Archive of Our Own

Alastor balances the dinner tray on one hand and knocks on Lucifer’s door. It swings open without a sound and reveals the dimly lit royal chambers behind it.

Oh dear.

Alastor has been courting the Devil for long enough to know that this can only mean two things: A depressive episode has chained Lucifer to his bed, or he’s angry with Alastor. Slipping into the room and closing the door behind him as quietly as possible, Alastor rakes his memory for what he might’ve done to wrong his riddlesome lover, but he comes up empty. Surely he’s not mad about Alastor’s makeover of the Hotel’s front yard. No one would want to walk through a door framed by duck-shaped topiaries. 

Alastor casts a worried glance at the bed, but it’s empty. Instead, he finds Lucifer sitting behind his opulent desk, poring over some ancient-looking document.

Alastor’s static crackles. He’s always reveled in the fact that he comes first, then the Kingdom. Usually. Not today, apparently.

"I made dinner," Alastor says, sounding as miffed as he feels.

Lucifer doesn’t even look up, but he waves him closer. "You can put it on my desk."

Alastor’s eyes narrow. He won’t be ordered around. Except, standing around with his dinner tray in the middle of the room isn’t a good look on him either.

Fine.

Chin held high, Alastor strides over to Lucifer’s desk and places the tray on the only free spot between mountains of paperwork, thumping it down a little louder than necessary. He goes to grab his own bowl of soup, but Lucifer bats his hand away.

Alastor’s ears flatten. "You can’t be serious," he hisses. "Is this about the topiaries? That’s just ridiculous."

"Yours is over there." Lucifer points at the seating area of his room. On the table, Alastor spots a carafe of water and a plate with a piece of bread.

What.

He can’t be that mad. Alastor must be missing something. He lets his gaze drift over the room. Dusk is seeping through the floor-length windows and bleeding over the wooden floorboards. All rubber ducks have been banned from their spots on the shelves, but the missing duck armada is decidedly less abnormal than the two mismatched wooden beams lying on the floor by the tall windows. Ropes and hammers are displayed on the wall nearby, in the same fashion as Lucifer likes to hang up his tools by his work bench. Three long, wicked nails lie on a golden tray by the bed.

Alastor’s mouth goes dry. He slowly turns back to Lucifer, heart thumping in his throat. Lucifer is finally looking at him, for once grinning wider than Alastor. Does he mean to… Is Lucifer planning to…?

"I’d like to hurt you tonight," Lucifer purrs. "If you’ll have me."

Much to his own horror, Alastor feels his chest burn, heat rising from within. He suppresses the urge to clear his throat and avert his gaze, refusing to be flustered by so little. They have done things so depraved that a maiden might faint if she ever heard the tale, so he really shouldn’t feel that swoop in his stomach and that tingle in his fingertips.

But… It appears that Lucifer wants to hold the reins tonight. Sure, he’s been using his teeth and claws more in the bedroom since their mutual discovery of the… stimulative effect that his bites and scratches have on Alastor. Even so, control over a scene has always remained firmly in Alastor’s hands.

He can nip this in the bud. All he has to say is no. Lucifer will give him a smile and join him on the sofas. They’ll eat dinner together like nothing happened, they’ll gossip and laugh and perhaps they will even have sex, but it’s going to be the way it has always been.

Alastor shifts a little, inconspicuously adjusting the situation in his pants that makes it hard to deny his interest. Okay, so perhaps he’d like to try what Lucifer set up for tonight. But he can’t just say yes, can he?

"So the pup wants off his leash?" Alastor asks, folding his hands over his cane. "And you thought I’d just let you?"

"The prospect seems to excite you," Lucifer says with a flick of his gaze to Alastor’s crotch. "So I think you will."

"Is that so?" Alastor pulls out the chair opposite Lucifer’s desk and sits, legs crossed. "Convince me."

Lucifer looks determined. "You always say you’d like to see me wield a little more authority."

"At others," Alastor reminds him. "Besides, there’s a difference between authority and outright cruelty." Alastor points at the steaming bowls. "I made persian sweet potato lime soup, and you wish to foist dry bread and water upon me?"

"Vinegar, not water."

"You’re not helping your case here."

Lucifer leans forward and rests his chin on a propped up hand. "You like it when I’m cruel."

"To others," Alastor reiterates.

"Hmm, funny," Lucifer says with feigned thoughtfulness, "I was so sure I recalled a few nights where you didn’t seem to mind me hurting you."

"Hey now." Alastor narrows his eyes. "I will not stand for this slander."

Lucifer just chuckles.

Alastor’s grin is wide and predatory, and a quiet growl rumbles in his throat.

Lucifer sighs. "Well, I was going to negotiate with you after dinner, but I can see you’re not entirely sold yet. And that soup does smell delicious, so I can’t blame you for being torn."

Alastor flicks an ear to indicate he’s listening, refusing to verbally agree to even entertain the idea of going along with Lucifer’s plans. Not that he’s entirely opposed. But he certainly won’t make this easy for him.

"So." Lucifer leans forward and locks his gaze with Alastor’s. "Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll make you strip for me. I’ll make you tie your own cross, and I’ll bind you to it." Lucifer pauses. "So far so good?"

"Continue," Alastor says, although he knows exactly where this is going.

Lucifer’s gaze darkens. "How would you like being crucified?"

Alastor’s claws twitch. What would it feel like, to have his lover drive those long, golden nails into his palms? Why is it that pain sounds so enticing when it’s inflicted by the Devil’s tainted hands?

"I’m open to the idea," Alastor admits. "Tell me though, where’s all this coming from?"

"That masochistic streak of yours warrants exploration."

"No, I meant… You’re so…" Alastor waves a hand in his general direction.

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. "Confident?"

"We haven’t done anything like this before. Not… this way around."

Lucifer grins. "I’m more than capable of taking the lead, darling. I just usually choose not to."

"...Understood."

"Is that a yes then?"

Alastor hesitates, but he already knows this battle is lost. Being with Lucifer always makes Alastor feel inexplicable things, but the darker twinkle in his eyes today, that glint of mischief in his devilish smile is irresistible.

"I will allow it," Alastor says. "Under some conditions."

"Which are?"

"You’re not allowed to ignore me like you did when I entered."

Lucifer smiles. "You have my complete and undivided attention. Anything else?"

Alastor hesitates. Would Lucifer get the idea to switch their positions during intercourse, too? Probably not. Alastor isn’t even sure sex is on the table, but it won’t hurt to specify. "I don’t want to be penetrated."

Lucifer nods.

"Also, I draw the line at soup."

Lucifer barks out a laugh and pushes his paperwork aside. "Okay, silly. No last meal roleplay then. Have your soup. We’ll start after dinner."

They move over to Lucifer’s seating area in front of his fireplace and eat their dinner in silence, but for Alastor’s steady white noise and the clinks of spoons against bowls. The more time passes, the less sure Alastor feels about this. Did he really just agree to be tortured? What if he can’t handle the pain? Will he have to resort to their safe word? That would be humiliating. What if he doesn’t like Lucifer guiding him? Or worse: What if he does like it?

He needs a distraction.

"Do you like the soup?" Alastor asks in a poor attempt at small talk.

Lucifer chuckles. "Nervous?"

Alastor huffs and eats another spoonful of soup.

"I asked you a question," Lucifer says.

"I asked you something first."

"You know I love your soup. But if I ask you how you feel, I want you to answer."

Alastor glowers at Lucifer. That considerate fool is doing check-ins. While eating soup. "I’m doing just fine," he hisses.

"You sound tense."

Alastor keeps shooting daggers at Lucifer. "If you’re going to continue to be a nuisance, I will nail you to that cross."

Lucifer hums, a bassy sound that resonates in Alastor’s chest. "For the next check-in, you’ll answer truthfully." He sets down his empty bowl. "Ready when you are."

Alastor takes his time finishing his soup. After cleaning out his bowl, he magicks the dishes out of existence, leans back in his armchair and expectantly looks at Lucifer. "You may begin," he says.

Lucifer chuckles. "Trying to call the shots, are you? I’m the ringleader tonight."

