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The sensitivity had come first.
Lucifer had warned him that it would, but Alastor had never imagined it would be quite this bad.
Alastor didn’t imagine a great many things when the King of Hell had warned him of this strange thing called a ‘rut’.
About a week ago, Alastor had been sitting across the fireplace from his lover attempting to read the evening paper while the Devil fidgeted and grumbled far more than was usual even for him. It had been irritating, but Alastor had made a valiant effort to ignore his partner’s many peccadillos that particular evening for the sake of keeping the peace. He was such a giving lover and Lucifer would be reminded of it at length when it benefitted the Radio Demon.
It had become rather impossible to continue on in that vein, however, when he attempted to flip a page only to be snapped at rather vociferously (and ungentlemanly, thank you ever so). Did he have to be so damned loud, Lucifer had exclaimed.
Alastor had exhibited a shocking amount of restraint if he did say so himself as he’d slowly, slowly laid his paper down across his lap and invited Lucifer to repeat that with the tone of a beleaguered school teacher who had heard what a naughty child said perfectly well.
Lucifer, to his credit, had looked as surprised as Alastor felt over the outburst.
They had stared at each other for a long moment, both attempting to process the downright churlish and uncharacteristic fit of childish indignation. Alastor had impatiently studied the Devil, waiting on tenterhooks for the little fool to prostrate himself and offer his most sincere apologies.
Instead, Lucifer had sworn again (not at Alastor that time, which had been the only thing keeping him from sleeping on a couch that night) and rested his golden head in his claws.
“Father, not again,” Lucifer groaned into his palms, rubbing at his own brow.
“Beg pardon?” Alastor asked acidly, not hearing the apology he felt he was owed and displeased over it.
The Devil peeled one hand from his face to wave the air away as if it had offended him, “It…whew…didn’t expect this to come up so soon. Or at all, damn it.”
Alastor rolled his eyes and set his newspaper aside, watching as Lucifer’s eye twitched at the rustle, “Any time you’d like to share with the rest of the class, I would be most gratified, Your Majesty.”
Still the Sinner was denied his satisfaction.
With a grunt, Lucifer pushed himself up from his armchair and started walking away towards his dresser. The Radio Demon’s hackles rose at the perceived dismissal and he was already beginning to devise all the ways he could make Lucifer pay for the slight. His pique only rose as the Devil reached into the closet to pull out a traveling valise, complaining to himself under his breath all the while. The minute the first article of clothing disappeared into the case, Alastor had had enough and he rose from his chair.
“Lucifer Morningstar, what in Hell are you doing?”
“Oh uh…it’s nothing for you to worry about. Seriously.”
First his lover had sworn at him over a little scrap of nothing and now he was fleeing like a kicked dog? Absolutely not. Not without the fight Alastor was spoiling for now, anyway.
“You spoke quite strongly at me and are now packing a traveling case. I would very much like an explanation,” Alastor ground out past his permanent smile, sending his shadows to whisk the valise away until he was good and goddamn done with this discussion.
“Al!” Lucifer squawked.
“You will be silent unless it is to tell me where you think you’re going and why you’re haring off over the way I read the blasted newspaper.”
Lucifer’s lips tightened and his golden eyes darted away, “...I’m just going to visit Ozzie for a bit. Two weeks. It’s…it’s nothing you did. It’s me.”
Two damned weeks? Not on Alastor’s afterlife.
“Spare me.”
“Please just let this go,” his lover begged, still failing to understand exactly how egregiously he was erring in this moment.
The Devil begging him? Well, they were getting somewhere approaching the right track now. Still, Alastor struggled to find the thread of the plot he was currently playing through. A bit of a strop over some daily noise and suddenly the Devil was not only leaving their rooms, but the entire Pride Ring? It was such an extreme response it bordered on the histrionic and the Sinner had no context…none at all.
He refused to tolerate being left in the dark like this.
“No,” Alastor said mercilessly, holding out a hand as his Shadow brought the valise to him for safekeeping.
“It’s just…Al…I don’t want you wrapped up in this, okay? Just…”
“What is ‘this’? Lucifer, I daresay I’m entitled to a scrap of information considering we have been together for a decade. There are secrets and then there’s…whatever this is,” the Sinner sniffed dramatically, waggling the valise from his hand.
