Archive of Our Own

Their first time starts with a question.

“If you could do anything,” Lucifer finds himself saying, running his hand over a perfectly ironed shirt, “what would you do?”

Alastor leans more comfortably against his pillows, better to watch Lucifer struggle with his buttons. “I’d ban any electronic newer than a toaster.”

“Of course you would. But really, what would you do?”

“I’d make it so I wouldn’t be asked this kind of questions ever again.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes. No getting anything answer out of him, then. It’s been a gamble anyway.

"If you could do anything, what would you do?” Alastor asks.

"I'd punch God in the face. Then I'd get rid of these fucking buttons."

Alastor laughs, loud and startled. Startling too, because it sounds like a real laugh, not whatever the fuck he usually does with his mouth. “You would, wouldn’t you? Never let it be said our small king of the Pride Ring has forgotten the meaning of hubris.”

“You’re one to talk. I’ve only ever seen you pick on those stronger than you.”

“What’s the point of deigning those who are not with my time of day? You get as much as you’re worth.”

Given they’ve been at this game of cat and mouse, devil and sinner, for over three months now, Lucifer considers this to be the biggest compliment Alastor has paid him so far. The second comes when Alastor reaches up and undoes that blasted button himself. Just the one. Lucifer still feels like he’s won the round.

He drags his palm along his collarbone slowly, repetitively, then presses his fingers in the joint between neck and shoulder that he knows is giving him shit whenever he gets too tense, which is always. He doesn’t necessarily expect a reaction, more into the feeling of skin against skin, but Alastor does lean his head a fraction to the side, which Lucifer takes as an invitation to continue.

Which he accepts—he's not a monster. But he is just enough of a shit to stop just as he feels the muscle start to unwind.

He undoes two more buttons. “What do you like?”

“Oh, absolutely nothing!” Alastor says with a growing grin and Lucifer stops. “At least to my knowledge. But I would like to see you try your best to refute that.”

Lucifer still hesitates, hands hovering over his shirt. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“We don’t have to.”

“I know,” Alastor says, like he’s an especially slow child. “But I wouldn’t be here in this position if I weren’t curious. Besides, if it’s a flop, I’ll get to know yet another thing you’re bad at, that’s always fun.”

Three months of living in this hotel and the banter is already old, but hasn’t yet lost its lustre. If anything, it’s like an old friend, an ancient armchair that fits him perfectly at the end of a long day. Just like with any old piece of furniture, Lucifer applies more pressure, to see if it can hold all of him: he threads his fingers almost casually through Alastor’s hair and pulls his head back a fraction, baring more of his neck. 

“And if I’m not?”

There’s the slightest, most unnoticeable spark of trepidation on Alastor’s part, a momentary lull in the static. Lucifer himself would’ve missed it had he not been mere inches away from his face.

“Then we’ll deal with that problem when it arises.”

Lucifer smirks. “Confident and efficient.” He tightens his grip on Alastor’s hair again and leans even closer, lips ghosting over his cheek. “You’ll stop me?”

“Yes.”

These were, perhaps, the only words without subterfuge they’ve ever spoken in each other’s presence. The first and the last. Satisfied, Lucifer presses a kiss beneath his eye, then trails his lips to his mouth, kisses him softly, then continues lower. As he opens his mouth against the underside of Alastor’s jaw, he wonders just how many centuries it’s been since he last was this close to anyone.

There is a novelty in that, but also in being able to do this without being squeezed in a dusty broom closet or pressed against a radio booth or hallway wall, where they would have to keep an eye out in case anyone bounded up the stairs unexpectedly. Not that they are actively hiding from the rest of the hotel. That would be undignified and would mean there is something to hide. Which there isn’t. Let them who are without the sin of accidentally starting to make out in the middle of a fight cast the first stone et cetera.

As promised, Alastor is no help whatsoever, a contrast to their past interludes, where he would press and tug and loom like his afterlife depended on it. Like the kissing was part of the argument too—because it was.