Alastor bites back a snide remark relating to clowns. If he wants to see where this goes, he has to play along to some degree.

"Why don’t you start by loosening your bowtie?" Lucifer says.

Under Lucifer’s watchful gaze, Alastor pinches the fabric of his bowtie and pulls until the knot opens. He lays the bowtie over the armrest of his chair.

"Open your coat next."

Alastor opens the buttons of his coat. Is Lucifer going to micromanage his entire undressing?

"Now put one hand on your thigh. A little higher… Yes, like that. Put your other hand on your chest."

Alastor lets his eyes narrow, but he does as he’s told. "What is this?"

"I’m guiding you to touch yourself."

"Does His Majesty recall that self-abuse is not within my repertoire?"

Lucifer smiles. "I’d like you to try."

An irritated crackle moves the airwaves. It’s not that he’s never tried. His attempts at finding release on his own whenever one of those inconvenient erections arise are tedious, messy and disappointing.

"You don’t have to," Lucifer reminds him.

"I know that," Alastor snaps.

For all the Devil Lucifer is, he has the patience of a saint, because his smile doesn’t waver for even a second.

Alastor hesitantly shifts the hand on his thigh, trying to decide whether that makes him feel anything.

"Close your eyes," Lucifer says. His voice is warm and calm. "Imagine us down at the bar. It’s late at night, so everyone else has gone to bed. It’s just you and me. I put my hand on your thigh…"

Alastor imagines Lucifer’s smaller hand on his thigh, instead of his own. He gives his thigh a soft squeeze the way Lucifer would, more curious than he’d like to admit.

"Very good," Lucifer praises. "I put my other hand on your chest and lean in closer to whisper into your ear." Fabric rustles, and Alastor’s ears swivel to follow Lucifer’s movement to his side. He feels Lucifer’s breath against his ear as he whispers. "You’ve been wanting to kiss me all day."

A shiver runs down Alastor’s spine, and his lips part in a small exhale. He imagines Lucifer’s lovely face inches from his own, all angelic and bright and beautiful. All his.

"Do you go in for the kiss?"

"Yes."

"Touch your lips…"

Alastor runs his hand up his chest to the front of his throat, stroking the pad of his index finger over his bottom lip. Lucifer’s lips are so much softer. They fit against Alastor’s like they were made for him.

"Stroke your thigh… Higher… How do you feel?"

"Warm," Alastor breathes against his fingers.

"Good boy," Lucifer purrs. Delicate fingers brush through the fur on Alastor’s ear, gently stroking the delicate skin underneath.

Alastor resists nuzzling into the touch and swallows a pleased noise. He imagines Lucifer’s kiss intensifying, and how Alastor would pull the angel onto his lap, grind up against him… 

"What do you see?" Lucifer’s melodic voice is so close to his ear that it chases goosebumps over Alastor’s fur.

"You’re on my lap," Alastor murmurs.

"Touch yourself."

Alastor should resist the suggestion, but his hand wanders higher, and he moves his hips to press himself against it. He almost sighs at the tiny bit of relief that the pressure brings, but with Lucifer’s watchful gaze in his side he refrains from making any noises.

"See how good that feels?"

A heavy knot settles next to the curling heat in Alastor’s stomach. Is it his imagination that’s arousing him? Or Lucifer’s guidance? His darkly spoken words are doing something to him. There’s this pull to Lucifer.

"Is that silver on your tongue?" Alastor asks, slightly breathless as he grinds his hips up again.

"Never. You know that." Heels clink on the wooden floorboards as Lucifer walks back to his armchair. "You may undress fully. Keep your eyes closed. If you want to touch yourself while you do, you can."

"I don’t need your permission," Alastor says as he shrugs off his coat.

"You do tonight. Enjoy it while you still have your hands free."

Keeping his eyes closed like Lucifer instructed, Alastor methodically opens the buttons of his shirt. As he removes piece after piece of his clothing, the scene down at the bar plays out before his inner eye. His imaginary Lucifer is panting by now, grinding down on Alastor’s thigh to stimulate his clit, cock hardening against Alastor’s lower belly…

Strangely, Alastor would like to touch himself where he imagines Lucifer’s body against his, but just because Lucifer gave him permission to do so, he doesn’t. He knows it’s petty, he knows it doesn’t serve him in any way, but he can’t help it. He hates being told what to do. Alastor should punish Lucifer for daring to propose this. For thinking that he could subdue the Radio Demon.

Except, ah. Alastor is going along with this, isn’t he?

When he is done undressing, primly folding his clothes and setting them down on his armchair, he stands with his hands behind his straight back and silently raises a brow to await further instruction.

"Sexy," Lucifer comments.

"You didn’t tell me to undress sexily."

"You do have some freedom with my commands."

"Not commands," Alastor hisses. "Suggestions."

"I command you to open your eyes."

Alastor growls, low and dangerous, keeping his eyes decidedly closed. "You are playing with fire, pet."

Lucifer’s voice is calm. "Call me a pet again and there will be punishment."

The word dances on Alastor’s tongue. If it was just his stubbornness, his reason might win against the temptation. But he is curious, too, so the scale tips. "I’d like to see you try," he says with a wide grin. "Pet."

Alastor is yanked forward by the neck. He yelps and fumbles to cushion his fall with his hands, eyes flying open in surprise. His knees hit the wooden floor. Lucifer is sitting in his armchair before him, fully dressed, smiling dangerously, and holding a black strip of leather that, horrifyingly, leads to the new tightness that has manifested around Alastor’s neck.

That fucker put him on a leash.

Alastor feels his face flush with heat, half with fury, half with embarrassment.

"I did warn you," Lucifer says. "Brat."

Static crackles and pops around Alastor. But he feels something more than anger, a tightness curling low and hot in his guts at the sight of Lucifer above him, making Alastor all the more angry. "Take this thing off," he demands. 

"No."

A fresh wave of heat rises below Alastor’s skin at Lucifer’s immediate response. His denial, his confidence, his commanding presence, and oh, he looks so good like this, with a leash in his firm hand. Even better than he does with a collar around his own pale neck. Alastor growls low, feeling defeat settle in his bones.

Fuck. He does like it.

"Now be a good boy and follow me." Lucifer wraps the leash around his hand once, then gets to his feet and turns. With one hand, he grabs the backrest of his armchair and pulls it over to where the wooden beams are lying on the floor.

Alastor takes the opportunity that Lucifer is looking away to get to his hooves with some dignity. Before he knows it, he is putting one hoof in front of the other, lured forward by the sway of Lucifer’s slinky hips.

Lucifer takes a seat in his repositioned armchair, next to his tool display and in front of the wooden logs that lie on the floor. Alastor’s gaze darts to the golden nails on the tray, now within Lucifer’s reach. Just what has he gotten himself into?

Lucifer smiles sweetly. "If you can manage to get through your task of tying the logs without disobeying or lying, I’ll take off the leash."

Alastor’s grin is predatory. He doesn’t deign Lucifer with an answer, and instead takes the rope he is being handed. It is thin and rough, a pale beige color.

"Begin," Lucifer says, resting his arms on the sides of his chair, as though it were a throne.

Not without gracing Lucifer with another glare, Alastor bows down to pick up the smaller log. It’s heavier than he thought, made of dark, sturdy wood. There’s a carve-out in its middle, where it will connect to the larger log, and a couple of black metal rings are positioned along the sides. With a grunt, Alastor positions it to form the symbol of christianity. Oh, what would his mother think? But Alastor quickly disregards the thought. After everything he’s done, from homicide to literally bedding the Devil, a little blasphemy won’t make her take another turn in her grave. He’s once again glad she never found out what became of her son; Stripped, on his knees before Lucifer, tying his own torture device, and the very worst, being painfully aroused at the prospect of Lucifer directing his pain and pleasure, nails lodged deep in Alastor’s flesh.

Alastor hisses at a sharp and sudden pain in his finger and pulls away. He half-expects an embarrassing throb through his lower half considering how worked-up he already is, but mercifully, it just hurts a little. It’s only a splinter. No new wave of arousal. It’s equal amounts of relieving and alarming to know that only Lucifer can make him feel… well, anything, really. He cracked Alastor open, reached inside and unearthed his deepest, darkest desires, inexplicably linked to the angel holding his leash. Alastor’s gaze darts to Lucifer. As suspected, Lucifer is watching him like a hawk. He beckons Alastor closer with a finger.

