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“What the heck did you think you were doing?” The instant Lucifer closed the front door, Pierce strode over, his “resting Pierce face” darkening so he resembled a mildly pissed-off bull.
“I should think it was blatantly obvious.” Lucifer raised his hands in a perfunctory gesture of despair, though he didn’t miss how Pierce swept a covetous gaze down his body. Lucifer arched a brow. Naturally, Pierce appreciated the view. Lucifer wore just a vest and those oh-so-patriotic briefs that left oh-so-little to the imagination in the manhood department. There was plenty to admire.
“I’ve been performing highly skilled undercover work.” Lucifer articulated slowly and clearly, as if speaking to a small child. “If you’ve missed this subtle point, you’ve clearly been out of the field too long. You’re becoming Mr. Boring Desk job.”
“I know you’re just trying to be a shitty neighbour, but you can do that by dropping litter. Knocking down mailboxes. Heck, by using fucking power tools at midnight! Dancing around in your underwear is ultimately going to bring the LAPD into disrepute. Bring me into disrepute.”
Pierce was yelling in Lucifer’s face by this time, albeit from an annoyingly respectable foot away. Pierce had fixed his stare on Lucifer’s eyes—which Lucifer rolled—now deliberately ignoring the rest of him. Even that tantalizingly lick-able strip of midriff that Lucifer had deliberately hitched his vest up to display.
“We can probably royally piss them off with some noisy domestics too.” Lucifer raised his voice to a theatrical shout. “Is it divorce already then, Mark? Or are you going to just give me a right good spanking and then we can kiss and make up?”
Pierce huffed and turned his back. “Just shut up, go away, and do something quietly for a change.” He stalked off back to whatever tedious paperwork he’d been fiddling with since breakfast.
After a moment pondering, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, Lucifer decided to comply with Pierce’s last request. Ten minutes later, he returned from the bedroom ready for his new “quiet” pastime.
Pierce glanced up, taking a sip of coffee as he did so. Then he spluttered said coffee all over his precious papers. Lucifer glanced his way and smiled demurely, while Pierce absorbed the delicious sight of Lucifer Morningstar in a miniscule lamé gold thong that made his previous briefs the proportional equivalent of a pair of thermal long johns. Pierce charged across the room, in full angry-bull mode. Before Lucifer could reach the front door, Pierce grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “You are not going out like that!”
“I thought I was your husband, not your teenage daughter.”
If Pierce looked any more furious, his nostrils would be puffing smoke. “Lucifer—"
“Relax, honey.” Lucifer twisted his wrist, freeing himself to pat Pierce’s anger-reddened cheek. “Get back to shuffling your papers and leave the police work to the experts. I’m just off out for a spot of front-garden sun bathing. Seeing as the girls have gone back to Lux, I’m going to have to take on this special assignment alone.”
“This is a family estate, and you’re practically naked.”
“I’m not though, am I?” He performed a twirl, just in case Pierce had missed quite how lovely his bare butt-cheeks were. “Not for the time being, at any rate. It’s a little difficult keeping oneself contained in underwear quite this diminutive.” As point of illustration, Lucifer adjusted himself within the overly tight pouch of golden fabric, wincing as the sparkly thread snagged tight up his arse crack. “It’s like trying to contain a cobra in a pencil case.” He sighed. “The sacrifices one makes for fash—”
Lucifer broke off, as Pierce grabbed him again, this time manhandling him bodily away from the door, hands mauling all over Lucifer’s bare torso and briefly seizing a firm handful of arse-cheek. Pierce then whipped out his handcuffs, and Lucifer allowed Pierce to cuff him, front-facing, to a sturdy looking towel rail in the kitchen.
“I can get out of these.” Lucifer couldn’t stop grinning. The cuffs weren’t even very tight. “Like, instantly.”
“I know.”
“I hope you’ve a better idea to keep me inside, then. Otherwise, I’m off to give the local parents a thrill when they pop out to fetch their kids from school. If we’re lucky, one of them will send me a death threat on a paper aeroplane or something.”
Lucifer suspected he was more likely to hook a few phone numbers. Or probably be begged to do the nasty with one of the bored house-wives or husbands. But, of course, catching a killer wasn’t central to his plan at that moment.