“...If I tell you, will you please let me finish packing?” Lucifer sighed and Alastor could see the way his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Alastor hummed, “I shall consider it.”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed and he huffed, knowing perfectly well that it was the best he was going to get out of his lover without an actual knock-down, drag-out, “...Fine. Have it your way.”
The Radio Demon would, thank you.
“Look, it’s…okay…I’m going into rut.”
“Rut,” Alastor said blandly.
“Rut,” the Devil repeated, ruffling his own hair, “It’s a parting gift from dear old dad. This…it’s a whole thing. Lilith and I were both cursed when we fell…if we were going to behave like lowly beasts, then we would be shackled by nature as they were.”
“Well, now I know you’re lying to me, Lucifer,” Alastor sneered, his smile pulling into something vicious, “Rut is seasonal. I would have known by now, surely. I practically have to peel you from my side for you to attend to your duties.”
“You really wouldn’t,” his lover sighed, “Here’s the part that’s extra fun. It’s not a constant. I have no damn clue when it’s going to rear its head these days. With Lili? She’d go into Heat like clockwork and I’d go into Rut. It’s how we had Charlie. But after she left it just sort of went wonky, I guess. Sometimes it skips a year, sometimes it skips five. It’s like horny roulette these days, so good for me.”
At last, Lucifer fully capitulated and leaned against the edge of the dresser with one hip, “It’s not fun. I get sensitive to everything - sound, scent, light. That’s the first thing. Then I start getting territorial and aggressive. After that comes the…uh…violent sex drive. I mean violent. We’re talking broken bones and that was between me and Lilith. Ozzie’s got a safe room for me.”
Alastor’s brow furrowed, “...Ah.”
“So…yeah,” the Devil held out his hand for the valise, “Two weeks. No more. I promise.”
Alastor mulled that information over and fought his instinctive urge to give the man his case to get as far away from this little complication as possible. He dissected that urge. Yes, there was something daunting about being trapped with a horny Lucifer for however long it would take to get this out of his system. They’d gotten into a comfortable sort of intimacy together over time, but this sounded like a league of its own.
But on the other hand…
His hand tightened on the valise as he drew it close to his body as casually as possible.
The Radio Demon refused to be less than Lilith…refused to stoop and acknowledge there was a single damn thing she could do for Lucifer that he couldn’t.
“What are you doing?” His lover asked.
Alastor sniffed and let the valise thump to the floor, moving to stand in front of it while folding his arms, “You shan’t be going anywhere so I see no reason to give it back.”
“Al…” Lucifer sighed, “I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t know what you’re suggesting. I go feral. Fully feral. You’re tough as nails, but I don’t hold back and I could seriously hurt you if I stick around. I’m not trying to offend you, but…fuck, habibi, I could do damage.”
Hmph, such protests.
Well, Alastor knew one way to win this little stand-off of theirs, “Are you saying you think me weak, Your Majesty? I’d no idea you thought so little of me. Go if you must.”
He stepped aside, leaving the traveling case free for the taking (though now it carried the weight of his affront, so let Lucifer try and carry that).
“Alastor, you know that’s not…”
The Radio Demon merely made a dismissive noise and looked away.
“....You know what? Fine. Fine. But there are going to be ground rules. Now stop being dramatic and listen to me very carefully you little shit.”
So now Alastor found himself standing at the door of their room, newly closed and locked behind him as soon as he had finished squaring away his business. He’d been quick about it since Lucifer grew particularly displeased when he was away for too long over the last day or so. The Devil couldn’t do much about it at present, but the Sinner wasn’t particularly interested in pushing his luck.
Their quarters were dim, lit only by candles offset throughout the room (one of the few light sources the king could handle at the height of his rut). It cast everything in dancing shadows, the curtains drawn tight like a cocoon against the world.
To Alastor’s keen nose, the scent of heated beeswax mingled with the rich, dark smell of the Devil himself.
It was…goodness.
The room was redolent of nothing Alastor could identify as strictly organic…not in the way mortals were built to understand such things. It was as otherworldly as the stars and as rich as the golden blood that flowed in Lucifer’s veins. It smelled not like something that could be described in base, olfactory terms. It smelled like memory. It smelled the way the deep woods looked in Alastor’s mind’s eye…dark and ancient and unknowable.
A growl rent the air, undercut with the sharp rattle of ringing golden chains.
Alastor looked to the bed and there lay temptation itself.