Alastor’s hands curl into fists. If he wants to get rid of that humiliating leash, he has to obey. So, he shuffles closer on his knees and lays his hand in his lover’s awaiting claw. Lucifer plucks the splinter away, then leans forward and takes the finger into his mouth.

Alastor goes rigid like a statue, watching Lucifer’s cheek hollow as he sucks a drop of blood out of the small wound. It’s not far from Alastor to imagine that smart mouth somewhere else. He feels more blood rush between his legs, to his untouched cock. How he wishes he could grab that leash and pull Lucifer down on the floor, rip away his clothes, pin his hands to the sides of his head and fuck into his velvety soft cunt, make his angel scream…

"Delicious," Lucifer growls against Alastor’s palm. "But I forbid that you hurt yourself again. Only I will hurt you. Only I will touch you."

"I thought you wanted me to touch myself."

"Not anymore." Lucifer presses his thumb into the wound, sending a thrill down Alastor’s spine. "Understood?"

Alastor swallows hard. "Yes."

Lucifer’s smile widens. "Good boy." He kisses the wound with his healing angelic magic.

Alastor huffs.

"Don’t worry, darling, there’ll be more than enough pain for you tonight. Now finish your job."

Alastor pulls his hand back and, static thick and heavy around him, resumes his task of tying the beams together. He handles the wood with care now, making sure to not hurt himself on any splinters again, his sight set on getting rid of that humiliating collar around his neck. When the job is done, he kneels next to the cross, casting a careful glance at Lucifer.

Lucifer snaps his fingers, and the leash disappears.

Alastor rubs his freed throat.

"How are you feeling?"

Alastor rolls his eyes. "Bothered."

"In a good way?"

"...that, too," Alastor admits. With his full erection on display, he can’t exactly deny it anyway.

Lucifer leans over to take a gleaming rope off his tool rack. It’s the color of molten gold. "Go ahead and lie down for me."

Alastor watches Lucifer’s fingers play with the rope, imagining the texture. It looks smoother than the rope Alastor tied the cross with, and the color reminds him of Lucifer’s angelic powers. Reluctantly, Alastor lowers himself to the cross and sits on the longer beam. Then, slowly, he lies down on the hard wood, supporting himself on his elbows, until the back of his head touches the beam. He stretches his arms to his sides in the image of Christ, palms open and facing up.

Lucifer comes closer, heels clicking against the wooden floor. He lets the rope run through his hands as his hungry gaze takes in Alastor’s bare body. "Look at you… I knew you’d be into this."

Alastor’s answer is a warning growl.

Lucifer steps over Alastor’s body and kneels in front of his left arm. He makes a loop with the rope and begins wrapping it around Alastor’s wrist. "Y’know, I would’ve done something like this sooner if only you’d asked. But you just can’t do that, can you? Always fighting for the upper hand, desperately trying to stay in control." He smiles at Alastor and pulls the knot tight. "That’s exactly why you like having it taken away from you."

Alastor grimaces. "I’m just humoring you," he lies.

"You need me. You need this."

"This," Alastor says emphatically, "is a one-time thing."

"Say that again when you’re begging me to fuck you."

Feedback screeches. "I don’t beg."

"You will."

"Never," Alastor spits out.

Lucifer stands and walks around the top of the cross, evading Alastor’s glare. Alastor tests his new bound, making the metal ring at the end of the cross clink traitorously. He feels Lucifer’s rope loop around his other wrist.

"I won’t let you cum before I hear you beg," Lucifer says.

"Who says I’ll cum at all? What you’re doing is hardly sexual."

Another knot is pulled tight. "Your cock disagrees."

Alastor resists a glance down to where he knows he is proudly erect, heavy with his arousal. "That’s because I imagined you on my lap earlier."

Lucifer raises a brow at him. "You were hard from the moment you laid eyes on those nails, darling."

Alastor lets out a low chuckle. "I was imagining you grinding down on me. Desperate for me. Desperate for my cock, like the little whore you—"

Sharp pain blooms across Alastor’s chest and he yelps. The lights dim for a moment as his power surges over the radio waves. Did he just… Alastor looks down and sees a red streak over his rising and falling chest, forming a cross with the old scar that decorates his torso. Lucifer is standing above him in a wide stance, tail flicking. Alastor’s gaze follows the lithe, leathery appendage to its spade tip.

The realization hits Alastor like a freight train that Lucifer just used his tail as a whip. A wave of heat follows on the trails of the sharp pain, lodging itself deep into Alastor’s flesh like scolding barbs. His head falls back against the log as a primal groan fights its way up his throat.

"Was that okay?"

"For fuck’s sake, Lucifer," Alastor hisses through the ebbing pain. "Shut the fuck up, will you? I can’t stand all these check-ins."

"Answer me, or there will be consequences."

"Yes," Alastor squeezes out from behind interlocked teeth. "I… liked that."

"That’s better, love" Lucifer says sweetly. "You will not bring up our usual dynamics again. Tonight, you are mine to do with as I please."

"Yes," Alastor says before he can think otherwise, focused on the delightful throb in his chest. "I understand."

"Good." Lucifer kneels next to Alastor’s hooves, looping his rope around Alastor’s ankles, heels stacked. When he is done, Alastor wriggles his hooves and hands. The rope is tight, but not too tight to hurt. It hugs his wrists and ankles just right, ever-present, but not overwhelming. To his surprise, Lucifer moves to sit next to Alastor’s hips, still holding his glowing rope.

"Hey now," Alastor says. "What are you doing?"

Mischief glints in Lucifer’s eyes. "Tying you down properly."

"There?"

"Especially there." Lucifer leads the rope around his thigh.

Alastor shivers as the rope glides over his heated skin, Lucifer’s hands way too close to his neglected cock. He wishes he’d touched himself earlier when he had the chance. To add insult to the injury, he feels a drop of precum roll over the head of his cock, and Lucifer doesn’t seem to intend to do anything about that.

Alastor lets out an annoyed noise, shifting in his bounds.

"Patience, darling," Lucifer says as he tests the knot he made. He makes a new loop for the other leg. "If you’re good, you will be pleased tonight."

"And if I’m not?"

"Then only I will be pleased."

Alastor huffs. He watches curiously as Lucifer ties a couple more knots. When he is done, Alastor’s hips are firmly connected to his wooden beam. He can’t move even an inch. He has to admit that the restraint looks good around his cock.

Lucifer leans back on his heels and lets out a pleased hum. "Let’s begin."

"Using my own line against me," Alastor murmurs.

Lucifer prances over to his tool board, chuckling. He lifts a heavy-looking hammer from the board and weighs it in his hand before picking up a nail and holding it up to the light. "I forged these myself, you know." He winks. "Just for you."

"How flattering."

"Angelic steel, plated with gold. For the aesthetic."

"Of course you would crucify me prettily."

Lucifer kneels next to Alastor’s chest. He strokes the fresh streak on Alastor’s chest, making him shiver. "I’m sure you know this, but let me remind you that wounds inflicted by angelic steel can never fully heal. The scars won’t ever fade completely, even if I heal you. Are you okay with that?"

"Oh, please. I have scars galore, three more won’t make much of a difference."

Lucifer smiles. "I knew you’d say that." He lifts the nail. "Ready?"

Alastor swallows, then nods.

"Speak."

"Yes."

Never taking his watchful gaze off him, Lucifer touches Alastor’s hand with the nail, letting the weight rest in Alastor’s palm.

Alastor’s attention zeros in on the point of contact. Fuck, this will hurt. This will hurt so much. Alastor’s breathing picks up to keep up with his accelerating heartbeat. Any time now Lucifer will lift the hammer and run the nail through his flesh, tear through muscle and perhaps bone. Time slows to a crawl. Lucifer watches him, slowly shifting the nail in Alastor’s hand to adjust his grip, every movement causing Alastor to jerk, anticipating pain. Already Alastor’s throat is dry from his breaths, shallow and quick despite his best efforts. 