Lucifer is surprised to find both attitudes equally compelling. Different challenges to tackle. Nourishment in the cage, isn't that what they say depression lacked?

But perhaps doing a solo psychotherapy session in his head while trying to give the most insufferable demon in Hell a hard-on is not the most effective plan of action.

Alastor sighs. Not necessarily in a good way, more in a hell, this ad break is interminable kinda way.  It’s small and theatrical and something Lucifer has definitely heard him use to annoy people before. And undoubtedly a challenge. Very well. If Alastor wants to play at impatience, what kind of partner is Lucifer not to give him something to really sigh about?

So he trails his mouth down his neck, feels the goosebumps form underneath his tongue, then slowly, ever so slowly, slowly enough that it takes even Alastor a moment to realise it’s happening, he bites down. Alastor’s breath falters, so Lucifer grins against his bruised skin and sucks on the faint puncture marks one more time before disentangling himself from Alastor’s hair and neck and half-undone shirt and sitting himself up. 

There, again, a glimmer of confusion in the static, and then Alastor arches an eyebrow. “Already given up?”

He realises he posed the question too soon a second after Lucifer does, and Lucifer greets his consternation with a grin. “Eager?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d like to see you try.” He casually undoes another button. “Or not. Whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Not whatever this is, certainly.”

“No trust in the process? Darling, you hurt me.”

“You don’t hurt me enough.”

This time, Lucifer lets his grin turn even sharper, his vision narrow like he only so very rarely allows himself to. He means it as a jibe, as a reminder for Alastor not to bite more than he can chew, but it elicits neither the annoyance nor the consternation expected. Instead, Alastor’s eyes darken, pupils blown wide, an uncharacteristic look of hunger on his face.

No, not uncharacteristic. Lucifer has always felt it there, that hunger for power beneath the mask, behind that smile. Uncovered. He’s not smiling now, lips merely parted open as he reaches a hand to Lucifer’s face. He trails two careful fingers over one of his horns, then grabs hold of it and pulls him closer.

Lucifer nearly caves then and there, lets himself be dragged where he’s wanted, but he stops himself at the last second, hands on either side of Alastor’s head, lips a hair’s-breadth apart. With more self-discipline than he thought he possessed, he says, “Ah, ah, manners.”

This could either make it or break it, and he’s as sure he’s going to get kicked out of the room as he is that most of his organs are about to be pulled out of his body. Alastor’s face certainly tells him that he wants to do both of these things, probably multiple times in succession.

But then Alastor presses his lips together, and there’s a thrum of static almost like a displeased growl coming from his throat, before he eventually does spit out a, “Please.”

Myriads of angelic choirs haven’t sounded as sweet at that.

It’s either the well-earned mortification or Lucifer’s glowing eyes that bring a lovely red flush to Alastor’s face, and Lucifer can’t be arsed to find out, because it’s going to be stay there if he has anything to say about it. 

“As you wi—”

He doesn’t get to finish before Alastor yanks on his horn again and draws him into a scorching kiss, all teeth and tongue and stolen breaths. Lucifer lets him indulge for a while, not entirely unaffected, but neither about to give in so soon. Then he pries Alastor’s hand off and presses it calmly yet firmly back to the mattress.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice. Don’t you know it’s impolite to interrupt your betters?”

“Don’t you know it’s impolite to play with your food?” Alastor shoots back.

“Is it, now? How interesting.” His fingers trace Alastor’s jaw pensively. “What should I do with it, then?”

“Bite.”

Lucifer grins, all teeth, then swipes his thumb over Alastor’s parted lips and opens his mouth a fraction wider, ripe fruit free for the taking. Lucifer lays claim to it greedily, swallows down Alastor’s aborted moan when he drags his teeth over his tongue, bites his lip and tightens his hold on his jaw.