Lucifer was laid out upon the soft, plush linens of their shared bed, a vision of fallen grace. He was naked from head to toe, his pearl white skin glittering with rivulets of sweat in the candlelight as he fought the angelic metal chains that bound him hand and foot to the bed (courtesy of one Asmodeus - a remnant of ruts spent in Lust after Lilith’s abdication). This was the king as he was meant to be - graceful, brutal horns on full display where they jutted from his divine brow, barbed tail lashing the bed like a displeased hunting cat, and flames blazing like a long lost halo. The muscles of his torso rippled with every labored undulation and Alastor had never truly understood what a sovereign was meant to look like until he saw Lucifer wild in his infernal glory like this.
Swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat, Alastor forced himself into movement.
He would not be less than Lilith.
Like a ritual, the Sinner began to peel himself out of the defensive layer of his garments like a virgin sacrifice preparing himself for a dark god. Every article he peeled from his cannibal-lean body was carefully folded and laid aside while the Radio Demon himself did his best to tune out the polyphonic snarls of the mighty beast chained to their bed. As he worked, the monster who had once given light to the stars cajoled and crooned.
“Niis de ol, turbs prdzar fawn. Hoxmarch ge. Darbs de ol,” the king cooed even while he fought the chains that kept him from ravishing his lover.
Another heady burst of that scent-not-scent swelled in the air.
Alastor let out a shaky breath and peeled out of another layer, refusing to lose his composure. He was no weak thing.
“Ah, ol lorslq. Niis. niis. Noan el g ol…” Lucifer’s rich tenor trebled low and Alastor felt the command tugging at something behind his navel.
A sharp jerk upon the chains when Alastor failed to obey immediately had the Radio Demon hastening to slip out of his undergarments. He lay them over the rest of his clothes atop the dresser, pressing them down with both hands as if to wish the last of his civility farewell before the storm. If he dallied too long, Lucifer would simply tear the bed apart to get at him, and that wouldn’t do. Alastor might be the lamb laid upon the altar, but it was his own choice and he would maintain control, damnit.
That done, he turned back to the bed and to the breathtaking scene of debauched, ruined divinity waiting for him.
“Ol boaluahe,” Lucifer hissed and flames licked between his fangs.
Alastor didn’t speak and kept his radio static suppressed out of deference to his lover’s heightened sensitivity. Instead, he merely kept his eyes on Lucifer’s blazing vermillion stare as he walked slowly across the luxurious carpet to muffle the click of his hooves. His tail was raised high behind the meager slope of his sparse derriere, his own instincts acknowledging the apex predator waiting for him.
He let out a steady breath.
He drew another.
Lucifer was beyond words now, watching him with unwavering desire as he fell still in his chains.
When he was a boy, Alastor’s family had owned a hunting hound meant to give them companionship and to help with hunts in the bayou. She had been like this when prey was near…normally such a dear, energetic, dopey thing. But when she was at her work and the thrill of the hunt was hot in her blood, she’d grow so still…assured of her victory though she had no concept of such things.
The Devil scraped out one final sentence as the stag hovered at the edge of his bed, “Ol gil g. Ol fafen blans g. Arp ol g g, ol ors aoiveae.”
Alastor breathed out.
He breathed in.
The Sinner tried to ignore the slick, hot feeling between his cheeks where he’d prepared himself quickly in a yet-unoccupied room down the hall. Bound in Angelic steel, Lucifer wouldn’t have access to his powers to ease the way, and fettered as he was there was no way for his nimble fingers to do their usual thorough labour. It had been the last bit of work to ‘wrap up’ before shutting himself away with the Prince of Darkness for the duration of his little ‘curse’.
There was no ignoring the freshly-opened clutch of his ass as he kneed up onto the bed and felt the sultry air of the room kiss up against the tight rosebud of muscle guarding the way into his body. Alastor let out a soft sound that wasn’t quite a sigh as he slinked onto the bed by Lucifer’s knees, prowling up the length of him to draw the moment out. His own tail stayed plastered up against the hungry curve of his spine while Lucifer’s thrashed, Alastor’s knees barely dimpling the duvet as he went.
He spared a glance at Lucifer’s turgid cock, knowing intellectually that it would fit inside him from years of rigorous practice, but suddenly daunted as a rippling purr issued up from his lover’s depths.
This was Lucifer and it wasn’t. Or rather…it wasn’t the Lucifer he’d known. This was Lucifer as he had always been…or as the consternation of a God who had forsaken them both intended him to be.