Then, infuriatingly, Lucifer swings one leg over Alastor’s arm, straddling it, still holding the nail behind him in Alastor’s palm.

"What are you doing?" Alastor hisses.

Lucifer smiles. "Observing you."

"Just get on with it," Alastor hisses.

Lucifer gives the nail a twist.

Alastor instinctively pulls on his restraint. The metal ring clatters, but the pointy end of the nail never leaves his skin. A whine fights its way up his throat as a hot and cold shiver makes his whole body tremble.

"Fuck, you should see yourself, Al…"

Alastor growls. He can’t very much control how his body reacts to impending impalement, can he?

"Deep breaths, darling." Lucifer strokes Alastor’s jaw with featherlight touches, as if that could distract from the heavy nail that’s resting against Alastor’s palm.

Alastor tries to slow his breaths. He will not lose composure – especially not before even the first nail is in.

"Talk to me. Are you scared?"

Alastor bares his teeth, pinning down his ears to hide the way they want to tremble. Anger is a much better look on him. "Of course not."

Lucifer takes Alastor by the chin and forces him to look at Lucifer’s face, into those deep red eyes that see everything. Every tremor, every flutter of Alastor’s lashes, every twitch of his muscles.

"Your body is betraying you." Lucifer’s whisper is like a snake’s quiet hiss. "Your pupils are blown so wide, I can barely see your irises. Just a rim of pale pink." His delicate fingers find their way up into Alastor’s hair. Lucifer leans in until his soft lips touch the side of Alastor’s neck. Placing but a ghost of a kiss. "I can taste your fear."

Alastor bites back a noise, but he can’t keep his static from crackling and fizzling. "Not fear," he says under his breath. "Adrenaline."

Lucifer’s grip on Alastor’s hair tightens and the nail moves, making Alastor jerk. Even the tiniest movements are lighting up his nerves. With his senses heightened like this, Lucifer’s lips against his skin feel so intense it almost hurts. Alastor is so focused on not giving away how Lucifer makes him feel that he almost misses the noise Lucifer makes, a breathy moan against Alastor’s neck.

Another shiver runs down Alastor’s spine as a realization sinks into his marrow like an anchor to the bottom of the sea. "You’re a sadist?"

Lucifer leans back and gives him a devilish smile, deliberately twisting the nail, lest Alastor forget it’s there. "Surprised?"

"Well, yes. But…" Will Alastor get punished if he says that he’s more surprised at the ease with which Lucifer is controlling the situation, as though it had never been any other way? As though Lucifer hadn’t kneeled for Alastor before, lashes wet with tears, begging Alastor to fuck into his mouth? How can he do both?

"What were you going to say?"

"Something I’m not allowed to."

Lucifer’s teeth glint in the low light. "I see you’re learning fast."

Alastor’s ears flick with irritation.

Lucifer looks behind him and wraps his tail around the nail, then picks up the hammer and gently places it on the nail’s head. He faces Alastor again, gaze more serious now, concentrated.

Oh fuck, this is happening.

Alastor tries to stay strong, he really does, but instinct is making him pull on the rope. The anticipation is killing him. If Lucifer would just get on with it! He struggles again, pulling on his restraint, but it’s no use. His heart is racing, his muscles are tensing and he’s so hot.

Lucifer opens his mouth.

"I swear to god," Alastor snaps, "if you’re checking in again, I will crush the cross, strangle you with the rope and impale you with the nail. Just fucking do it!"

For a moment Alastor thinks he pushed too far. But then Lucifer chuckles low and otherworldly as he lifts the hammer above his head. "Gladly." With angelic precision, he strikes the hammer down.

The nail punches clean through Alastor’s hand and into the wood. His scream warbles into radio feedback, piercing like the pain that shoots up his arm, excruciating, electrifying, exhilarating. Then, pleasure, a wave of arousal that dances over his lit-up nerves and makes his eyes roll back. Suddenly, Lucifer is on him, swallowing his shaky moans with hungry kisses, sinfully sweet, hot, not enough—

"Fuck," Alastor pants, "Fuck, Lucifer—"

"I know, my sweet," Lucifer murmurs between kisses. "I know it hurts." His hands are in Alastor’s hair, rubbing soothing circles against his scalp. "You’re doing so well for me."

"More," Alastor hears himself breathe against Lucifer’s lips, even as he’s already overstimulated, his entire body lit-up. He half-mindedly attempts to grind his hips up, which only makes the rope press deeper into his skin. Sparkly pleasure prickles through his veins, deliciously blending with the agony of the angelic steel that’s burning in his hand and echoing in the old wound across his chest.

Lucifer kisses him harder, hammer and nails forgotten as he licks into Alastor’s mouth. Alastor feels lightheaded. When Lucifer pulls back he’s as breathless as Alastor, eyes wild with lust. "You depraved thing. Begging me for more, even as you’re trembling like a leaf, sweating from the shock, and so…" He ghosts a touch over one of Alastor’s nipples, making him whine. "...sensitive."

"Not begging," Alastor manages between truly humiliating noises that he can’t believe are coming from himself. "Demanding."

Lucifer growls and grabs Alastor by the chin, tail swishing behind him. "Need I shut that disobedient mouth up with a gag? A nuzzle, perhaps?"

Alastor tries to shake his head in Lucifer’s grip.

"Then you should do what?"

A fresh wave of humiliation washes over Alastor as the word forms on his tongue, against his will. "S-submit."

"And?"

Alastor makes a questioning noise.

"Trust."

"I trust you," Alastor says immediately.

"And I trust you to tell me if it’s too much. You will do that, won’t you?"

"Yes."

Lucifer grins and reaches up to pet Alastor’s ears. "Good boy."

And Alastor, much to his own horror, closes his eyes and sighs, leaning into the soothing touch that contrasts the delicious agony still throbbing through his body, although it’s dulled now by a cocktail of pain-numbing adrenaline and light, prickly pleasure. He feels floaty and oddly…

"Dizzy," Alastor murmurs.

Lucifer hums. "Don’t pass out on me, love."

"Is that worry I hear?" Alastor chuckles, a raspy noise in his dry throat. "No need for that, my dear. I am no fair maiden."

"Far from it." Lucifer presses a lingering kiss to Alastor’s cheek and whispers against his skin. "You sick pervert. You wicked, twisted creature."

The corners of Alastor’s grin twitch. "Keep talking sweet to me."

Lucifer’s chuckle is light and breathy. "I can’t believe you’re real. You… you were made for me."

Only now Alastor notices that the steady pressure on his arm is shifting. The King is grinding down on his arm.

"Fuck," Alastor breathes. "You’re insane, getting off to this."

"You’re one to talk." Lucifer sits up and circles his hips, grinning wide and licking over his canines with that long, serpentine tongue of his. "I wonder if I could make you cum from the pain alone…" He leans back and places a hand on the nail in Alastor’s palm.

Alastor shudders out a moan. He can feel his pulse in the wound as his blood wells in his hand, in the same rhythm as the throb between his legs, cock aching with arousal.

"No touching, only hurting," Lucifer muses, almost to himself as he keeps moving his hips, most of his weight on the nail behind him. "You’re so gorgeous like this, eyes glassy, shaking, blissed out from the pain I inflicted on you, ah—" He lets his head tip back, chases his pleasure on Alastor’s arm. "I’ll make you scream again… I’ll make you cry…"

Alastor watches, hypnotized, how Lucifer rubs his clothed cunt against his arm, his pants dark with wetness and tenting from his hard cock. Alastor wants, he wants to touch, to be touched, him, Lucifer, Lucifer… The metal rings clink as he struggles to move, and he whines, a pathetic little noise.

"Yes, darling?" Lucifer looks down at him with lidded eyes and a smile. "What do you need, tell me."

"I…" Touch. He needs touch, Lucifer’s hands on his body, those delicate fingers to soothe Alastor’s feverish skin. He needs Lucifer to kiss him senseless, he needs his cunt where Alastor’s cock is aching with arousal, to feel him…

But he cannot command, and he will not beg. He will not. Never. He lets out a groan of frustration.