He’s not sure which one of them draws first blood, but the intermingling taste stokes a fire that seems to burn away what little self-preservation they still had.

The remaining buttons come undone at a mere swipe of Lucifer’s hand, and then there’s warm skin under his palm, soft and so very real, filling with goosebumps at each touch. Alastor breaks his own fucked-up rule and reaches for Lucifer’s clothes too, untucking his shirt, seeking skin with clumsy motions, until Lucifer grabs his wrists and pins them to either side of his head once more.

A momentary resistance, mostly Alastor testing the leeway of movement he's offered, which is close to none, and then, once satisfied, he sighs into his mouth and lets Lucifer do whatever he pleases.

And Lucifer does. Decadently so, until they’re both breathing raggedly, and Alastor’s lips are bruised a delicious shade of red. Lucifer lets go of his wrists and trails his hands lower down his arms, drinking in the sight as he sits back.

His horns recede, leaving his hair free to fall mussedly over his eyes, but he thinks he’s made his point. Alastor gives him a displeased look, as if he thinks it too, then, in a show of unexpected good-will, he shimmies out of his shirt and sends it to fold on a nearby armchair.

The sight of his bare torso is a lovely thing, skin dark and smooth, almost human. Lucifer will always know it’s there now, under all those layers of blood-red clothes and deadly smiles. It’s a privilege and a luxury all at once.

“Eager,” Lucifer notes again.

“Some of us have actual jobs to get back to and can’t wait on your fumbling all day.”

“You really say the sweetest things,” Lucifer says and scoots back even farther to trail his hands over Alastor’s slacks, from ankle to calf to knee. 

Once he tries to get past that, Alastor snaps his thighs closed. “Undress first.”

“Okay.” Lucifer shrugs and gets off the bed.

He pushes his hair out of his eyes and starts with his suspenders, then untucks the rest of his shirt and gets started on his comparatively more sensible buttons.

He makes a show of it mostly as a joke at first, but then he sees Alastor propped up on his elbows, eyes tracking his every move with avid, if not lustful, attention. So he eases into it, puts on his best showman smile and makes slow work of his waistcoat, his bowtie, his shirt, inhales through his teeth as he unbuckles his trousers and pulls them off along with his underwear in one fell swoop.

When he's bare as the day he was, well,  probably not born, he lets Alastor take one more long look, then skims his fingers over the top of his knees. 

Alastor unclenches his legs in response, allowing his hand to trail lower, and Lucifer gets back on his knees on the bed, making an even slower work of unzipping Alastor's trousers, checking every now and then only to be met with a more and more unimpressed face each time.

Fine, then. He pulls his trousers off with a flourish, followed by his socks, then gets impatient and changes strategies, starts pressing small kisses on the underside of his knee, which then turn open-mouthed as he continues higher up the inside of his bare thighs. 

There’s an intake of breath when he bites down softly, so he drags his teeth more boldly next time, not breaking the skin, but neither leaving it unharmed, and he's rewarded with a bitten off sound when he caresses the bruise with his tongue. So he does that again too, sucks indulgently at the skin until the mattress shudders as Alastor lets himself fall back onto the pillows.

It hasn't escaped his notice that Alastor is not touching him at all, his hands grasping the sheets instead of his hair, his hips charmingly well-behaved even when Lucifer drags his lips lower, mouthing at the crease of his thigh. 

Interesting, that. Lucifer supposes such good behaviour from such an unexpected source ought to be rewarded in some way.

There is the slightest tremor when he trails his lips over his underwear, then an aborted thrust and a bitten off moan when he mouths at the wet patch over his crotch. Lucifer does it again, revelling in the taste, the smell, the promise underneath, and that rewards him with an actual gasp.

There's quite a healthy dose of surprise to the sound too, so Lucifer pulls back for a moment. “Has anyone done this for you before?”

Alastor gives him a dour look as he tries to regain his breath, as if he's now unimpressed at both of them. “Not really.”

