deep in the very core of him - the want to be penetrated, to be filled, to be claimed. He did not trust that feeling. That feeling was a lie; it enticed him to surrender, to submit himself to something that he knew would only cause him pain.
But Lucifer deserves this. He wants this. Why can’t you just give it to him?
Alastor bit his lip hard, the corners of his eyes stinging. He wanted to. Very badly. There must be some physical ailment he was not aware of, some defect of his anatomy. If that were the case, perhaps it would be possible to repair it. He had to at the very least try, before Lucifer grew tired of waiting.
Eventually, as it had been with Vox, Alastor’s hands and mouth would no longer be enough to satisfy, and then where would that leave him? Lucifer was not Vox. Alastor cared for him; deeply, genuinely. He refused to lose him over something as paltry as a bit of discomfort.
Lucifer snuffled a bit in his sleep, pulling Alastor from his thoughts. Alastor sighed and dropped a tender kiss to the crown of Lucifer’s head. His beau deserved every pleasure Alastor was capable of granting. If Alastor had his way, nothing would be denied to him. And he would have his way.
He just needed to figure out a plan.
•
Alastor stood before the mirror, frowning as much as he was able as he turned this way and that.
He was naked from the waist down. He felt no shame in that - he did not care for his demonic body, but he also did not despise it. He was lucky to be granted a figure that was even remotely humanoid, especially when one considered what some of his fellow demons had to contend with.
No, it was not his outer shell that had his teeth pulling back in a snarl of distaste, but rather what lay hidden within.
He had suspected that there was something physically wrong with him, but the past few weeks had all but confirmed it. He and Lucifer had been intimate a handful of times since Alastor had laid awake that night, staring up at his canopy and contemplating his options. Each time, Alastor had pleasured Lucifer in all the ways he was able and had brushed aside Lucifer’s offer of reciprocation.
Lucifer had been gracious enough to let the issue slide, but Alastor had seen the look in his eyes despite the way that he tried to hide it. Not reproach, not exactly, but there was hurt there, and a glimmer of suspicion. Like the eyes of a kicked dog.
Alastor hated that look. He hated to think that Lucifer did not trust him, despite knowing that he was unworthy of the honour. How long would it take before Lucifer openly questioned Alastor’s unwillingness to be touched? How long until he insisted upon it, and Alastor would have to contend with Lucifer finding out the truth? How long until Lucifer left him?
No. Lucifer deserved more. He deserved to be able to take what was owed to him, and for Alastor to stop nancing over something so trivial. He was the Radio Demon, damnit. He would not squander Lucifer’s affection over something as paltry as this.
With an aggravated huff, he turned away from the mirror and strode over to the bed. He sat himself on the edge of it and snapped his fingers. The mirror vanished in a puff of green smoke, only to reappear right before him, the cool glass brushing his knees.
Alastor rubbed his sweating palms over the tops of his thighs. Once, many, many years ago, his mama had handed him a hand mirror and gently told him to go to the bathroom or bedroom and take a look at himself there. A woman should know all her parts, she had insisted. Alastor had understood her want to educate him; his mama had been an unofficial midwife and had made it her life’s work to fill in the gaps that ‘real’ doctors so woefully disregarded.
Alastor was not a woman, however. He might possess a cunt, but even back then, he had known. The thought of looking at himself there when he had no interest in that particular bit of anatomy had mildly disgusted him. He didn’t understand why he would ever have a need to - it was not as though he would ever allow anyone to put a baby in him.
The very thought sent a swoop of nausea rolling through his belly. He was a sinner, and therefore infertile, but the lesson had been hammered into him all his life: sex meant babies, so one had to be careful about such things.
He briskly shook his head to dislodge the thought. That was a matter for another time. Lucifer had to be able to actually even penetrate him, first.
Slowly, Alastor raised his legs. His flexibility allowed him to place his hooves on the edge of the bed just below his ass, the claws of them flexing against the blanket in an instinctive search for some sort of grip. Remembering what he had learned from his mother so long ago, he allowed his legs to fall open naturally, exposing himself to the reflection of the mirror.
Alastor’s face burned as he looked upon the reflection of his own sex. He wanted to look away, but forced the instinct down. It was only a cunt. He had seen plenty since falling into Hell. Not voluntarily, mind you, but they were plastered on nearly every billboard in the entertainment district. That insect Valentino truly had no shame.
At first glance, Alastor couldn’t see anything distinctively troubling. All of his… parts seemed to be there, the soft inner folds protected by the outer, his entire sex wreathed in downy red fur that was so unlike the wiry curls he had possessed in life. He brought his hand down and, using his fingers, spread his labia to peer inside. The action sent a bolt of white-hot humiliation through him. Instinctively, his tail folded upwards, covering his sex from his gaze.
Alastor grunted in frustration and used his other hand to pin his tail to the bed. It was quite an abdominal workout to hold such a position, so he abandoned his cunt in favour of reaching behind him and snagging some pillows. He propped himself up and resumed his position, with his left hand holding his tail out of the way and the right spreading himself open so he could look at his anatomy in the mirror.
He had removed his jacket earlier, but he was still dressed from the waist-up in his button-down shirt. He was becoming hot, sweat dotting along his hairline, but he refused to remove it. What he was doing was already humiliating enough without the entirety of his body on display.
Alastor didn’t really know what he was looking for, or even at, but he didn’t think there was any sort of malformation. There was his hole, clenching rhythmically around nothing. Above it, his urethra, and above that, a small, pink nub that he imagined was the fabled clitoris. Nothing out of the ordinary that he could see, but what if it wasn’t something so easily revealed by the naked eye?
He closed his eyes with a huff and slumped back against the pillows. Instead of spreading himself, he used two fingers to carefully rub up and down his cunt, feeling out the shape of his inner and outer folds, over his hole, and up and around his clit. He couldn’t feel anything wrong, either. No strange bumps or fissures, no abnormalities that might cause the white-hot pain that seared through him whenever he tried to force something inside.
Grunting in frustration, Alastor continued to map out the contours of his sex. It didn’t feel awful, as he had expected. In fact, tiny threads of pleasure were beginning to permeate his annoyance. He was just barely beginning to get wet - not the usual humiliating deluge that Lucifer could engender, but it was enough to slick the way, turning the stroke of his fingers over himself from a harsh rub to a smoother glide.