"You can’t say it, can you?" Lucifer chuckles. "I already broke your pride. Next, I’ll break your control. I’ll strip you of your cage, bar by bar."

"To me it looks like you’re the one losing control." Alastor’s quip doesn’t make Lucifer stop, doesn’t even make him flinch, only makes him laugh again as he gives the nail a push to press it deeper into Alastor’s palm, coaxing a whine out of him.

It’s the cruelty of it, the darkness in his lover’s eyes, more than the pain. Or perhaps… Perhaps it’s the fact that Lucifer can see him so clearly. Raw, unedited, without filters. And he’s right; Alastor is holding something down, buried deep inside of him. No one has ever dared touch it. And now, Lucifer is cracking him open like a geode, eager to reveal what lies hidden at his core. And Alastor feels… safe, strangely. He should be fighting, panicking, resisting. Yet when his gaze meets Lucifer’s, red into red, their souls touch, and Alastor knows that Lucifer will take care of him. Maybe it’s okay to let control slip away and just… be. To feel. To trust.

And oh, Alastor wants to let go. He wishes he could ask Lucifer to touch him, to love him, to hurt him, to fuck him; but the words won’t cross his parted lips. He just can’t ask, he can’t— So he asks with his eyes, lashes fluttering as he lifts his pleading gaze.

Lucifer’s smile goes soft. "There it is." He leans in to meet Alastor in a slow kiss, stroking his shivering shoulders, his chest, his cheekbones. "I’ve got you, love," he murmurs. "I’ll give you what you need."

Alastor chases his lips and hungrily shares his breath. Lucifer’s touch is a soothing balm to Alastor’s aching body, like an ice pack to a fever. His kiss lingers for a moment longer, then Lucifer brings their foreheads together, both hands tangled in Alastor’s hair.

"You want me to hurt you more, don’t you? You want the second nail?"

Alastor swallows hard. The first nail was an experiment. If he says yes to the second one, that is surrender. Lucifer knows it, too.

"You will ruin me," Alastor says.

"I will free you." Lucifer brushes a hair strand out of Alastor’s face. "If you just let me." A question hangs between them, the one Alastor has left unanswered. One second passes, then five, then ten. Lucifer knows exactly what Alastor wants, yet he won’t do it, unless Alastor admits it.

Alastor swallows again. "Yes," he manages.

"Very good." Lucifer stands up, and Alastor suppresses a small whine at the loss of both Lucifer’s touch and the last shreds of his own pride. Dazed, he watches Lucifer’s hips sway and his tail flick as the little King walks over to his armchair. Swift fingers click open the metal clasps in the front of his coat, then Lucifer shrugs it off and discards it over the chair’s armrest.

Alastor licks his lips, hoping that Lucifer will take off his shirt, too, or at least open a few buttons, but he doesn’t even untie his bowtie. Instead, he lovingly picks up the second nail and runs his midnight black fingers over the golden metal.

It’s utterly unfair that Alastor lies so bare while nearly every inch of Lucifer’s luxurious skin is concealed with fabric, shielding him from Alastor’s hungry gaze. Lucifer is doing this on purpose. He must be aching in those pants. The only reason for him to stay dressed is to point out their power inversion.

Against Alastor’s will, a growl rumbles in his chest, grabbing Lucifer’s attention.

"Now, now," Lucifer says, amusement lacing his melodic voice. "Is someone being impatient?"

"By no means!" Alastor snaps. "I could lie here all night."

"Perhaps you will."

Alastor blinks, the wind taken out of his sails.

Lucifer laughs as he walks over, giving the nail a dexterous spin in his fingers.

"I couldn’t help but notice that you’re still almost fully dressed," Alastor says.

Lucifer kneels at the end of the beam by Alastor’s hand, legs provocantly spread. His concealed cock is just out of reach. "You have a keen eye."

"Aren’t you uncomfortable?"

Lucifer just chuckles and leans forward to rest the nail on Alastor’s shoulder.

Any thoughts about clothes vanish from Alastor’s mind. He instinctively tries to jerk away from the nail. The contact with the sharp metal makes his breathing pick up, uneven and shaky despite his best efforts. "In my shoulder?"

"Of course not." Lucifer grins, dragging the nail across Alastor’s skin, slowly moving it toward his palm and leaving behind a thin scratch. Even though he isn’t breaking skin, the contact lights up Alastor’s nerves, so brightly it hurts.

Alastor pulls on his restraints again, weaker this time. Not only is it futile to struggle but… he finds that he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t need to? Lucifer is watching him closely, attentive despite the hunger in his gaze. Even as Lucifer lifts the nail off his skin and licks an electrifying stripe over Alastor’s palm, he never takes his eyes off him.

Alastor’s breaths are still quick, yet his muscles loosen, and his palm remains invitingly open. He wants this. He… craves this.

"I like this look on you," Lucifer murmurs. "You’d let me do anything to you." He sets the pointy end of the nail in the center of Alastor’s hand.

Alastor doesn’t flinch. All he wants is for Lucifer to make him feel, to reach where he himself can’t, where no one else can.

Lucifer wets his lips, then pushes the nail down until the point breaks Alastor’s skin. It’s just a little prick, nothing in comparison to the pain in his other hand, but Alastor knows that what’s to come will be excruciating. He lays his gaze heavily on Lucifer, watches the desire swirl in his hellfire eyes. And Lucifer pushes the nail in slowly.

It feels like being set on fire in slow motion. Alastor’s lips part, and he lets the moan slip free, breathy and raw. He allows his ears to lower and his smile to relax as he breathes into the pain, never taking his eyes off his beautiful angel. His tormentor. His liberator.

Lucifer gives the nail another agonizingly slow push, his smile subtle and dangerous. His gaze is smoldering, watching every twitch, every flutter of Alastor’s lashes. Cruel, yet downright erotic. Somehow, it’s more intimate than sex, the way Lucifer is fucking him with his eyes.

With the next slow push, every breath is a moan. Alastor lets the agony reverberate in his body, welcoming the heat that coils tighter and tighter in his belly. And Lucifer looks so beautiful, so powerful, so eerily calm. And those eyes…

A wave of arousal threatens to sweep Alastor away. But something wraps around the base of his cock, muting the wave before it can break over him. Alastor doesn’t have to look to know it’s Lucifer’s tail that thwarted his climax. And the denial, somehow it gets Alastor even more worked up. Pain and lust dance over his nerves. He’s panting, shaking, and he’s close, so close…

Lucifer lets out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "So I can make you finish just like this. Fuck, that’s so hot…" He swiftly opens the button of his pants with his other hand and frees his cock. It’s already glistening with precum. Taking himself in one hand, he leans on the nail. "But don’t think I’ll— ah, let you off the hook like that. You didn’t beg, so you don’t get to cum."

Alastor whines. "Lucifer…"

"That’s it, darling," Lucifer pants, stroking himself. "Don’t hold back. Let me hear you." He takes the hammer, aims at the nail and strikes down.

Pure agony blooms in Alastor’s palm. His scream fills the room, overlain by shrill radio feedback. It’s only because his hearing is tuned to Lucifer’s voice that he registers his moans. Alastor rides out the wave of fresh pain, eyes fluttering shut. It’s too much, it’s torture and bliss and Heaven and Hell. He doesn’t know how much time passes. It seems like forever, eternally floating at the edge of both consciousness and being consumed by his arousal, panting and groaning, and only God and his favorite creation know what other noises Alastor is making.

After an eternity, Alastor blinks his eyes open again. Lucifer is kneeling over his chest, stripped of all his clothes. Sweat glistens on his naked body, catching the red light that pours in from the windows. One of Lucifer’s hands is wrapped around his cock, blushing with the angelic blood pulsing beneath his pale skin. Lucifer’s pretty pussy and clit are shiny with slick. Alastor swallows thickly and glances up at Lucifer’s face. The King is looking down at him with low lids and a cocky grin. He knows he’s the most gorgeous creature in existence, and he loves putting on a show. Especially when Alastor is sitting in the front row. And Heaven above, does he know how to play his audience.