At least, not catching that killer. He peeped over his shoulder, regarding an exasperated Pierce raking his hair, hot and bothered… and now unashamedly gawping at Lucifer’s backside. Lucifer fluttered his eyelashes, enjoying his triumph in hooking the killer he was actually after. He’d been looking forward to a repeat of last night’s rough sex over the kitchen counter—had been bloody gagging for it since he’d woken up alone on that horribly lumpy sofa, to be honest. It was satisfying to confirm Pierce had been too.
Lucifer willed himself to relax and enjoy, prepping for Pierce to rip away his flimsy underwear and plunge on in like before. Then Pierce threw a curveball. He uncuffed Lucifer and hauled him toward the sofa instead.
“Do be gentle, Lieutenant, I’ll come quietly.”
“I don’t do gentle.” Pierce’s growl sent a tremor of thrill up Lucifer’s spine. However, rather than flinging Lucifer forward to bite the upholstery, he settled on it himself, then hauled Lucifer down over his lap—or rather, over a pair of thighs solid as boulders and against some rock-hard abs. Pierce’s erection tented his denim trousers, jabbing awkwardly into Lucifer’s pelvis.
“Bravo, Marcus!” Lucifer wriggled to get a little more comfortable, setting the couch creaking, and feeling pleasantly surprised. He’d hankered to be spanked by the Lieutenant the moment he’d laid eyes on his hands. They were ludicrously huge slabs of meat; they made his own hands seem delicate and slender, and that was pretty rare. “You pick up on my oh-so-subtle hints far quicker than the Detective does. I honestly didn’t peg you as being quite so playful.”
“I’ll play your stupid games, if you play by my rules for once. Hands behind your back. Now.”
Lucifer obeyed, and Marcus refastened the cuffs—a little bit too tight this time—linking Lucifer’s arms in the small of his back. This had the effect of making Lucifer less comfortable again, forcing his pelvis flush into Marcus’s concrete lap and pressing his naked arse-cheeks out even farther. He enjoyed a shiver of mild apprehension. He very almost felt vulnerable…
“Do you need a safe word?” asked Pierce.
“I’m the devil, darling. “Stop” means “harder and faster.” Got it?”
“Loud and clear. Just… wait one moment.”
Pierce nudged Lucifer forward so he could remove his own belt. “Because I’m not sure if I can go hard and fast enough for the devil without a little help,” Pierce explained. “Still up for this?”
“Kinky! I like it,” purred Lucifer, concealing a twinge of unease. Whips were a bit… well, hellish, and spanking was so much more fun with the intimacy of flesh on flesh contact. He had chiefly been looking forward to feeling those giant paws on—
Pierce’s palm slammed down flat against Lucifer’s arse, and Lucifer emitted a sound embarrassingly akin to a squeak. Pierce wasn’t gentle and certainly wasn’t playful, but as hoped, he wielded those rough hands with the strength to set Lucifer’s skin on fire—fun, blistering, exquisite fire. Lucifer hummed with pleasure, as the spanks rained down. Pierce had clearly done this before, knowing to concentrate his abuse again and again on specific patches of flesh. Lucifer felt his skin redden, sizzling toward a pleasant sting.
“Ooooh, that tickles. Delicious.”
Lucifer moaned and squirmed. He couldn’t gain friction against his own cock, but he was getting pretty hard, his erection causing the golden thread of his thong to cut up his butt, sharp as cheese-wire. So, plenty of mild, fun pain to enjoy. The stinging sensation spread across his backside as more of his flesh received a sufficient level of damage, blossoming into something more intense, though still falling solidly on the so-bad-its-good side of the torture spectrum. This just made Lucifer harder, and tempted him to yank off the cuffs to touch himself, or at least adjust himself inside that too-tight fabric again. But that might spoil everything.
He found he didn’t want to irritate Pierce right then, but only because he sure as heaven—Ugh!—didn’t want Pierce to stop.
Pierce didn’t stop. Even when the springs, boards and legs of the couch beneath them surrendered all at once, and they both abruptly sank two inches toward the floorboards. Keeping up the relentless, nigh-joyless pace of last night’s fucking, Pierce spanked Lucifer until the pain flourished toward…
Hmmm, actually, it was really bloody hurting now. The kind of bad pain that stopped arousal in its tracks, and set him gasping for air, wondering if he could draw in enough to beg. The torrent of blows merged into one, as if Pierce was blasting his raw flesh with a blowtorch. Lucifer’s brain went fuzzy and his vision blurred with the sheer overwhelming onslaught, and probably with tears. He didn’t even care anymore. Fortunately, Pierce’s pace seemed to be flagging a little, because he wanted this to…
“Stop. P-please, stop.”