God, he seemed so much bigger when he unleashed himself this way…as if reality itself could no longer constrain him.
To think the king had wanted to deprive him of this…
The reminder of the almost-transgression summoned up courage from the Sinner and he hissed down at his beastly lover, finally straddling him truly and settling so that the slick cleft of his ass rested against the blood-hot length of Lucifer’s cock. Let the Devil understand what he could have missed with his misguided compassion. Alastor needed no compassion. All he needed…no, all he craved was the uninhibited attention of the only lord he would ever bend the knee to.
He was playing with fire, but he always had.
No one ended up in Hell with a life full of good decisions at their back, did they?
This time the stag felt the animal snarl that issued forth from Lucifer’s guts…older than the earth itself and wilder than the sky. It rippled through his slim thighs and reverberated up through Alastor’s manhood, hard on instinct but easily ignored in the face of this unholy sacrament.
Still silent, still suppressing the whole of his aural aura, Alastor skated his hands up from the bedding to rest on Lucifer’s flawless chest right over the top of where nipples would rest on a creature of mammalian origin. Beneath him, the Devil was hot as a furnace, burning up in the flames of his rut and aching to take his lover with him to the sexual pyre upon which he burned.
Neither of them spoke…Lucifer beyond the crass bonds of civility and Alastor unwilling to sully the ears of the true monarch with petty language.
Instead, as if compelled, he reached back and grasped the Devil’s arching cock in his hand and guided it to the place that had been painstakingly prepared to receive it. For a moment, he hesitated with the fat, eager head of it pressed against the feverish purse of his asshole. Alastor had indulged in carnal delights with Lucifer many times over their decade together, but this felt like a new frontier entirely. Once he took that straining cock inside of himself with this Lucifer, there would be no going back. Would this change things between them as Lucifer had feared?
Alastor had never gotten far with a coward’s heart, so he pushed his perpetual smile higher…and dropped.
Their joining was a match that set the dry tinder of reality aflame.
The fire between the horrible line of Lucifer’s gorgeous horns flared like the death of a sun, too brilliant to look at directly and too singular to look away from. His burning cock carved a new home for itself into Alastor’s soft, hidden places, the head of it pressing inexorably in. Alastor threw back his head with a choked, silent scream and couldn’t help but to bury his claws in the meat of Lucifer’s pectorals. Aureate blood diluted by clean-smelling sweat drained from wounds that would heal in an instant, staining their own pristine blankets.
Sin.
This was sin…the meaning of it. This was Alastor staining his insides with the very origin of all that God himself disdained and rather than regret it, he wanted to shriek black hymns to a sky denied to him.
Beneath him, the Beast of Eden roared in a realm beyond that which was simply audible. He howled to shake the heavens themselves in frequencies even Alastor could not hear, straining at his bonds until the bedstead creaked under his strength. Even bound, he gave his lover no quarter, thrusting up hard to plunder that which was freely given. The Sinner astride him flexed his hooves and dug in harder with his claws to avoid being thrown off, the scent of blood and rut rising into the air as an invisible miasma. It wasn’t kind, but even in the fury of it the Radio Demon was sure he felt devotion.
Alastor wondered if he would bleed before the end.
He prayed he did.
Unwilling to be mastered by the monster he had given himself over to, the Sinner dug his knees into the mattress, pinned back his ears until the velvet edges of them met his skull, and met Lucifer on the downstroke. It rattled his teeth and ached deep within the depths of him, but he reveled in that. Lucifer had never treated him as weak or lesser in their shared bed and he would not be made a submissive creature now. Let there be teeth and blood and claws and cum…Alastor would take it all and with the force of his devotion excoriate any lingering remainders of the Once Queen from his king’s soul.
Alastor was the one who had power here. Not Lilith. Not ever again. Even Lucifer was beneath him as he began to move his hips in sybaritic rolls up and down the brutal length that sought to master him.
It was like a drug cutting itself through the Sinner’s system, the idea that the Devil himself had allowed himself to be chained to their bed like a common cur at the whim of a mortal soul. This was a creature who had beheld the birth of Alastor’s ancient ancestors, and yet there he lay beneath the Radio Demon, bucking fitfully into him.