Lucifer. Just the thought of the angel had heat pooling in Alastor’s belly. Would he touch Alastor like this, if Alastor let him? No, surely he would be kinder. He would not rub at Alastor roughly, as Alastor was doing to himself. He would take his time, use the fingers of one hand to gently part Alastor’s folds while he teased with the other. He would want Alastor to enjoy himself; he would use the slickness oozing from Alastor’s hole to ensure it. Would he put his mouth on him, Alastor wondered?
The very thought was as delicious as it was scandalous. A shiver ripped up Alastor’s spine. He was definitely wet now, the rush of blood plumpening the lips of his sex and turning everything plush and slippery with slick. He cracked an eye and peered at himself in the mirror - he could see the way that his cunt was blushing, noticeably darker and fuller than it had been. He whined and closed his eyes again, his cheeks going hot.
He was not prodding at himself so much as petting, now, his fingers gliding through his folds frictionlessly. He accidentally skated too high and brushed his clit; he jolted and choked on a broken moan. It was sensitive to the point of pain, the little nub never having been touched before aside from the sake of cleanliness. Alastor didn’t know what to do with such stimulation. It was overwhelming; it made his thighs quiver and hips twitch. He decided to avoid it altogether, and refocused his attention to his hole.
Surely, he was wet enough now? His cunt was practically dripping, and with how wide his legs were spread, slick was trailing down over his asshole and into his tail. If there was ever a time he was ready, now would be it.
Alastor squeezed his eyes tightly shut and snagged his bottom lip between his sharp teeth as he positioned a single finger at his entrance. He slowly began to push inside.
At first, he felt nothing but the gentle squeeze of the walls of his cunt over the tip of his finger. Euphoria filled him - he was actually doing it! But then, just as he managed to push in past the first knuckle, pain cleaved through his core.
Alastor yelped and pulled his hand free. He opened his eyes and looked at the mirror wildly, but there was nothing. No blood, no anomaly he could feel: only his clenching cunthole that leaked slick all over his tail.
Alastor sobbed in frustration and pounded the mattress with his fist. What was wrong with him?
In his anger, he reached back down between his legs and jammed his finger inside of himself as far as it would go. He cried out in pain, but didn’t relent; he could do this, damnit, he refused to be some simpering invalid, he would master control over his own body-
“Alastor?”
Alastor’s head whipped towards the door. In the doorway of the bedroom (with the door closed, thank God), stood Lucifer, his expression one of bewilderment.
Alastor wrenched his finger out of himself and snagged the blanket, yanking it up to his chin. His cheeks burned. At the last second, he realized that the fucking mirror was still posed at the end of the bed. He snapped his fingers and banished it to his pocket dimension, uncaring of how he sensed it smash somewhere deep within.
“Lucifer.” Alastor’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat to try again. “What are you doing here?”
Lucifer’s gaze had been fixated between Alastor’s legs; he looked up and met Alastor’s eye, a light golden flush settling across the bridge of his nose.
“Uh, it’s our room? I was just coming up to get a sweater for Charlie to borrow. What… what are you doing?”
Alastor’s ears pinned flat to his skull. He thought the answer to that was quite obvious.
Luckily, Lucifer seemed to catch on. He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Yeah, never mind, got it. Um. Sorry? For interrupting?”
Alastor looked away, suddenly finding that the bedspread was the most interesting thing in the world. “It’s fine,” he gritted out.
He heard Lucifer sigh - not in annoyance, but softly, as if his brain was finally catching up to him and he was realizing that he had in fact erred. A rare occurrence, that.
“Look, Al, if you want some private time, I can leave you to it,” Lucifer said. The click of his boots approaching across the hardwood floor was overly loud in the otherwise deathly-silent room. Alastor felt the bed dip next to him, and then Lucifer’s hand was crossing into his line of sight to gently cup his thigh. “Or… or I can help you, if you want.”
Alastor’s permanent smile pulled down into a grimace. It was humiliating enough that Lucifer had caught him with his hand in the veritable cookie jar, but to offer to help?
“No, thank you,” Alastor said. He watched Lucifer’s fingers laid over the top of his thigh spasm at the denial. He looked up and just barely caught the look of hurt that crossed Lucifer’s face before his lover was able to banish it behind a mask of controlled understanding.
“Okay,” Lucifer said quietly. “I’ll just grab the sweater for Charlie and get out of your hair.”
He stood from the bed, the comforting weight his hand slipping from Alastor’s thigh. It was that sensation that broke Alastor’s resolve.
“Wait!” he cried. He lunged forward and seized Lucifer’s wrist, halting him. Lucifer looked down at him, his eyes wide with confusion. “Wait. Just… I just… I would like you to stay. Please.”
Alastor licked his suddenly dry lips, his heart racing. He knew he sounded frantic - hell, he felt frantic. The thought of disappointing Lucifer again, of sending him away with the thought that Alastor was secretly pleasuring himself behind his back, was unbearable.
Lucifer was watching him, his expression cautious. “Are you sure? It’s really no problem-”
“Yes.” Alastor nodded quickly. “Yes, I’m sure. Please?”
Lucifer still looked skeptical, but he allowed Alastor to guide him back down to the bed. Alastor let out an exhale of relief and lifted the covers, allowing Lucifer to crawl beneath.
Lucifer didn’t immediately try to press between Alastor’s legs. Instead, he simply wrapped his arms around Alastor’s waist and held him for a moment, the two of them breathing together as Alastor’s anxiety faded.
“We really don’t have to do anything, Alastor,” Lucifer mumbled against Alastor’s shoulder. He pressed a kiss there, his lips warm even through the fabric of Alastor’s shirt.
“I want to,” Alastor insisted. And he did. To prove his point, he snagged Lucifer’s hand and dragged it down beneath the blanket. He thrusted it between his thighs before he could think better of it.
Lucifer grunted in surprise when his knuckles brushed Alastor’s slick folds. He gentled the frenzied motion of Alastor’s hand, taking control and gliding his knuckle up and down across Alastor’s sex.
