Chapter Text
Marcus accepted the hand Lucifer stretched down, and let him draw him up to his feet. The room slowly stopped rotating around him, and Marcus regained his poise. Lucifer was shirtless, bloodied and bruised and with his hair an un-styled mass of curls. He looked nearly as wrecked as Marcus’s apartment. Though probably less wrecked than Marcus looked himself.
He scanned around, inwardly groaning at the bills from his landlord and the cost of replacing pretty much every piece of furniture and household equipment he owned. How the heck did his toaster end up dangling by a wire from his broken ceiling fan? His attention slammed back soon enough to Lucifer, his gaze drifting down that taut body to those tight tailored trousers, low-slung about his slender hips. He must’ve been feeling better, because all his blood rushed straight to his cock.
To hell with the apartment and with goddamned St. Michael. He’d still a chance to turn this evening around. At least his bathroom and his bedroom were intact. He reached up and brushed a strand of Lucifer’s hair from where the dried blood had stuck it to his brow.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” he said. “When I took out the hit, I didn’t even know you.” Lucifer’s hand tightened around his; and shit, had Lucifer just brushed his thumb, kind of fondly, across the back of Marcus’s hand?
“I actually believe you,” said Lucifer. “If you’d understood quite how stunningly attractive I was, you’d have warned him off the face.”
Marcus, wondering if he was pushing his luck, craned up and very gently kissed the spot he’d just touched, where Lucifer’s cut had already pretty much healed. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “You still look pretty good to me.”
“You wear being murdered multiple times pretty well yourself. And I suppose that’s enough punishment for your past misdemeanours… for now.” His breath ruffled Marcus’s hair and sent delicious shivers down Marcus’s spine. He narrowed his eyes to inquisitorial slits. “So, what have you got planned next?”
“I want to wash off all this blood.” Marcus began unbuttoning his shirt, a slow process with one hand, as his drying blood had welded fabric to both flesh and chest hair. He transferred his other hand to Lucifer’s butt, tugging him closer still. Lucifer arched a brow in question. “It’s gonna be a squeeze, but I think there’s room in my shower cubical for two.”
***
There was, but only just. When Lucifer dragged aside the shower curtain to squeeze in naked beside him, Marcus feared the scale of his erection alone might send one or the other of them tumbling out into the bathroom.
Okay, maybe Marcus was flattering himself, but only a bit.
“How bijou,” said Lucifer. “That’s a polite way of saying your apartment is squalid and cramped,” he added, when Marcus didn’t deign to reply.
“Your brother ruined it,” murmured Marcus, only half-joking. “So, you can shut up about it.”
“Really? How’re you going to make me?” Lucifer sneered suggestively, his rock-hard length now wedged against Marcus’s hip. Marcus’s body turned to ice and flame at once. His power shower pummelled them both relentlessly, and so much blood spiralled down the plughole it resembled that scene from Psycho, but in glorious technicolour. Still, Marcus was long accustomed to blood—particularly his own. Despite the wounds that still patterned his body, and the fast-healing ones on Lucifer’s, he’d rarely been so turned on.
He grasped Lucifer’s face and pulled him into the kiss he’d craved all evening. In return, Lucifer devoured him, his tongue slick and skilful, the fusion of wetness and heat overwhelming. Lucifer tasted of hot blood, and intoxicatingly, wondrously of him.
Through the years, Marcus had sometimes proven an awkward lover, but with Lucifer, the path forward seemed simple. Lucifer’s every move reciprocated Marcus’s carnal desire. He buried a fist in Marcus’s hair, the twist painful, but Marcus didn’t care; Lucifer made him feel something other than the darkness and the pain. He awakened rotted corners of Marcus’s heart he’d believed were long lost. He yearned to make Lucifer feel just as powerfully as he did, and even with that, they seemed to be moving beyond just the pain and the punishment.
As the kiss wound on, he fondled Lucifer’s butt, enjoying how Lucifer’s muscles clenched and hardened, crushingly powerful. They rutted against each other, and the immediate pleasure of it all annihilated those troublesome questions about how they got here, and where the heck they were going with all this. All the while, Lucifer plundered Marcus’s mouth till his breath grew short, starry pinpricks reeling in front of his eyes.
Lucifer sucked on Marcus’s lip, biting down softly before releasing him to trail his fingers down Marcus’s throat. He skittered lower, tracing through the crystal streams of running water, till he lingered over the gash above Marcus’s heart, still bleeding and only partially knitted. Marcus hissed; it still smarted.
“How artless,” Lucifer prodded the raw, ripped flesh. “What can one expect from the Angel of War, mind.”
Marcus might’ve protested, had Lucifer not slid his shiny wet lips down to replace his fingertips. Having his wounds literally licked wasn’t Marcus’s top kink. Still, Lucifer managed to make almost anything alluring. Lucifer lathed his tongue across Marcus’s chest, setting his flesh tingling and fizzing and any remnant of pain fading. Hmmm, maybe he had some residue of an angel’s healing power, after all. Lucifer’s clever fingers roamed ever lower, teasing and grasping Marcus, until he whined with need.