The stag bounced on his lap underscored by a sweeping symphony of growls so deep they surely tore at the roots of the Earth itself and the silver-bell ring of chains. Alastor had had years to get over the shame he’d felt at first over the wet slapping sounds that cracked through the air every time their hips met (though he’d blushed like the pathetic virgin he had been the first time Lucifer had taken him to bed a decade ago). Labored breathing rose in counterpoint while they moved together in bestial sexual congress.
Sex with Lucifer was always a feast for the senses, but this was a banquet.
Alastor’s ears twitched at the sound of their carnal melody. His nose was filled with the brutish perfume of their bodies while they strove together. The Sinner’s eyes lingered over the sight of the Prince of the Pit chained to his bed while he thrust restlessly up into his lover. One particularly deep pump had Alastor’s head tipping back on the swanlike column of his throat, eyes squeezed shut while he could do nothing but feel…
The Radio Demon gripped at his king’s powerful hips with trim thighs, legs straddled wide to accommodate the Beast of Eden until he could feel the strain in his skinny hips. Lucifer’s skin, smooth as porcelain fresh from the kiln, rubbed against the sweat-thatched pelt at the vee of Alastor’s legs. The Sinner’s rim burned sweetly as cold fire where he was stretched around Lucifer’s cock, every pistoning stroke sending fresh fireworks through his body. Inside, there was the sharp-dull ache of being overfull on the finest of meals each time his king struck home.
His thighs burned with the effort of meeting the Devil stroke for stroke.
Ribs flexed while his lungs worked like a bellows to draw air that his dead body did not need.
Blood trickled hot and sweet around his fingertips where he anchored himself into Lucifer’s chest with his claws.
Everything was sensation and Alastor stood on the precipice of overwhelm, staring down into the yawning chasm of Lucifer’s rut which he knew would not relent.
There was only one missing.
Bracing his knees into the mattress as an anchor, Alastor leaned forward until the line of his patrician nose was flirting with the superheated air by Lucifer’s noseless expanse, nuzzling as he finally dared to whisper, “Whatever my King requires, I’m here. You won’t hurt me.”
Lucifer’s brilliant eyes flared with magmatic radiance at the barely-there declaration…a god of darkness receiving his own benediction from his personal Sinner.
Alastor felt the mad urge to kiss him, then.
He thought better of it at the last minute, noting the smoke and flame still licking from between Lucifer’s lips. It would surely scald his tongue to kiss the Devil just now, and while the idea had merit for later, this was only the first round. Alastor didn’t fancy the taste of his own roasted flesh lingering in his mouth when he had many days left to endure until the rut was burned out of the king.
Instead, he slid his claws free from Lucifer’s chest and raised a single one to his mouth with elegance despite continuing to grind on his lover, placing two gilded fingers in his mouth while flavour exploded over his tongue. Lucifer’s taste, much like his scent, could only be described in synesthetic terms. It didn’t have a flavour, per se, but instead it was like…it was like wrapping his tongue around the first rays of the sun to ever shine on Eden. Alastor had never seen the ancient Garden, but the taste of his lover gave him the idea of what it had once been.
Lucifer rumbled in approval at the sight.
Below, Alastor could feel something large as a fist and muscular as a heart pressing up against his ass and he gasped, eyes fluttering shut once more while he enjoyed his snack of ichor.
It hurt, but what was this pain but proof of his unholy descent into the libidinous depths?
Oh, but Alastor would sink evermore if only he could feel this exquisite burn.
Lucifer rattled his Angelic chains once again, biceps flexing as if he meant to reach out and yank his lover down hard against his knot, to force him to take it. His instincts in the here and now warred against the beautiful gentleness of his conscious mind in the time before. Lucifer as he was in his day to day…as he had been before the curse had dragged him down…had known full well he could break Alastor if given free reign to do as he pleased, so he had arranged for these bindings. The beast he had become still held the seed of that Lucifer.
In truth, he could have sheared the bed frame in half at any point, ripped the moorings of his celestial bonds free, but some corner of his brain remembered.
Some part of him that cherished Alastor above all others refused to do him any more harm than he could endure.
Luckily for him, Alastor could endure quite a lot.
So the Sinner continued to sup on his meal of blood, sucking it from his cuticles as Lucifer’s ferocious thrusts sped up.
It wouldn’t be long now.