“Been having fun without me?” Lucifer quietly teased.
In truth, Alastor hadn’t really been having fun at all, but he didn’t tell Lucifer that. He only whined and spread his legs, trying to exude an air of eagerness. It would be better to just get this over with, like ripping off a bandage.
He tried to force Lucifer’s hand into action again by tugging on his wrist and pressing Lucifer’s knuckles more firmly against him. He felt hysterical. Something was clawing its way up his throat: a laugh, or maybe a sob. He didn’t know. He was dizzy and hot, and it felt as though his stomach were doing flips inside him.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Lucifer murmured against the sharp jut where Alastor’s collarbone met his shoulder. “You’re okay. Just breathe for me.”
Alastor sucked in a breath. His throat felt roughly the size of a pinhole, but the oxygen mercifully went down, helping to quell his trembling.
“Don’t be nervous,” Lucifer continued. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”
He flipped his hand and gently petted across Alastor’s outer labia with the tips of his fingers, just barely dipping between to test the slipperiness within. “See? I know exactly what to do with this, sweet boy. You just close your eyes and let me take care of everything.”
Lucifer leaned in and placed a kiss on Alastor’s blazing cheek. Alastor let out a truly embarrassing noise - something caught between a whimper and mewl - and did as he was told, his eyes fluttering shut and his head thunking back against the pillows. He slowly released his death grip on Lucifer’s wrist, relenting control to the other man to do as he pleased.
Lucifer made a soft sound of approval. Alastor expected him to go straight for his hole once he was released, but Lucifer merely continued to pet over him, his touch undemanding. It was nice. A pleasant sensation that brought pleasure without the sharp edge of desperation. Alastor allowed himself to sink into the feeling, his body relaxing in tiny increments.
By the time Lucifer allowed his fingers to breach the lips of Alastor’s pussy, Alastor had practically melted against the pillows. He was warm, but it was not the feverish heat he had been experiencing before; he felt comfortable and cradled within Lucifer’s arms. His lips parted around a soft, breathy sound of pleasure when the tips of Lucifer’s fingers dipped into his slick heat, circling through the wetness before edging up, up, up to Alastor’s clitoris.
Alastor seized in Lucifer’s arms, his eyes flying open wide. One hand came around to claw at the fabric of Lucifer’s suit between his shoulder blades, while the other dove beneath the blankets to reclaim Lucifer’s wrist in an iron grip.
“Sensitive?” Lucifer surmised with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, we can take that in baby steps. Why don’t we try something else, instead?”
Alastor was still reeling from the sudden feeling of Lucifer’s fingers on his clit; he did not realize that Lucifer had angled his hand downward until he felt the press of Lucifer’s fingers at his hole.
It was as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him. Alastor clenched his eyes shut, his fingers going white-knuckled where they were gripping the expensive silk of Lucifer’s jacket. Lucifer started to try to ease inside, the pressure barely-there, but Alastor still flinched as though Lucifer had struck him.
Lucifer stilled. Mortification flooded through Alastor. His ears pinned back, his smile twisting down into a grimace. He knew Lucifer had raised his head and was looking at him; Alastor could feel that red-gold gaze examining him, penetrating him, and finally seeing the fault that lay within.
“Just do it,” Alastor hissed through tightly-clenched teeth. “Just put them inside.”
He tried to manipulate Lucifer’s hand into probing him, but it was like trying to manipulate a rod of steel. Lucifer wouldn’t budge.
“Alastor.” Lucifer said firmly. He tugged his hand out of Alastor’s grip. Alastor opened his eyes and looked at him helplessly, his lips pulled back into a grimace. “I’m not going to ‘just do’ anything. Not with you. Not like this.”
Lucifer began to withdraw. Alastor let out a low snarl and yanked at his jacket, forcing him back in place. Lucifer levelled him with a glare, but ultimately stayed put.
“We’re talking about this,” Lucifer said flatly.
Alastor didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to put Lucifer in a position where he felt he needed to talk about it. He didn’t want to be broken.
He did the only thing he was good at when he was feeling uncomfortable - he lashed out.
“Yes, I imagine we have much to discuss about my failings, sire.” He only ever used the title when he was angry or upset, which he was very much feeling both of. He spit it in Lucifer’s face with as much vitriol as he could muster, as if Lucifer were somehow to blame for his shortcomings.
“What failings?” Lucifer asked. He looked genuinely confused.
“Don’t be daft,” Alastor said with a scoff. “You want to fuck me, do not pretend that you don’t. I have tried to make it so, but this damnable quim that God has seen fit to bestow upon me is damaged. I have tried to find the defect, but it seems there is none to be had. Perhaps I am simply cursed.” He laughed wildly, a hysterical sound that was interlaid with shrieking notes of static.
He was not brave enough to actually face Lucifer when he bitterly said: “So yes, you should just do it. Take me as you like, Lucifer. I have known pain before; nothing you could do to me could possibly break me more than I am already broken, I’m sure.”
There was a long moment of silence. Long enough for Alastor to begin to chew at his lip anxiously, a habit he very rarely indulged in. He refused to look at Lucifer, unwilling to see whatever expression might be on his beautiful face.
Finally, Lucifer whispered: “You aren’t broken, Alastor.”
Alastor snorted disbelievingly. “I am. This infernal thing was designed for such acts, yet I cannot tolerate even a finger inside. What would you call that, if not broken?”
“Okay, besides the fact that what you just said is totally fucked up, let’s just back up a step here,” Lucifer said. “First of all, I need you to understand that I would never want something that you don’t, Alastor, and especially when it comes to this. I never want you to do anything because you feel like you have to, or because you think that it’s something that I want. If you don’t want to have sex, then we won’t have sex, end of story. Capisce?”
Alastor sat up and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He gripped his hair and tugged, trying to find some semblance of control, or at the very least, patience.
“But I do want to,” he said in a voice that was half a miserable moan. “That is entirely the problem. I want this, Lucifer. I want you. In the plainest of possible terms, I want you to fuck me.”
There. He said it. Some small, childish part of him thought that maybe with the revelation would come some magical fix, and that he would finally be healed of whatever bizarre ailment plagued him.
No such luck.