He sensed the vibrations of Lucifer’s laughter. Then Lucifer was on his knees, barely fitting into the small square floor of the shower, taking Marcus deep. Lucifer’s mouth felt amazing, and the tricks he knew with that tongue… Ngggn! That itch of need built and built, veering between bliss and agony, drowning any fading pain from his wounds. When Lucifer withdrew before finishing him off, he whimpered, desperate. Lucifer glided back up to reclaim his lips. He tasted salt and copper… and Marcus was dying for release.
He wrenched himself from the increasingly bruising kiss. “Prick tease,” he panted. It was Lucifer’s turn to gasp and moan, as Marcus grasped both their lengths in his large palm and began to pump.
“Now I remember the sole attraction of… Gnng! … miserable loners like you.” Lucifer panted, his eyes rolling toward the heavens, his glistening face warped into a decorous portrait of wanton abandonment. “Loners are always… Ah!… so talented at hand-jobs.”
Marcus silenced him with a kiss that lasted even longer than their previous one. Coupled with the scrub of Lucifer’s steely flesh against his, it proved all too much. Marcus erupted at one with Lucifer, their pleasure spurting hotter than the scorching, steaming shower.
“Decent enough dessert.” Lucifer thudded his forehead down against Marcus’s shoulder, twining both his arms around Marcus’s neck. He grasped Marcus’s still-rigid cock. “I want seconds.”
***
It took Marcus a pitifully long time—nearly five whole minutes—to regain the stamina to go at it again. He then resumed usual service, complying with Lucifer’s request by slamming him face-first against the wet tiles of the shower cubicle, and ramming straight in. Marcus stilled a moment, and Lucifer squeezed about the intrusion, drawing Marcus deeper. Warm water lashed over his hair, his tightly screwed eyes. He tasted it on his parted lips, a distant backdrop to the delicious sensation of having Marcus fuck him.
Lucifer verged on delivering his usual snide, pushy-bottom encouragement to Marcus, when something terrible struck him.
Having sex with the devil was not supposed to be usual.
Yet here he was, at the concluding end of a date—albeit an unconventional one—with his “usual” lover entering him from the rear, in the “usual” fashion. Until recently, Lucifer had at least “usually” taken charge of scenes like this. He snatched at sarcasm to quell his horror. “Have you died back there? Thank you, Dad. Fabulous time to break the curse.”
Marcus’s fingertips gouged into Lucifer’s hip. “Shut up,” he murmured.
“You’ve the wit of a cadaver.”
“Shut up.”
“Stop it, you charmer. You’re all talk, aren’t you?”
Lucifer’s lines felt clunky, as if he couldn’t handle this. Like he was getting desperate. As if… Oh, but now Marcus was thrusting deeper, impaling him. Lucifer’s faculties disintegrated enough for him to really not care how “usual” having sex with Marcus had become. Then something else truly shocking occurred. Marcus licked the along ridge of Lucifer’s ear and whispered, “This still counts as one of the best damn nights of my life.”
Despite the matter that he’d only the friction of the slippery tiles against him, Lucifer had been accelerating toward climax again. Marcus’s words niggled enough to pull him from the brink. How had it come to this? This fool, Cain, was acting for all the world like he was in love with him. As for Lucifer, if he reciprocated anything, which he might, he wasn’t convinced he wanted to. Then there was the Detective. How did his sentiments toward her—and all those lovely unfulfilled “moments”— fit in with all this?
Still, he might as well enjoy being fucked toward oblivion, so Lucifer gave up on the “feels.” Marcus nibbled and bit at the back of his neck and pummelled him ever harder, until Lucifer’s body pitched toward orgasm once more.
Lucifer reached for his own cock. “Allow me.” Marcus grabbed Lucifer’s wrist and pinned it behind him, then wrapped a fist about Lucifer’s dick. Lucifer whined with delight, his own fists balling, his every muscle turning rigid as Marcus worked him. He despised how he let Marcus control him like this; conversely, a large part of him desired it about as deeply as he’d ever desired anything. Much like this was apparently one of the best nights of Cain’s long life.
Bugger.
Lucifer’s climax shattered through him, searing his senses as his heartbeat rocketed. Marcus came too, with a loud grunt and three juddering thrusts. They collapsed, then, to the shower floor, slippery and boneless in each other’s arms.
***
When Marcus awoke the next morning in his own bed, sunlight streaked between a gap in the curtains. He’d an arm thrown over Lucifer, who was curled against him, breathing heavily, still fast asleep. Beneath the coverlets, they were both butt naked.
Caught in the sleepy hinterland between slumber and wakefulness, Marcus didn’t move, save rubbing his cheek against Lucifer’s soft hair. He felt a smile tug the edges of his lips as he enjoyed the moment. He thought casually, This is nice. I could get used to this. I’d like to wake up like this every day.
His stomach clamped tight. His wakeful senses rushed back to him, and his heart leaped up into his throat. What was he thinking? Not only did he no longer want to die, he wanted to wake up each morning cuddling the devil. Lucifer Morningstar. The actual devil.
“Shit,” mumbled Marcus. He was really in trouble now.