“Not recently?”

“Not ever. I didn’t have the fortune of meeting the most enterprising people where it came to this.”

“Egotistic?”

“Worse. Utilitarian.”

“Ah.” Lucifer hums in acknowledgement, then his grin returns. “Then let's find out what you like.”

The fact that Alastor poses no complaint and actually lifts his hips to help Lucifer take off his underwear is a compliment in and of itself. The shuddery whimper he lets out when Lucifer lets his breath ghost over him is another.

Thus incentivised, Lucifer starts slow, nuzzling at his hair, leaving soft kisses on either side of his mound, before he finally allows himself a tentative swipe through that tantalising slickness. There’s a shuddery intake of breath above him, but nothing more, so he lets himself become greedier, dipping his tongue between the folds and humming with pleasure until the sounds he's rewarded with are just as sweet.

Alastor’s hips start trembling once he settles into a rhythm, cupping his mouth over his arousal and working his jaw in slick, unhurried movements. Lucifer lets go of one of his thighs to hold his hips still against the mattress instead, running his thumb up and down his hipbone in a mimicry of his tongue.

When Alastor grips the sheets hard enough that there's a tearing sound, Lucifer pulls back to smile at him. “You can touch me, you know?”

Alastor pants. ”I know.”

“Then what? You want me to have free rein?”

“… something like that.”

“My, what an uncharacteristic show of trust!” Lucifer grins. “Anything I want?”

“Within… reason.”

Since he’s already here, he starts leaving a new bruise on his other thigh. “Mm, and what reason is that?”

Alastor shudders softly at every touch. “Don’t… compel me.”

“Not a problem, I have no interest in that. What else?”

“Stop when I tell you.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t stop otherwise.”

Lucifer grins against his skin. “What if I want to?”

Part of Alastor must know what he means, because he shudders yet again. “Then I suppose that would be your right.”

“It would, indeed. May I go back to my meal?”

“You’re the one who interrupted yours—ah!”

The rest is drowned out by a helpless moan as Lucifer returns his open mouth to him and starts circling the swollen nub of his arousal in tight, bold strokes. His own cock throbs, leaking against the mattress, but he refuses to allow himself even that small amount of friction. Instead, he sucks Alastor’s small cock into his mouth hungrily, then lets it go with a filthy sound and dips his tongue into his entrance, laps languidly until Alastor's hips start jerking again, then holds them still as he presses small, chaste kisses to his cock.

Lucifer would've spent the rest of the night right here, with Alastor's trembling thighs on either side of his head and his increasingly slicker folds beneath his tongue, but he promised him a thorough experiment.

So he pulls back all the way and sits back on his knees, watching Alastor’s dazed expression with an inordinate amount of pride. “Shall we put that on the list, then?”

“Fuck…" Alastor breathes out and gazes up at him blearily. “What list?”

Lucifer grins, swiping some of the slickness off his chin and licking his thumb clean. “The list of things you like—and that I’m very good at.”

Alastor lets his head fall back on the pillow. “Oh, fuck you…"

“You're well under way,” Lucifer observes. “Can I use my fingers?”

“Yes.”

He repositions himself higher on the bed, retrieves some lube, then slicks his fingers even more between Alastor's folds before caressing his entrance. And oh, this is lovely, he can watch Alastor's face at his leisure from this position. His breath is punched out of him as he presses the first finger in that hot tightness, and Alastor seems be doing not much better, smile gone and brown pinched in a strained expression, eyes never leaving Lucifer’s.

At least until Lucifer leans in and captures that shining mouth once more, drinking in every gasp, then dragging his mouth lower to press wet kisses into the side of his neck.

And this is when Alastor decides to touch him at last, threading his fingers through his hair and keeping Lucifer right when he is.