“Okay,” Lucifer said slowly. “You know, there are other ways to have sex than just me putting my cock in you, right?”
Alastor turned his head to look at him. There wasn’t a trace of mischievousness on Lucifer’s face. He wasn’t teasing: he was being dead serious.
“How?”
“Well, we were off to a pretty good start just a few minutes ago,” Lucifer said. He smiled softly and reached out to smooth back a lock of Alastor’s hair. His fingers found the base of Alastor’s ear and began to rub soothing circles there. “Would you like me to show you?”
“What would you be gaining from it?” Alastor asked, a tad suspicious.
Lucifer sighed and scooted closer. He wrapped his arms around Alastor and gently but firmly dragged the taller man to him, until they were both reclining back against the pillows with Alastor’s head resting comfortably on Lucifer’s chest.
“Sex isn’t transactional, Alastor. Not between us. Never between us. You do not owe me for pleasuring you, okay?”
Alastor wanted to believe him. He really, truly did. But in his experience, everything came at a cost. Nothing was without its price, and he did not enjoy the uncertainty that came with this newfound territory of simply being able to just have something, without first having to sacrifice for it.
As if sensing his dilemma, Lucifer’s hand returned to Alastor’s ear, this time to scritch at the base of it reassuringly. “Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Of course,” Alastor replied, without hesitation.
“Then trust that I am getting something from this. I’m going to go out on a limb and risk being a bit candid here, but fuck, Alastor, I’ve been imagining what it would be like to eat you out for weeks. Watching that smile of yours twist in pleasure. Your cute little ears fall back. The noises you’d make. If you don’t think I’ll be thoroughly enjoying myself the entire time, then you’re very much mistaken, baby.”
Alastor shivered. He knew only in the most practical of ways what eating out meant, and even then only thanks to the filth that Angel Dust regularly spewed at the hotel’s bar. Would Lucifer really enjoy doing something like that? Something so crude?
Lucifer continued to pet through Alastor’s hair while he silently deliberated. It was that action - the calm, unwavering movements that neither pressured nor cajoled - that helped Alastor to make up his mind.
“Okay,” he said softly. “If you’re certain that is something you would like to try.”
“Is it something you want to try?”
“Yes.” Alastor wriggled out of Lucifer’s hold and propped himself up with one elbow on his side to face him. “Will you show me?”
Lucifer smiled and reached out. He cupped Alastor’s jaw and ran his thumb along Alastor’s cheekbone. “Of course, sweetness. Lie back for me.”
Alastor did as he was told and reclined back against the pillows. Lucifer helped fluff them a little to ensure that he was comfortable, then moved to settle himself on his belly between Alastor’s legs. He smoothed his hands up the outside of Alastor’s thighs, to the sharply protruding bones of his hips. There, he rubbed soothing circles into the taut flesh with his thumbs.
“You just tell me if I do anything that you don’t like, okay? Or anything that you do.”
Lucifer winked at him then, a clumsy, endearing action that was really more of a blink than anything and so characteristically Lucifer it had Alastor melting into the bed. Lucifer was not Vox, nor any other man. He would not push for more than he was given. He would not hurt Alastor.
Alastor let out a long, slow breath, and finally relaxed.
Lucifer smiled at him softly. Then, he ducked his head and placed a kiss to the hollow of the inside of Alastor’s hipbone.
Alastor sucked in a breath through his teeth. Lucifer’s lips were warm, searing his skin but mellowing his soul. He continued to kiss across Alastor’s lower abdomen on a steady path inward, until he reached the dip of his navel.
Lucifer’s tongue flickered from his mouth, the dual tips tickling the sensitive skin of Alastor’s belly. Alastor flinched and raised his head, curious to see what Lucifer was up to. He was shocked when Lucifer laid the flat of his tongue over Alastor’s navel and licked across it in a slow, filthy pass that left saliva shimmering on his skin.
“Lucifer, what are you…?”
“Shh,” Lucifer soothed. “Just relax and enjoy the show, pretty boy.”
Alastor swallowed hard and tried to do as he was told, but it was difficult to relax when Lucifer was licking at his stomach and bellybutton like an ice cream cone. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t exactly stimulating, either. That was, until Alastor realized exactly what Lucifer was up to.
Lucifer was giving him a demonstration. Warming Alastor up for the main event by showing him exactly what he would be doing with that wicked tongue just a few inches southwards, where Alastor would be unable to see the details of the act. The epiphany had his face flushing a bright, humiliated red; even more so when Lucifer’s tongue dipped inside, lapping at the small divot that marked where Alastor’s life had begun.
“Lucifer,” Alastor whined. His cunt clenched around nothing, a dribble of slick leaking down to slip between his cheeks. Instinctively, he tried to close his legs, but Lucifer’s broad shoulders prevented him. He could only squirm as Lucifer continued to kiss and suck at the skin around Alastor’s bellybutton, turning it shiny with saliva and red from tender abuse.
“I’m getting there,” Lucifer mumbled against Alastor’s skin. He shifted to curl his arms under Alastor’s thighs, hiking his long legs over Lucifer’s shoulders and angling his hips upwards so he could gain better access to the prize that lay between.
Finally, he began to kiss down towards the apex of Alastor’s thighs. He stopped to nuzzle at the thatch of fur that covered Alastor’s mons. Alastor’s ears folded back from a mixture of embarrassment and arousal when Lucifer inhaled there, deep and greedy, as if he could soak in Alastor’s scent like a sponge.
Lucifer’s face never lifted from Alastor’s sex, even when his lips encountered the matted curls that dripped with arousal. His eyes opened, twin garnets swimming in pools of gold. He met Alastor’s gaze over the long length of his body and held it as he pushed his tongue between the lips of Alastor’s pussy.
Alastor had been determined to maintain eye contact, but all sense of stubbornness flew from him when the hot length of Lucifer’s tongue met the soft swell of his cunt. He threw his head back against the pillows with a cry, his sharp claws piercing through the bedding with a ripping noise that he barely registered.
Lucifer did not give him even a moment to catch his breath. He laved through the inner folds of Alastor’s sex hungrily, lapping from the upper edge of his hole to the oversensitive bud of his clitoris. Alastor yelped when Lucifer’s tongue brushed him there, his thighs jumping around Lucifer’s head. Lucifer gentled his touch, licking around Alastor’s clit rather than pushing his tongue directly across it.