Lucifer shifts his hips and raises his chin as midnight black fingers trail over that divine body of his. Alastor is utterly spellbound, almost enough to forget the pain for a moment.

Lucifer dips a finger between his folds. "Do you want a taste?"

Alastor doesn’t want to seem too eager, so he waits a moment before nodding.

Lucifer smiles. He’s radiant. "Open your mouth, sweetheart. Tongue out."

Alastor supposes he could argue. But if Lucifer punishes him for that, perhaps even denies him the taste, Alastor might bite off his own tongue from regret. Besides, Lucifer’s commanding tone is not only aggravating, but also maddeningly sexy. It makes Alastor want to submit. He feels a blush crawl up his cheeks. His breath comes short as he parts his lips and lets his tongue dip out. He must paint quite the picture, because Lucifer’s breath hitches, and the hand around his cock tightens.

"Such a good boy for me," he praises.

Magic brushes around Alastor and lifts the cross two handwidths off the floor. There’s a burst of fire, and suddenly, Lucifer is closer. Much closer. His pussy is a couple of inches above Alastor’s face. Alastor almost whines at the look of it, wet and golden and perfect. He hears a dripping sound over his shallow breaths, but he realizes it must be his own blood dripping from the pulsing wounds in his hands. He glances past Lucifer’s cock and to his face. Lucifer catches his gaze.

Alastor recognizes the nonverbal check-in for what it is and sticks his tongue out a little further in response.

Lucifer smiles. Then, he lowers himself onto Alastor’s tongue.

Alastor shudders out a moan and gives him a languid lap of his tongue, all the way up to his clit. Oh, my. His angel tastes so good. Alastor goes to double his efforts, but Lucifer buries his hands in his hair and increases the pressure until Alastor doesn’t have much room to move anymore. Lucifer’s hips shift. He moans and rolls his hips again, setting a rhythm of his own.

Alastor’s blood rushes through his ears. He can barely move. Because Lucifer doesn’t want him to. He is riding Alastor’s tongue, taking his own pleasure… Alastor’s eyes roll back in his skull. With every breath through his nose, every rock of those slim hips, every movement, sharp pain shoots up his arms and tests his sanity, the little that’s left of it. If Lucifer’s tail wasn’t still wrapped around his cock, Alastor wouldn’t be sure if he’d last.

He’s enjoyed pleasuring his King before, but never like this. Never before has he felt this… this… used. Prickly pleasure floats in Alastor’s veins, like freshly poured champagne. Lucifer picks up the pace. His moans quicken, too, sounding more breathless. His dick glides over Alastor’s face, smearing it with precum. Alastor’s ears start ringing. His lungs are fighting to get enough oxygen from the fast breaths through his nose. It’s not enough, but… He looks up through teary lashes. He’ll be good for him. He’ll make Lucifer finish.

Lucifer’s blood-red gaze is already laser-focused on him. When their gazes meet, his breath hitches. "Fuck, Alastor…" Lucifer’s rhythm stutters. Alastor feels Lucifer’s muscles contract with his approaching orgasm on Alastor’s tongue. And then… he fucking stops.

Alastor whines in protest, but Lucifer lifts himself up.

"No," Alastor protests with the last of his breath before taking a hungry gulp of air.

Lucifer runs his thumb over Alastor’s cheek. "Aren’t you a greedy thing?"

"This is hurting you more than me," Alastor hisses.

Lucifer grins. His eyes are lidded. "Is it?" In a swirl of fire magic, he teleports back to kneel over Alastor’s torso. "Speaking of hurting." The third nail floats toward him, and he plucks it out of the air.

The ache in Alastor’s palms pulses at the sight of that gold-plated steel.

"Last nail already… Time flies when you’re having fun." Lucifer traces Alastor’s old scar with the nail. Even though he’s not breaking skin, Alastor hisses at the echo of pain from the angelic weapon.

Lucifer tilts his head. Something about the way his eyes glint makes an alarm bell go off in the back of Alastor’s hazy mind. Lucifer lifts the nail and traces the whip streak from his tail earlier. X marks the spot? Lucifer wouldn’t impale him like a vampire, would he? But he’s still tracing patterns on Alastor’s chest. A triangle? What is he doing? Isn’t he supposed to— Wait.

Alastor chokes on his breath.

Lucifer’s gaze snaps to him, and he pulls his hand back, like a thief caught in the act. "Don’t worry, I won’t—"

"Do it."

Lucifer blinks. "Alastor—"

"I can handle it."

"...This wasn’t negotiated."

Alastor lets out a breathless laugh. His fingers flex. "You nail me to a cross, but you draw the line at a scratch?"

"Darling." Lucifer’s voice softens and he bends down to cup Alastor’s face. "The scar would never fade. I don’t want you to agree to anything you might regret later."

"I’m not agreeing. I’m asking." Alastor tries to swallow, but his throat is dry. He’d do anything to wear Lucifer’s sigil over his heart. He looks up through his lashes, ears low. "Please."

Lucifer’s lips part, but no words come out. Alastor expected to regret pleading. He’d been so adamant that he’d never beg, not for anything. But with Lucifer looking at him like he’s a small wonder, Alastor can’t find it in himself to regret anything.

"You’d have me mark you as mine?" Lucifer asks. "Forever?"

Without a doubt. Lucifer is Alastor’s exception. His kryptonite, the only one. But even in his haze, Alastor is lucid enough to not start screaming his love down from the rooftops. He’s still the Radio Demon, and although pride is Lucifer’s sin, Alastor is no saint either. So he just quietly says: "Yes."

A corner of Lucifer’s smile twitches. A sort of greed hidden before rises to the surface. He brushes a sweaty strand of hair out of Alastor’s face. "I’ve got you in the palm of my hand, don’t I?"

One of Alastor’s ears gives an irritated flick. Embarrassment claws at the edge of his mind, but other, more soothing emotions drown it out: A strange feeling of safety, of belonging. Pride, for doing well, and for asking for what he wants. And like a damn dog, Alastor can’t help but hope for a reward. "Seal it with a kiss?" he hears himself ask, almost sheepishly. He wants to cry at how pathetic he sounds.

Lucifer glows with satisfaction. "Since you were so good for me…" He presses his lips to the nail.

Alastor growls with indignation, but Lucifer simply rests the nail’s point just below Alastor’s collarbone, where his scar starts. The memory of pain rips through him. He hisses. He focuses all his strength on bracing himself. This will hurt. Fuck. Oh fuck, yes.

Lucifer’s grip on the nail tightens. Then the nail splits his old scar open. Alastor’s radio feedback warbles into a deafening scream. Tears shoot into his eyes, and as he embraces the agony, pleasure follows on its trail. A rush of euphoria that lasts even as the nail lifts off his skin. Alastor’s cock touches Lucifer’s ass. He tries to roll his hips, but his bounds are too tight. He needs friction, he needs, he needs…

The tears fall from Alastor’s eyes, clearing his vision, and fuck. It’s not far from him to imagine Lucifer speared on Alastor’s cock, with the way Lucifer is looking at him. A lazy smile, gaze lidded, cheeks flushed. His breaths are quicker, too. Lucifer loves hurting him. Who would’ve thought that Alastor’s beautiful angel, this sweet creature, had a side this dark?

Lucifer touches Alastor’s chest with the tip of the nail, holding it like an icing sugar bag. "The cross of power," he purrs, carving a diagonal line following the whip streak from his tail. Marking an X.

The union of opposites. Light and dark. Divine and profane. How perfect. Alastor laughs. This is happening. Lucifer is marking him. Carving his sigil into Alastor’s skin, his mark to wear forever.

The next line connects the wounds in a horizontal line below Alastor’s collarbone. Alastor is shaking with pride and bliss. Yes.

Lucifer finishes the triangle. "Water…" He lifts the nail to his mouth and licks it, tasting Alastor’s blood. A trail of it runs down his arm, to his elbow. He hums a deep, satisfied noise of approval. "You’ve never tasted better. So sweet with fear."

The praise makes Alastor smile wider. His chest feels like it is on fire. Only two lines are missing now to complete the sigil. "Duality," he breathes.