Even now Alastor could feel that swollen sort of soreness that always nested behind his navel in the moments before orgasm stealing over him. His muscles clenched in orgasmic cramps as his svelte cock bobbed with every frantic motion between them. Lucifer’s manhood crowded up against his prostate, bruising it tender as the movement of his hips became shallower as if he feared being parted from his stag. That knot battered the entrance of Alastor’s body…a conqueror and not a supplicant.
Just this once, Alastor felt it might be quite nice to be conquered by a true king.
Underneath him, the Prince of the Pit bucked harder and Alastor knew he had a choice to make. He could tighten down and allow Lucifer to come while that cursed ball of muscle stayed outside of him…or he could relax and accept absolutely everything his king had to give.
It was barely even a choice.
Letting out a shuddering breath that emptied his lungs and sent all of his muscles melting, Alastor yielded to the need of his dark god. He shoved his claws back into the holes that had not yet had time to close and used his grip in the muscle to yank his hips down. Lucifer let out a shriek that was one and many, pumping his hips up at the same time. In a single terrible, euphoric moment the knot popped past any defenses the Radio Demon had left to his name and they were locked together in a way no man might tear asunder.
Boiling heat flooded Alastor’s well-kneaded insides and he could no longer hold back his sounds. Feeling his own end crest, the Sinner let out a strangled bleat as his hooves tore up the sheets. It was a struggle in name only, for the Radio Demon had already given himself over body and soul, his milky spend blending with the pale expanse of his lover’s ivory torso.
So seeded and so satisfied, both men fell still as they shivered in the afterglow.
There would be a reprieve now, however brief, while they were unable to move and Alastor dared to move his hands. Small streamlets of unholy blood followed in the wake of his claws as he dragged them up to cup Lucifer’s face, staring down into burning, half-lidded eyes. Their gazes met…locked. Their fascination with one another in that post-coital moment of overstimulated bliss was absolute.
Knowing it wasn’t over yet, but that Lucifer could tolerate the sound for now, the stag murmured, “I am here, Your Majesty, until your fever breaks. I am come to worship at your altar in spirit and truth. Know me.”
He knew in that moment if Lucifer were free to take him in his arms, he would.
What the Devil had joined together, let no man tear asunder.
Amen.
~*~
In the end, it took three days for the fires of rut to blaze through Lucifer and in that time they did in fact manage to break the bed. The Devil’s restraint was prodigious, but by day two the timbers were weak and he was yet strong. Luckily for Alastor, his arms had been bound to themselves as well as the bed, so he was unable to fully unleash himself the way the every-day Lucifer feared.
They’d fucked until they knotted whenever they were able and worshipped each other in the dark of their warded quarters like solemn disciples of twin blood-hungry deities.
Alastor was magnanimous enough by the end not to be incredibly cross over the fact that his lover wanted to take this from him.
It was the fourth day now and the chains had been banished once the fever had finally broken and Lucifer was more lucid. They’d made love again in the depths of the night as themselves, quiet and restrained and reverent in deference to Alastor’s exhaustion. The Radio Demon had fallen asleep with Lucifer’s cock tucked up inside of him and now he woke with the first shrieks of the hellish dawn chorus outside their tower window.
Lucifer was spooned up against his back, wrapping him up in an unbreakable embrace. He’d grown soft in the night and slipped out of Alastor, but there was no loss to mourn with him so near.
As Alastor stirred, his king’s arms squeezed tighter and he could feel lips skimming up his neck. Lucifer’s voice was hoarse when he spoke, but seemed to exist only in this singular dimension so it was safe to say he was getting back to himself quite beautifully, “...Thank you, Alastor.”
For a moment, the Sinner pondered whether or not to be flip with his response, but they were alone here and they had shared something profound, so he took the effort to peel his layers back and say quietly, “I’d do it again. You are truly magnificent, you know.”
“I went into rut once a year when I had Lilith, y’know. You up for that?”
“If you even think of sending those chains back to Asmodeus in the Lust Ring, I will be vexed,” Alastor said primly into his pillow.
He felt more than heard when his partner chuckled behind him, “Fine. You’re remarkable, you know that?”
“I was aware, but do go on,” Alastor purred, enjoying his snack of praise before breakfast.
A puff of amused breath against the back of his neck just below the bristles of his undercut was his reward, “I mean it, you greedy ass. That was special to me.”
Alastor thought about his answer again, dancing his claws up Lucifer’s forearm and back down, “...I enjoy when you are the king you only pretend to be around the others. Be that for me again and I will gladly be the servant you have earned.”