“Lucifer,” Alastor moaned. “Oh, yes, like that. Please.”
Lucifer hummed affirmingly against Alastor’s cunt, sending an entirely new wave of sensation through him. Alastor cried out and arched upwards, for once into the touch of another rather than away from it. Lucifer held him through every rock of his hips, never once letting up from the steady swirl of his tongue around his clit.
Once Alastor had finally gotten used to that sensation, Lucifer besieged him anew by splitting the dual tips of his tongue to cradle the needy bud from either side. The flat of his tongue pressed into the very root of Alastor’s clit with firm, unyielding pressure, and Alastor howled. His hips jolted up, nearly bucking Lucifer’s face from between his legs, but Lucifer pinned him to the mattress and held him there as he repeated the motion over and over and over, until a molten, liquid sensation began to pool deep in Alastor’s pelvis.
“I think- I think I-” Alastor slurred. He gripped the sheets between his fingers so hard the stitches popped, his ankles crossing at the small of Lucifer’s back and digging in harshly. “Lucifer, I’m going to-”
“That’s a good boy; just relax into it for me, sweetness,” a voice to Alastor’s right said. Alastor jumped and glanced over, only to find one of Lucifer’s clones perched on the edge of the bed. He smiled and reached out, running a soothing hand through Alastor’s hair. “You gonna come for me, honey?”
Alastor moaned and nodded, his gaze glassy with pleasure. He nuzzled into Lucifer’s hand, sighing into the comforting warmth of Lucifer’s palm cradling his jaw.
“Good. That’s very good, Alastor. Your body knows what to do. Just lie back and let it. I’ll be right here to catch you.”
Alastor whined. The knot in his pelvis was growing tight, hot, hurtling him towards a precipice he did not know if he was ready for. He closed his eyes and turned his head, hiding his face in the warm safety of Lucifer’s hand as he was driven up to the very brink, then began to fall.
Alastor’s mouth fell open around a silent scream, his hips bucking helplessly against Lucifer’s face as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him. It was all-consuming, dragging him down into a sea of white where nothing had meaning except the feeling of Lucifer’s tongue on him, still patiently doling out pleasure as he worked Alastor through his orgasm.
When it was over, Alastor slumped back onto the bed, utterly boneless. His skin was buzzing pleasantly, his mind soupy and blank - but, beneath all that, there was still a nagging, niggling urge that he couldn’t quite kick. His cunt was squeezing down on nothing, trying to milk an object that was not there. The desire to be full was ever-present, driving the last vestiges of Alastor’s orgasm away and leaving him feeling cold.
He opened his eyes and stared past Lucifer’s clone at a blank spot on the wall. He didn’t move when the clone ducked down and placed an affectionate kiss on his brow before disappearing in a wash of red and gold sparkles. He didn’t move when Lucifer gently placed his legs back down on the bed and sat up, discreetly wiping his face with the back of his hand as he did. He didn’t move when Lucifer spooned in behind him and gathered him up in his arms.
“Are you alright?” Lucifer whispered against Alastor’s shoulder.
Alastor tried to nod, but his head would not follow the command from his brain. Instead, all he could do was let out a choked whimpering sound, one that was so utterly unlike him that he felt Lucifer tense up behind him.
“Alastor,” Lucifer said firmly. He helped Alastor get turned around so that they could face each other properly. Once he caught sight of Alastor’s face, his startled expression softened into one of understanding. “Oh, love. You’re dropping, that’s all. Here, cuddle close to me.”
Lucifer guided Alastor down to rest against his chest. He was warm; Alastor had not realized that he had been shivering until that moment. Lucifer’s wings emerged in a flurry of feathers, tucking them both away into a dark cocoon of Lucifer.
“Just breathe,” Lucifer whispered into Alastor’s hair. He stroked a hand down Alastor’s back, his palm broad and warm. “You’ll come out of it soon. It’s normal.”
“What’s happening to me?” Alastor mumbled. He felt unable to focus, as if he were on the verge of fainting, though he could see and hear clearly.
“You’re going through a drop, that’s all,” Lucifer explained. “It happens sometimes as a result of crashing endorphins. Almost like going into shock. Relax, and focus on me.”
Lucifer’s voice was so soft, so persuasive, Alastor had no choice but to relax against him, his rigid muscles going lax and his eyes slipping closed. He was still shivering, but less so now with Lucifer’s arms and wings tucked around him.
Silver-tongued, indeed.
Alastor’s eyes opened. He tilted his head back to look up at Lucifer, who looked back placidly, his brow raising in question.
“I have an idea.”
“Oh?” Lucifer asked curiously. “What is it?”
Alastor scooted up, placed a kiss to the hinge of Lucifer’s jaw, and told him.
•
Alastor awoke over a week later, his limbs heavy and head filled with cotton.
Immediately, he knew what was happening, though the realization did not alarm him. In fact, he had been growing rather impatient in the last few days, wondering when Lucifer would enact their little plan. No doubt that was part of it; Lucifer wanted to keep him guessing, wanted to build the anticipation until Alastor was squirming with it.
After seven days of nothing more than gentle kisses and soft cuddles - and one memorable interlude that featured Lucifer’s hand down Alastor’s pants, his thumb strumming Alastor’s clit and his other hand on his thin waist, keeping him pinned to the wooden shelves of the pantry so Alastor’s quaking knees didn’t give out entirely - Alastor was antsy for it, his mind conjuring all sorts of wicked ways that Lucifer might choose to go about their agreement.
The details of the thing were not exact; shocking, for an Overlord that had built his reputation upon dealmaking. But Alastor was not so worried about the when, the where, or the how, only that it would happen, and that Lucifer would not put him under completely. Alastor wanted to remember it in its entirety, especially if it worked.
Alastor tried and failed to lift his head. His legs twitched, and for the first time he felt the ticklish softness of Lucifer’s hair between his thighs.
“Mm?”
“Morning, sunshine,” Lucifer said. Alastor was able to tilt his head enough to see Lucifer lying on his belly between Alastor’s legs, a soft smile on his face. He was entirely naked, shameless in his display. “How’re you feeling?”