Lucifer’s eyes glint. "Duality," he repeats. The nail connects with Alastor’s skin again. It’s like gasoline to the flame.

Alastor screws his eyes shut. He doesn’t hold back his moans. It’s far too late for any of that. And he wants Lucifer to see, to hear how he makes him feel. Before his inner eye, Alastor sees the sigil being painted in his blood, into his flesh. One more line… Almost there… Yes! Ecstasy erupts in his entire body. He did it! Alastor’s head spins. And he sees Lucifer transform.

Feathers spring from Lucifer’s back and frame his silhouette. His chest is rising and falling fast. A flame dances between the horns arching above his head. Red has bled into his eyes, and he’s grinning. Fuck, he looks… drunk on power, still holding the bloodied nail over the sigil that pulses on Alastor’s chest.

If Alastor wasn’t nailed down, he’d feel the urge to drop to his knees in worship. "Lightbringer," he whispers. "I’m yours, now and always."

The nail clatters to the floor, and Lucifer meets him in a brutal kiss. He bites, bruises him, licks the iron of Alastor’s own blood into his mouth. They are a tangle of tongues and feathers and blood.

"Please," Alastor manages between kisses and moans. "Let me feel you."

Lucifer doesn’t break the kiss, doesn’t even tease him for the plea; He just reaches between them and guides Alastor into him.

If Alastor were to bleed out and die right now, he wouldn’t mind all that much. So long as the last thing he ever felt was Lucifer’s warm body gripping his, he wouldn’t care about feeling anything else ever again. Lucifer’s forked tongue in his mouth, the smooth glide of velvety walls around Alastor’s cock, warm blood welling in his palms. Alastor is already seeing stars, but Lucifer’s tail is still firmly gripping the base of his cock. The pressure low in Alastor’s belly builds and builds. He’s dangling over the edge, so close, so close close close…

"Lucifer…" Alastor tries to roll his hips for just that little bit of more friction, just a bit deeper, a little bit faster. But he can’t move, not even a bit. The angelic ropes burn on his skin, making him want to scream. "More, I need more…"

Lucifer’s chuckle is hot on Alastor’s neck. He stays in his rhythm. Every time he pushes his hip up and lets Alastor sink back into him, too slowly, Alastor feels one step closer to insanity. "So desperate," Lucifer continues. "Begging me for more as if you wouldn’t fall to pieces at the slightest push."

"I— ah! I can take it, take anything, all of you, whatever you want, I’ll do— do anything, fuck!" More words tumble out of Alastor, praises and filth and pleas. All inhibitions fell the moment Lucifer started riding him, using Alastor the way he’d always secretly craved, but never even admitted to himself. His mask is well and truly shattered, and its shards have been scattered to the winds.

"Whatever I want?" Lucifer laps at the sweat on Alastor’s neck. "What more than this could I possibly want?" He sits up, making Alastor yelp. The shift in position buries him deep inside of Lucifer. The King circles his hips. "I turned you into a whimpering mess beneath me. I’m taking my pleasure on your wrecked body. I feel— so full…" His dark fingers find the blushing clit at the base of his cock and he moans at the touch. His strong wings flap, whirling up loose feathers and brushing over Alastor’s feverish skin.

Tears sting Alastor’s eyes, but he quickly blinks them away. He doesn’t want to miss a single thing. Every move of that divine body, every flutter of his wings, every breath. Alastor wishes it was his hands pleasuring Lucifer. His fingers touching Lucifer’s clit. Alastor’s hands hurt with yearning. He can smell Lucifer’s arousal, still tastes him on his tongue.

Alastor’s static pitches until it almost sounds like a whine. "Lucifer," he says again and again, like a prayer. His pulse hammers against his wounded chest, in his palms, in his cock, so strong Lucifer has to feel it in the center of his body.

And he does. Alastor sees the exact moment Lucifer realizes. His eyes roll back and he moans, pressing a hand to his belly and squeezing Alastor inside him. "Fuck," Lucifer breathes, "fuck…"

If only Lucifer hurt him again, that might be enough, just that little bit more to get Alastor over the edge. Lucifer’s tail is gripping him so firmly, it shouldn’t be possible for Alastor to cum like this. But he is desperate, determined. He needs to cum or he’ll pass the fuck out from how aroused he is.

Alastor wants to close his hands around the nails’ heads, hurt himself, but he’s not allowed to. Only Lucifer may hurt him. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice, but Alastor wants to be good, has to be good.

As though he read his thoughts, Lucifer’s magic reaches for the third nail again and floats it between them. Alastor’s ears prick up. He draws a sharp breath. Fear sharpens his senses, but at the same time a thrilling anticipation sits deep in his bones. He’s shaking again, and every breath is more shallow than the last.

"Sure you can take it?" Lucifer asks.

Alastor nods eagerly. "Yes!"

Lucifer doesn’t take his hands off himself, simply directs the nail with his magic. It floats over his shoulder, to Alastor’s hooves.

"I… need…" Alastor tries instinctively to rock his hips again. The smooth glide of Lucifer’s cunt drives him to the brink of insanity, he can barely formulate a thought.

Lucifer’s smile is triumphant. "You need…?"

Static pops and crackles. "Your tail, it… I need to…" The nail touches Alastor’s hoof, making him choke on his breath. It stops there, waits patiently like a guillotine’s blade. Lucifer keeps up his maddening rhythm. Every breath is a moan now, and his eyes are wild with desire.

A different kind of fear races up Alastor’s spine. Will Lucifer reach his climax without him? Was Alastor not good enough? If he’ll only be able to watch, see how Lucifer cums speared on his cock, Alastor will be nothing more than a tool. A plaything that only exists for Lucifer’s pleasure. And… and… Alastor would like it. But… he needs to… He can’t…

"Beg faster," Lucifer breathes, "or I’ll finish without you."

Something in Alastor snaps. "Please, Lucifer," he blurts out. "I want to— need to cum, please, please! Give me the nail, hurt me more, let me fill you up, please!"

Lucifer laughs, breathless. "Sing for me." His tail unfurls, and his eyes roll back.

The zing of metal, hammer meets nail. Cutting pain erupts in Alastor’s legs. Sharp pain races up through his entire body. He thinks he might explode. Pleasure unlike anything ever before boils him alive. His vision whites out completely. The afterimage of Lucifer, all six wings spread, burns on his retinas. Alastor hears his moans, too, over his own screams and sobs and shrill radio feedback. Lucifer is so hot and tight, walls contracting rhythmically as Alastor puts his seed deep inside of him.

Alastor’s vision returns to him slowly. Lucifer’s face is flushed and beautiful. Alastor gazes into those red eyes, cloudy with lust still. Alastor’s cock gives another spurt. And another. It seems to last forever. Every twitch of his cock makes Lucifer suck in a breath. At last, Alastor’s blood cools, and all that’s left of him is a shaking, hurting mess.

Lucifer smiles and takes himself in hand. He winks. "Saved one up."

Alastor’s eyes widen. Words are beyond him still, so he makes a choked noise. Lucifer usually finishes both ways at the same time. Not today, apparently. But Alastor can’t possibly go again. He’s never felt more empty. There is no way.

Lucifer laughs. "Don’t you worry. You’re done for the night. But…" He lifts himself up, and Alastor watches, dazed, how a trail of his spend rolls down Lucifer’s pale thighs. "...I thought I might admire my work from afar." Lucifer walks backwards and makes a beckoning gesture, laced with a touch of angelic magic.

Alastor’s world tilts. The cross is propped up. With the shift in weight, the pain in Alastor’s hands and hooves returns with a vengeance. He grits his teeth and hisses. Now that the last of his climax has trickled away, he’s confronted with his situation: He has four gaping wounds, a split-open chest and barely any strength left. He is nailed to a cross that stands in a pool of his own blood, casting a shadow over Lucifer. It’s only because of the ropes holding Alastor’s weight that he can bite back a pained groan.

The King takes a seat in his armchair, legs shamelessly spread open. Lucifer’s horns have retreated back beneath his temples, but his eyes are still red with desire. Those eager eyes see everything. He takes in his work and gives himself a languid stroke.