Lucifer pulls his finger out and revels in Alastor's shudder, then grins against his skin when two fingers make him whimper and grab at Lucifer's shoulders, blunt fingernails leaving what marks they can. Not sighing in faux disinterest now, are we? Lovely. He presses the heel of his palm down once he finds a good rhythm and Alastor chokes back a gasp, a moan, a curse, goes near unintelligible as Lucifer grinds his hand in and over him in slow but merciless movements.

“Fuck, God—“

Fuck God is right. Lucifer might be going a bit delirious.

He was supposed to experiment, but, well, he's tempted. He stills his hand and looks at Alastor's sweat- and tear-streaked face.

“Do you want to come?”

“What…?"

“Do you want to come right now?” Lucifer asks again, pressing the heel of his palm against his sodden cock demonstratively. “I can make you come.”

Alastor gasps, hips rising to meet more of that friction. Lucifer lets him have just a taste more before pulling his hand back, letting his thoughts clear however moderately.

“I…" Alastor licks his lips. Looks at him and his pupils are blown wide, hair sticking to his forehead. Lucifer feels suddenly ravenous. “No, not yet… Go ahead.”

What luck. He might get sated yet. 

It’s still lovely to see him trembling helplessly as Lucifer pulls his fingers out, so he sucks them into his mouth demonstratively, lewdly, not taking his eyes away from Alastor. “How do you want me?”

It takes Alastor a moment to focus on the question instead of his mouth, but when his does, his smile turns mischievous. “I wouldn’t dare presume… How do you want me, your majesty?”

Fuck. Lucifer’s cock jolts between them, so he gets on his hands and knees above Alastor once more, if only to make sure he’s not about to come on his thigh. “I want you exactly like this, as you are.”

“Convenient,” Alastor says.

“Isn't it just?” 

Lucifer kisses him, and this time, Alastor’s hands are all over him, in his hair and across his back and around his neck as he locks his thighs around Lucifer’s hips. When he crosses his ankles and pulls him down, their cocks slide deliciously together, swollen and wet and growing dangerously close. Lucifer leans his forehead against his chest and forces himself to slow down.

“Give me a moment.”

He reaches for the lube again, bites down on a whimper as he gives himself a good stroke, then repositions Alastor’s legs around himself. He watches Alastor's face carefully as he guides himself in, noting the small frown at the first moment of pressure, the parted lips as he pushes in a bit deeper, growing tighter and tighter around him.

Lucifer strokes his thigh patiently. “Relax. I’m following your lead.”

“Such a gentleman,” Alastor breathes out stiltedly.

Lucifer grins. “Not a man, but I’ll take it. Relax, Al.”

It’s slower than unwinding an antique clock, but he does. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back, one hand closed around Lucifer’s wrist, the other one loosening its grip on the slightly torn sheets. It’s a show of trust Lucifer feels like he hasn’t earned, but he bottles that feeling up for another day.

He goes slow, trying to keep his thoughts somewhat clear and his breath even. Then, all too soon, Lucifer is sheathed inside him entirely, and sweat is dripping down his temples from the effort it takes not to come right here and now. 

Alastor doesn’t look much better. Which is to say, he looks gorgeous, all that lovely expanse of skin glistening with sweat, lips parted and bitten nearly raw, half-lidded eyes watching Lucifer—but also like he’s moments away from being completely undone.

They stay still for a while, just breathing and watching each other, then Alastor says, “Did you forget your line?”

“What…?"

“Move, Lucifer.”

Lucifer laughs, and the tremor makes them both shudder. Then, like the gentleperson he clearly is, he does as he is told. Leaning down to taste the corner of Alastor’s mouth, he pulls backs slightly, pushes in once more, pulls back a bit farther, swallowing every breathy sound off Alastor's lips.

Then he's almost out of him fully, so he rolls his hips forward in a languros move that makes Alastor let out the loveliest sound. So he does what anyone would do. He does it again, and again, and again, not quickening his pace at all, until Alastor is practically clinging to him.