It took Alastor a moment to find his words, and longer still to coordinate his tongue and lips enough to speak them. “Floaty. Did you drug me?”
“No.” Lucifer pressed a kiss to Alastor’s inner thigh, then gave the thin skin there a light nip. “That wasn’t our agreement, and besides, I’ve never been a fan of that stuff. I just whispered a few choice words in your ear while you were sleeping. Got you nice and relaxed for when you woke up. Is it too much?”
“No,” Alastor hummed. “‘S’okay.”
He took a moment to take stock. He was naked, as they had originally discussed, though mostly covered from the waist-up by their shared duvet to keep off the chill. Though Lucifer was between his legs, it seemed as though he had yet to truly touch him: his hands were on the outside of Alastor’s thighs, smoothing up and down patiently.
“How long…?”
“Don’t try to talk,” Lucifer soothed. “I got you, sweet thing. Just relax and listen to the sound of my voice. Can you do that for me?”
Alastor nodded dumbly. His eyes were heavy-lidded, though he was able to keep them open to watch Lucifer turn his head and begin trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses down the inside of his thigh. When he reached the crook where Alastor’s thigh met his hip, he raised his head and began to speak.
“I don’t want you to worry about anything other than how good I’m making you feel,” Lucifer instructed. Though his voice was soft, it seemed to resonate throughout the room; or perhaps only through Alastor’s head. He closed his eyes and latched onto the dulcet tones, allowing Lucifer to lull him down to exactly where he wanted him. “I want that head of yours empty of all else. I want you to be lax and open for me, your pretty pink cunt wet and ready for when I finally touch you.”
Alastor let out a slurred moan, his head lolling across the pillow. His cunt throbbed in response to Lucifer’s silver-laced words, his legs falling open of their own accord.
“Good boy,” Lucifer quietly praised. He reached up, one hand sliding over the flat plane of Alastor’s abdomen and up to his chest beneath the duvet. His clever fingers sought Alastor’s nipple hidden within the fur there. He rolled his thumb across it, the little bud pebbling beneath the firm touch. “You want my mouth here, sweetheart?”
Alastor whined affirmatively, his fingers weakly gripping the sheets at his hips. The part of him that loathed being controlled, being handled, rebelled at the ease of which Lucifer was able to lull him into a submissive trance. Once, long ago, another had tried his hand at hypnotizing him, only to receive a shadowy tentacle through his screen for his efforts. Never would Alastor allow himself to be controlled in such a way, he had vowed to himself then and there. It was deplorable; worse than drugs or outright manipulation. To have one’s own mind turned against them was as vile of an act as Alastor could imagine.
But Lucifer was not Vox. That time and place were far behind Alastor, locked safely within his memories where they could no longer touch him. He would never feel staticky hands on him again; only the gentle caress of sin-burnt ones, as if he were something worth being gentle with.
When the searing heat of Lucifer’s lips met Alastor’s chest, a single tear slipped down Alastor’s temple, lost within his hair before Lucifer could notice and fuss over him. He weakly arched into the touch, craving it, craving Lucifer.
No, Lucifer was not Vox. He did not harm. He did not force, or take more than he was given. He healed. He took away the nightmares and insecurities and replaced them with laughter and light and an unconditional understanding that Alastor didn't quite feel that he deserved, but was silently and endlessly grateful for nonetheless. He couldn't take away Alastor's pain entirely, but he soothed it.
He alleviated it.
Lucifer’s mouth closed around Alastor’s nipple and sucked, the sensation lancing through Alastor’s brain like a lighting strike. With Lucifer’s hypnotization compelling him, he was able to do little more than arch and moan, but it hardly seemed to matter. Lucifer got the message all the same; he flattened his tongue over Alastor’s nipple and gave it a slow parting lick before switching to the second.
Lucifer went back and forth like that for some time, his mouth suckling at one nipple while his fingers plucked at the other, before switching and repeating the entire process. Alastor could do nothing but moan deliriously, his head rocking back and forth across the pillow, his lashes fluttering. By the time Lucifer finished, his nipples were harder than they had ever been, bruise-tender and blushing from abuse. Between his legs, Alastor could feel his cunt drooling over his cheeks; his tail; the bed. His clit was erect and throbbing, peeking from its protective hood already.
“There you are,” Lucifer cooed. “All worked up for me, perfect boy. Did that feel good?”
Alastor moaned, his eyes sliding open with monumental effort to take in the hazy image of Lucifer kneeling between his legs.
Lucifer leaned in and captured Alastor’s lax lips in a kiss. Alastor clumsily tried to keep up, but he was so lethargic from the hypnotization, he simply gave up and allowed Lucifer to take his fill of his mouth. He could feel that Lucifer was hard; his cock bumped Alastor’s inner thigh, smearing precum there. The sensation did not alarm him as it might have had he been fully lucid. Instead he whined around Lucifer’s tongue and tried to spread his legs wider, the deep, aching desire he had come to know only recently and only ever with Lucifer rearing its head within him.
“Shh,” Lucifer hushed him as he leaned back. “We’re getting there. Relax for me, sweet thing. Let me take care of you.”
Alastor didn’t know it was possible to be more relaxed, but his body somehow managed it anyway in the wake of Lucifer’s silver-laced instruction. He melted into the bed, his limbs going boneless and his eyes slipping shut. Lucifer pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and pulled back, sliding down the length of Alastor’s limp, supine body until he was nestled between Alastor’s thighs once more.
“Look at you,” Lucifer said, his voice reverent and filled with unmistakable arousal. “So wet for me and I’ve hardly touched you. You’re gushing, baby. Is this all for me?”
Alastor groaned and turned his head to the side. He would have covered his face if he didn’t feel so boneless, but as it was, he was forced to face Lucifer’s endless stream of praise.
“Keep breathing for me. In and out, there you are. You’re all flushed, pretty and pink, practically begging me to touch you.”
Lucifer’s thumbs found Alastor’s outer labia and spread him, exposing his hole and twitching clit to the open air. Another gush of wetness spilled from Alastor’s cunt, slipping down his cheeks to mat the already-soaked fur of his tail. Humiliated arousal rocked through Alastor, though it was not enough to disrupt the effects of Lucifer’s induced haze.