"You’re a piece of art, Alastor," he says. "How do you feel?"

"Weak," Alastor admits. His tongue feels heavy like lead. "Dizzy?"

"Content?"

Alastor tries to focus on how he feels, apart from weak. There’s the cottony fuzziness of afterglow, but it’s easily overshadowed by the agony that’s worsening with every breath. "It fucking hurts," he finally manages.

Lucifer chuckles, still stroking himself. "Is that a yes?"

Alastor wants to watch, but he can barely see him now. His vision is swimming. "If I faint, just keep goin’." Are his words slurred?

"If you faint, my love, I will prioritize first aid over an orgasm."

A corner of Alastor’s mouth twitches. He realizes only now that his smile is nearly gone. But right now, he can’t be bothered to put it back on. It’s not like it’s the first time Lucifer has seen him without it. "Reckon I’ll hafta keep on hangin’ in there, then."

"Did you like me riding your tongue?"

Alastor considers a snarky non-answer for a reply, but he finds that he’d rather tell the truth. His ears lower. "I loved it. How you used me. You… denied me. When you didn’t finish on my tongue." He swallows thickly. "I… liked that, too." He sees a lot of processing due in his near future.

Lucifer pushes his hair out of his face. He’s stroking himself faster now. "And the— the pain?"

Alastor shivers. "You laid my nerves bare. Wrapped your hands around them. You…" Alastor blinks his vision into focus again. Lucifer is looking outright hungry. The rhythm of his hand on his cock stutters, and his breaths are ragged.

Encouraged, Alastor continues. "You touched me. Deep inside. You…" He smiles. "You love me."

Lucifer screws his eyes shut. "Yes." One hand flies up to grip his chair’s backrest. "Yes, I love you, love you, ah, ah—" He throws his head back. Thick spurts of his spend paint his hand and the floor. He might be Alastor’s tormentor tonight, but his moans are still the sweetest sound in the universe.

"Love you, too," Alastor murmurs. Darkness swims at the edges of his vision. He doesn’t faint, but saying he’s conscious would be an overstatement. Distantly, he feels the world tilt again.

Alastor’s cross is back on the floor. Lucifer is touching his wrist with one hand as his other unties the knot there. The touch tethers Alastor to the world. He hums his approval and rolls his head to the side to look at Lucifer.

"Sorry, but…" Lucifer gives him a lopsided smile. "I have to get the nail out. Should I count you down, or…?"

Alastor shakes his head. Speaking is too difficult now. He feels like his brain cells are packed in cottony clouds, refusing to interact with each other or the rest of his body.

"Just pull? Okay…" Lucifer grabs the nail, and with his superhuman strength, yanks it out of Alastor’s flesh.

It hurts, but Alastor is hurting anyway, so he doesn’t scream. All that leaves him, unbidden, is a fawn squeak.

Lucifer smirks, but smartly, doesn’t comment. He puts his hand in Alastor’s. It emits a soft golden glow.

That gets Alastor back online. He snarls. "No!"

The glow subsides. Lucifer blinks and applies pressure to the wound. "But… you’re hurt. Which I had great pleasure in, but—"

"Want to feel it… longer."

Lucifer is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, his tone is serious, but soft. "Alastor, your bones are broken. Your tendrils severed. It won’t heal right on its own."

Alastor growls. His ears are pinned back, and his heightened static atmosphere communicates his displeasure.

Lucifer nervously glances at the blood that pours out of Alastor’s wound, despite the pressure on his hand. "Please, Al?"

Alastor huffs. He looks away. "Fine," he says quietly.

"Thank you." Lucifer’s touch softens, and magic dips the room into a soft golden glow again. His hand feels warm.

Tears swim at the edge of Alastor’s vision. Fucking hell, is he going to cry over this? Is he really that weak? But… he already cried. The crusty tear streaks on his cheeks prove it. He begged. He offered all of himself to Lucifer. A lump forms in Alastor’s throat.

The ring at the end of the wooden beam clinks, and the rope is pulled away. Lucifer rubs a gentle circle over Alastor’s wrist before getting up and walking around the top of the cross.

Alastor brings his freed arm closer to his body, as if that could help with the shivers. He knows that they aren’t from feeling cold.

"I’ll pull this one out now," Lucifer says.

Alastor simply nods.

Lucifer pulls out the nail and immediately starts closing up the wound. "After I heal you I thought we could take a warm bath together? Relax, cuddle, talk a bit?"

Alastor nods. Sounds good.

Lucifer strokes Alastor’s palm, then moves on to his hooves.

Alastor uses the moment where Lucifer has his back turned to inspect his new scars. His hands are free of any blood now. The scars are much paler than most of his naturally healed scars, barely visible. The shape reminds him of coins.

An annoyingly reasonable voice in Alastor’s head tells him that Lucifer was right to heal him. Alastor would never do any permanent harm to Lucifer either. Being upset over this is irrational. Also, now Alastor can already admire his new favorite scars. Although they’ll have a hard time competing with Lucifer’s sigil still burning on his chest. Alastor tests flexing his fingers. It’s not painful at all, but even this tiny movement is exhausting. He closes his fingers over his palms and holds them close to his body, as though to keep the scars safe. He may not have the wounds, but he’ll wear tonight’s scars forever. His smile comes back onto his face.

After freeing and healing Alastor’s hooves, Lucifer rubs his ankles. The touch is warm and soothing. Alastor sighs and closes his eyes, although the urge to kick Lucifer in the face for daring to be so soft and caring is definitely there. How rude of Lucifer to make him feel so good when Alastor wants to punish him for turning the tables on him, for making him lose control, and then having the audacity to tend to his wounds.

Alastor is still dizzy. Is it like this for Lucifer, too, when their roles are reversed? No wonder he always gets all cuddly and soft and quiet after sex. Alastor can barely string two words together right now.

Lucifer massages the spot between Alastor’s hoof claws that is always tense. Alastor turns to putty.

"I didn’t push you too far, did I?" Lucifer’s voice is uncertain for the first time tonight.

Alastor growls.

"Right. Sorry. We’ll talk later."

"Keep massaging."

"Yessir."

Alastor feels some of his confidence return to him. He’s also much warmer now that the pain in his limbs is gone. Lucifer quietly keeps massaging for a while. Then he shuffles closer to untie the knots around Alastor’s hips. The metal rings clink. Lucifer always keeps a hand on Alastor’s hip, as though Alastor were a balloon that would float away if Lucifer let go of him.

Lucifer’s gaze lingers on Alastor’s chest. Despite being completely wrung out, the shine in his angel’s eyes makes Alastor feel like a beautiful painting. "So," Lucifer says. "Bath?"

Alastor blinks, surprised that Lucifer isn’t healing the cuts on his chest. Then his smile widens. Lucifer is letting him keep them.

"Bath," Alastor says. For a moment he fears Lucifer will pick him up like a lady and carry him over to the bathroom, but thankfully, he’s spared such embarrassment. Lucifer simply offers his hand. Alastor takes it. On shaky legs, he stands. He feels about as stable as jelly. He looks back at the wooden beams that are already magically disassembling themselves. All the blood has disappeared from the floor. Good, since wading through his own blood is not on Alastor’s bucket list.

Alastor lets Lucifer lead him to the bathroom. The tub is already filled with water; Lucifer must have used his magic to prepare it in advance.

Usually, Alastor likes to hug Lucifer from behind while bathing. Today, Alastor sits on the other side of the tub, his legs touching Lucifer’s. The water is the perfect temperature. Soap burns in the cuts on Alastor’s chest. He closes his eyes and sighs. Before his inner eye, Lucifer is above him, nail in hand, with that primal desire blazing in his gaze.

Right now, Lucifer is too far away. This won’t do. So, Alastor turns around to sit between Lucifer’s legs and lean against his chest. Alastor feels Lucifer’s heartbeat. The angel gently pulls him closer and places a kiss at the top of his spine. Every movement of his is slow and deliberate, like that of a cat owner whose feral pet has chosen to peacefully slumber on their human’s lap for the first time.

Alastor feels Lucifer’s smile on his skin.