“I'm not... specialised in this... but I think... you're supposed to go faster…"

Lucifer hums and holds his rhythm. “Do you want me to go faster?” No answer. “Because personally I rather like you like this.”

Alastor groans.

“What do you say?” Lucifer pushes on, merciless. “Shall I go faster?” He punctuates this with a sharp thrust that earns him an exquisite if overwhelmed cry. “Or shall I have you how I want you, shaking and whimpering in my bed, wracked with pleasure so slowly that by the time I’m done with you, you won’t feel your legs?”

The following display of shaking and whimpering is all the answer he needs, but he still waits a few moments as he gently rocks into him.

Then Alastor breathes out, “Hell… do whatever you want.”

“Thought so,” Lucifer says, licking a fresh tear off his cheek. “You’re so lovely like this, so nice and sweet, so good for me, and all mine. Oh, Al, I’ll take such good care of you.”

He jots down another line on the list. That arrogance that Alastor mocks him for so frequently in public seems to do nothing but make him shiver here. How very interesting. Time to apply even more pressure on the proverbial chair.

“I have a mind to just keep you like this for hours, trembling on the verge of relief, but never getting that one final push, writhing underneath me as I take my pleasure exactly as I want it, however many times I want it. Wouldn’t you like that? To be so good, so obedient, so unlike the cocky little shit you usually are? Nobody would have to know, just me. And then I’ll know each time you sneer at me that I could make you beg for me just… like… that.”

Alastor clenches and unclenches erratically around him, making that rocking pace a challenge, but Lucifer rises up to it. His own arousal takes the backseat, all his attention on what movements make Alastor claw at him harder, which send his damp thighs trembling, what words make him squeeze his eyes shut with a ragged breath. 

“That’s it. You feel so good. Can you blame me for wanting to make this last longer?"

“Gluttony doesn’t… suit you,” Alastor bites out.

“No? You don't enjoy it?” A thrust, a whimper. “Not one bit?” Another whimper. “Not one bite?”

He drags his tongue over his teeth, and Alastor downright shudders underneath him. Lucifer can’t hold back a slightly harder thrust at that, making them both gasp. 

Alastor’s heels slip on the sheets. “Fuck—please, please, please…”

“Please what?” Lucifer asks, innocent as the angel he no longer is.

Alastor tries to glare at him, but even that is lost in another deep, languid roll of Lucifer's hips.

“Come on, Al. Use your words.”

“I think…” Some clarity comes back to Alastor’s eyes as he laces his fingers at the nape of Lucifer’s neck. “I think you… should follow through on your promise now.”

“Oh, yeah?” He grins. “And what promise was that?”

“Make me come.”

Lucifer’s hips stutter. And fuck, Alastor must’ve know that that breathy edge to his voice would do to him, because there is a smug grin on his face as he watches Lucifer try to regain his composure.

No witty one-liners come to him now, so he moves his hand from Alastor’s hip to the small of his back, angling him just right so that his next thrust hits exactly that sweet spot inside him. Radio static crackles around them, sharp and alive. Lucifer slides one hand between them to press the heel of his palm against Alastor’s cock again, giving him just a little bit of pressure. Alastor’s ensuing string of curses as he goes impossibly tight around him make him dizzy.

Lucifer still doesn’t move faster, thank fuck for hellish stamina, but he does keep his thrusts short and precise, pulling back just enough to elicit yet another sob when he hits that spot again and again. Revelling in the taste of skin under his tongue, the new scratches on his back, the sweet cries of his name filling the room.

It’s not very long at all before shudders starts wracking Alastor between each thrust, and it’s all Lucifer can do to keep his own to a minimum as he watches hungrily how Alastor’s pleasure builds and builds. When it spills over, it does so with a silent gasp, a tremor in his limbs, more tears down his cheeks. 