With a moan, Lucifer leaned in and sealed his lips over the flexing bud of Alastor’s clitoris. Alastor cried out, his eyes rolling back from the sudden stimulation. It was intense - more intense than it had been when Lucifer had first performed such an act on him - but the hypnotization kept Alastor lax and pliant, helplessly accepting everything that Lucifer gave him.
Lucifer sucked at Alastor’s clit in slow, rhythmic pulls, his jaw flexing against the junction of Alastor’s hip and thigh. It wasn’t until Alastor was squirming, his voice breaking around a feverish moan, that he relented, his lips and tongue painting a sloppy path down to Alastor’s hole.
Alastor gasped at the first tentative swipe of Lucifer’s tongue over his hole, his eyes flying open.
“Shh, you’re alright,” Lucifer murmured against the wet heat of Alastor’s sex. “Relax, sweetheart. Let me in.”
And Alastor did.
Lucifer’s tongue slipped into Alastor’s cunt as easy as anything, the fluttering hole wet and supple enough that it took next to no effort on Lucifer’s part to push inside. Alastor clenched down instinctively, bracing himself for the pain, but there was none. He felt nothing but the gentle tug of the dual tips of Lucifer’s tongue on his sensitive rim, spreading apart and pulling him open from the inside before plunging in again.
Lucifer glutted upon him like a man starved, moaning and panting against Alastor’s sex. His hands clamped down tightly over Alastor’s hips, though Alastor put up no resistance. He was lost, marvelling in the sensation of something inside that did not send that hateful stab of pain through him for the very first time.
Lucifer probed deeper, his tongue flicking upwards and pressing firmly against something that made Alastor keen mindlessly. His legs spasmed and fell limp, tears of overstimulation spilling out from the corners of his eyes that were squeezed tightly shut.
“L’cifer,” he slurred. “Oh, Lu.”
Lucifer pulled back just long enough to place a wet, sloppy kiss to Alastor’s swollen clit. “That’s right, honey,” he mouthed against the tight swell, “you just lie back and let me take care of everything. I’m going to make you feel so good. So good. My sweet boy, with his sweet, perfect little cunt. You’re going to look so good stretched on my fingers.”
“God,” Alastor choked out. Lucifer had never spoken to him in such a way; it was as overwhelming as it was erotic. His head spun, his breaths going down in sharp heaves of his chest. He was so overcome, he did not notice Lucifer tucking one hand beneath his chin, his fingers probing Alastor’s folds.
He did notice when one of Lucifer’s fingers began to breach him.
Alastor’s gut swooped and cramped, his cunt clenching. He let out a small cry, though it hadn’t even truly hurt; it was his own anticipation of the hurt that made it so much worse.
“Relax,” Lucifer ordered, his voice gentle but firm. “Breathe for me, Alastor. In and out. Good boy.”
The command sunk into Alastor’s brain, forcing his body to go slack and his lungs to open, oxygen rushing down into them. He shivered hard and went limp, the tight clench of his cunt over Lucifer’s finger easing.
“Good,” Lucifer quietly praised. “You open up so beautifully for me, love.”
He slowly pushed his finger deeper inside, easing it all the way in to the third knuckle as Alastor whimpered and moaned deliriously. There wasn’t pain, not anymore; Alastor was so amazed by that fact, he was caught completely off guard when Lucifer crooked his finger upwards, scrubbing the pad of it against the soft swell of Alastor’s g-spot.
“Oh,” Alastor moaned. His hips raised up on their own accord, pushing into Lucifer’s touch. “More. Give me more.”
“Greedy,” Lucifer tsk’d, though the affection in his voice was unmistakable. He withdrew his finger, only to tuck a second alongside the first before pressing back in.
The stretch was there, unavoidable as Alastor’s cunt was tested for the very first time, but it did not leave him feeling torn open and raw. Lucifer’s fingers made a soft schlick noise as he pressed them in deep and rubbed circles over Alastor’s sensitive g-spot. Alastor tipped his head back and moaned, wet and reedy.
There was something building within him, a hot wave cresting low in his belly. Alastor shook his head side-to-side, tears spilling down his cheeks. He didn’t want to finish like this, with Lucifer so far away from him.
“Lu,” he whined, “need you close.”
“I hear you, baby,” Lucifer agreed. He extracted his fingers and slid up the bed, onto his side with Alastor cradled in his arms. His hand slipped down between Alastor’s legs to cup the entirety of Alastor’s sex in his palm and give it a squeeze. Alastor moaned as more wetness spilled from him, leaking between Lucifer’s fingers in a sticky deluge.
He closed his eyes and turned his head, unable to watch as two of Lucifer’s fingers slipped back inside. It felt heavenly; the closest thing to rapture he would ever experience. Pain was no longer a fear, his previous failures forgotten in the wake of Lucifer’s flexing wrist brushing over his clit and his fingers stroking over that sweet spot deep inside.
“M’ gonna come,” Alastor slurred. He fisted the sheets below him, trying to turn away, to cover himself, the need to hide from his own vulnerability consuming him. Lucifer did not allow him the chance. He slipped his unoccupied arm beneath Alastor’s neck and cupped his chin, holding his head upright so he could watch as Alastor fell apart.
The orgasm was unlike anything Alastor had ever felt before. It was similar to the clitoral orgasms Lucifer had given him, but also altogether different: the sensation was deeper, stronger, as if it were being pulled from the very marrow of his bones. Static screeched and popped, the mirror on the vanity cracking down the middle before the glass gave way with the raucous chime of dozens of silver-backed pieces shattering on the floor.
All the while, Lucifer murmured encouragement into Alastor’s hair: “You’re doing so well for me, that’s it, let yourself feel it, good boy, Alastor, oh, look at you.”
It seemed to go on forever, though it could not have been more than a minute at most. When it was over, Alastor slumped, exhausted and sated. Little bursts of sensation sparked through his pussy as Lucifer removed his fingers; scrambled nerve endings still firing off microscopic fireworks beneath his flushed skin.
“How are you feeling?” Lucifer asked. He nuzzled against Alastor’s sweaty temple, placing a kiss there.
“Good,” Alastor mumbled. He was still under the effects of Lucifer’s hypnotic-induced sedation, his entire body warm and light. With a heavy hand, he reached out and pawed pathetically at Lucifer’s cock, flushed a lovely amber colour and drooling at the tip.
“Oh, is there something you still want, sweetheart?” Lucifer teased.
Alastor couldn’t do much more than mumble out a weak “mhm” and wrap his fingers loosely around Lucifer’s straining shaft. Lucifer seemed to understand the message all the same. He shifted so that he was kneeling between Alastor’s legs and took himself in hand, giving himself a few testing strokes. Alastor realized what he was about to do and quickly shook his head, reaching for him again. He didn’t want Lucifer to masturbate over him; he wanted him inside.
“What is it?” Lucifer asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. Alastor weakly hooked his leg over Lucifer’s hip and gave him a tap on the ass with his hoof, trying to draw him forward. He huffed in frustration when Lucifer didn’t budge.
“I want… inside,” Alastor slurred.
Lucifer’s expression cleared into one of understanding, then worry. He chewed his lip and looked down at Alastor’s cunt contemplatively.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll tell you if it hurts,” Alastor assured. “Lucifer. Please.”
Lucifer searched his face for a long moment, then finally conceded. “Okay, but just a little. I don’t want to risk pushing in too deep.”
Alastor nodded eagerly; anything for Lucifer to at least try. He wanted it so badly he could cry from it - was crying from it, silent tears tracking down his cheeks. Lucifer leaned in and licked them away, the move slotting their hips together snugly. With one hand, Lucifer guided himself to Alastor’s sex, catching the wetness there before gliding through Alastor’s folds.
It was slick and obscene. Alastor threw his head back when the spongy head of Lucifer’s cock bumped against his clit, smearing precum over it. Lucifer ground down meanly, circling the tip over the oversensitive bud again and again until Alastor was shaking his head and crying out, his legs spasming around Lucifer’s hips.
“Okay, okay. I’ve got you,” Lucifer panted. He drew back so he could see what he was doing and lined himself up.
The pressure butting against his entrance should have frightened Alastor, but it didn’t. He whined and reached down, framing his own sex with his fingers. He spread himself beneath Lucifer’s attentive gaze, exposing his dripping hole shamelessly. Lucifer’s eyes bled red, his horns bursting forth from his skull.
“Mine,” he hissed. He tapped the head of his cock against Alastor’s waiting hole once, twice. Alastor moaned, unable to properly voice how much he wanted Lucifer to just fuck him already.
Luckily, it seemed that Lucifer was done waiting. He notched his cock against Alastor’s entrance and finally began to push inside.
At first, it felt alright: similar to the stretch of Lucifer’s fingers, though more uniform and without the knobbly bumps of his knuckles. The head of Lucifer’s cock sank past Alastor’s rim, another inch or so of his shaft following. Elation lit up Alastor’s senses - they were really doing it, he wasn’t broken after all, Lucifer was really, truly fucking him - but then a cramp seized him, making him cry out. His hand flew from where he was holding his labia open to Lucifer’s wrist, clamping over it and stilling his progression.
“It’s okay, baby, I have you,” Lucifer cooed. “Relax. Breathe for me. You’re doing so well, Alastor. You don’t need to take anymore. I can fuck you just like this, nice and easy.”
Alastor welcomed the silver-lined words, letting them sink into his brain and forcibly relax his muscles. Gradually, bit by bit, the cramp eased, his cunt fluttering and opening to Lucifer’s cock.
True to his word, Lucifer did not push farther inside. Instead, he withdrew, until just the very tip kissed the entrance of Alastor’s pussy. Then he thurst his hips forward, fucking back in. He repeated the motion; in and out, in and out, never once pressing past the point where Alastor had experienced pain. It should have looked comical - Lucifer fucking into Alastor with most of his cock still in his hand - but it wasn’t. Both of them were panting harshly, overwhelmed by the tight squeeze of Alastor’s cunt around the head of Lucifer’s cock.
“I want you to come again,” Lucifer suddenly said. His voice was low and rough; rougher than Alastor had ever heard it. “Touch yourself, sweet thing. Show me what I taught you.”
“Fuck,” Alastor mumbled. He shakily released the hand that was still wrapped around Lucifer’s wrist in a death-grip and brought it to his cunt. He tentatively touched the place where Lucifer was stretching him open, feeling the hard, slick flesh working into him. They both moaned.
Alastor gathered the wetness there and brought his fingers up, swirling them around his own clit. The pleasure was immense, unlike anything he had ever felt before. He squeezed his eyes shut and thumped his head against the pillows, his orgasm building swiftly.
Lucifer wasn’t much further behind. He stroked himself in time with each inward thrust, his knuckles bumping the back of Alastor’s hand where he rubbed furiously at his clit.
It was Alastor who came first, with a broken wail that burst the lightbulb of their bedside lamp. Lucifer followed only seconds later; his cum filled Alastor to the brim, so much that it leaked out around Lucifer’s cock and dripped into the ruined fur of his tail.
Lucifer pulled out and slumped forward, just barely managing to catch himself before he crushed Alastor beneath him. He flopped onto his side and dragged Alastor to his chest. Alastor went happily, floating in a haze of ecstasy that only Lucifer had ever been able to bestow.
Between his legs ached, but it was not the sharp pain he had so worried over; it was a good ache, like that of a well-used muscle, one born of love and attentiveness rather than hurt and fear.
“Would you like me to lift the hypnosis now?” Lucifer murmured against the base of Alastor’s ear.
“Mm, no,” Alastor replied groggily. “Let me stay like this awhile.”
He floated in the stupor Lucifer had so lovingly crafted for him, relishing in the calmness. He knew there was a chance that when Lucifer fully revoked the hypnotism he would hurt for true, but he also knew that Lucifer would be there to alleviate that, too.
Alastor let out a deep, shuddering sigh, a weight he had been carrying since he was old enough to understand how his own sex worked rolling off of his chest. He turned his head and tucked himself close to Lucifer’s side, his eyes slipping shut.
Finally, he rested.