Lucifer draws out his orgasm as much as he can, fucking into him gently yet without any sort of rhythm anymore. Before he knows it, before Alastor has even taken in a second breath, he’s shaking too, arms going suddenly boneless as he collapses on top of Alastor with an overwhelmed gasp and spills inside him.

It takes… a while for his vision to return. His breath, even longer, and the first word out of his mouth, as he pants against Alastor’s sternum, is, “Sorry.”

The first out of Alastor’s, barely above a whisper, are, “Shut up.”

Lucifer wants to laugh. Wants to cry. Wants to never fucking move again. Not that he’s in any state to do anything else right now. But he probably should move. Alastor’s breath does stutter when Lucifer pulls out of him, but there’s no hiss of pain, so Lucifer collapses beside him on the bed.

They lie there in silence for a good long while, panting, gazing at the gilded pattern on the ceiling.

One of Alastor’s hands is resting over his stomach, but the other sits seemingly harmless between them. Lucifer tentatively touches the back of his fingers to his wrist. To his surprise, Alastor turns his hand palm-up, an invitation Lucifer gladly accepts.

He wants… God, he wants a bath, a decadent amount of hot water and creamy soap and Alastor warm and pliant in his arms. If only he could feel his legs. Speaking about that… 

“Are you alright?”

“Obviously.”

Lucifer lets out an amused breath and runs his thumb over his knuckles. “Obviously.”

“I hope you’re not considering impressions as your next occupation. You’re not very good.”

“I was thinking of giving topiary another shot, actually. Or beekeeping. What do you say, can you see me as a rugged yet dashing apiarist?”

Alastor gives him a weary look out the corner of his eye. “Afraid not.”

Lucifer grins. “That’s okay, we can’t all be made with a wealth of imagination.”

“I weep at my misfortune.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Lucifer coos. “Do you want some water?”

Alastor closes his eyes. “Yes, please.”

Lucifer tries to focus and manages to conjure a pitcher of ice-cold water just slightly teetering on the edge of the nightstand. Then he finally braves the world and gets to his feet, stumbling only a bit before circling the bed to pour Alastor a glass and hold it up questioningly.

Alastor sits up with a poorly concealed sound of displeasure and grabs it. “I’ve got it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lucifer says easily, then conjures a small bowl of warm water beside the pitcher and a washcloth. 

Alastor watches him like a hawk as he sips the water, but doesn’t protest when Lucifer starts wiping his thighs with the cloth.

It’s comfortable and relaxing and he makes quite good progress, if he says so himself, before Alastor shoves the half-empty glass at him. “You should drink too.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Alastor shrugs. “You did most of the work, after all.”

“Oh, I would hardly call that work.” Lucifer grins against the glass. “Did you enjoy it?”

Alastor gives him an unimpressed look. “Is that an actual question?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes.”

“That’s going to be quite the list.”

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Fuck the list.”

Which sends Lucifer off laughing. “You’re just mad I found so many buttons to push. And other things too.”

“Yes, it really turned out very badly for me,” Alastor says drily, dragging a pensive hand through Lucifer’s hair. “I didn’t really expect… to like seeing what you would do as much as I did. The few other times I tried this was when I was alive, and it was not only a drag, but also dreadfully boring. This didn’t feel boring.”

“High praise.”

“It is.”

“I know.” Lucifer kisses his knee. “I liked it too.”

“You don’t say. I’m amazed your ego hasn’t inflated past the confines of the room after that performance.”

“Can you blame me? You have the loveliest reactions.” Lucifer grins against his knee. “But also, I wouldn’t be opposed if you ever want to… knock me down a peg or two.”

From his sharp intake of breath, Alastor wouldn’t mind either. “I might take you up on that.”

“Oh, I hope you do,” Lucifer hums and presses another kiss to his knee. Time to test his luck one last time. “I changed my mind. If I could do anything right now, I would take a scalding bath. Do you want a bath?”

Alastor grimaces. “I want a cold shower.”

Well, it was worth a shot.