“If you say so, Lucifer.”
There was a moment of respite, and then Lucifer discerned the unmistakable sound of leather cracking through the air. Pierce’s thick belt sliced across the battered flesh of Lucifer’s backside.
“Stop… I actually m-mean… it. Ow!” He bit his tongue and tasted blood. Pierce, playing by Lucifer’s rules apparently, flogged Lucifer all the harder. Lucifer cried out, sounding hoarse and weak, but to no avail. His involuntary clenching of his abused muscles just made things worse. He struggled against the cuffs, but they bit and bruised his wrists, and when he tried to roll away, he found the pain had drained his strength as well as his wits. A pressure he’d not noticed before—one of Pierce’s hands or an elbow?—was jammed between his shoulder blades pinning him in place. Pierce used the belt to spread tongues of fire way beyond the epicentre of his pain, across his back and thighs as well, and even his tethered hands and wrists.
Lucifer made a final effort to think straight. There was only one explanation.
N-note to self. Ow! N-eed a s-afeword… when the Detective… Ow! …might turn up anytime…
Lucifer faintly registered a knocking sound. Then his consciousness faded for a short while, rendering him unaware of anything save the hurt and a ghastly concern that Pierce had flayed all the skin from his beautiful arse.
***
“Hey, Lucifer, you with me?”
When Lucifer’s senses regrouped, he was uncuffed and lying with his head in Pierce’s lap. Pierce patted Lucifer’s cheek. His other hand touched Lucifer’s hair, fingers moving in a jerky fashion that verged upon stroking, or even petting.
So, Pierce could do gentle when he tried. Even if he was a nasty sadistic bastard.
Lucifer blinked a couple of times, as his brain caught up with the rest of recent events. His agony had faded to that exquisitely sweet sting again, reassuring him that his lovely skin was still intact, any bruising more or less healed. Pierce’s deadpan expression was tinged with… something. It might have been guilt. Lucifer wasn’t sure. He glared up at Pierce, if just to hide his… his… he didn’t quite know how he felt or what he wanted to hide, to be honest. Glaring made his temples throb, so he didn’t keep it up for long. He dabbed his damp eyes and cheeks with his knuckles, nudging Pierce’s hand a little as he did so. Pierce didn’t pull away.
“I take it… we had a visit from the detective?” asked Lucifer.
Pierce nodded. His palm now rested gently on the side of Lucifer’s face, his thumb moving slightly, the ghost of a caress. “Yeah, she picked a real good moment to check on us there. I’d no idea you’d passed out until after, but you’ll be glad to know I managed to stop her coming in.”
“Congratulations,” murmured Lucifer. “Or maybe it should be commiserations. She might have succeeded where all others had failed and actually murdered you. I doubt she’s a fan of domestic abuse.”
Pierce finally betrayed what seemed like proper guilt, cringing wearily. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t stop when you asked.”
“Really?”
“That’s unfair. You know what you said about a safe word. You could’ve got through to me somehow, surely?”
“I was a bit far gone by that time,” admitted Lucifer, who now noticed that Pierce had pulled a blanket over him, covering all his glorious near-nakedness. He almost scoffed at Pierce’s phobia of lovely, wanton flesh. Yet the blanket felt fluffy and cosy. Though his legs dangled awkwardly over the arm of the wrecked couch, he was really very comfortable.
“I guess I got carried away, with the belt and all,” said Pierce. “I figured you could take it. That you wanted it.”
“Well, spanking the devil is an invitation-only sport, and you were invited. I should have guessed you were an Olympic champion. Besides, the only damage done is to this poor sofa. You didn’t hurt me.” Much. Only the Detective can do that. “Don’t flatter yourself, husband dear.”
On that note, Lucifer killed whatever kind of “moment” they’d been having. Pierce’s gaze hardened to its usual granite. He slid out from under Lucifer—although he bothered to replace his lap with a cushion—and returned to his coffee and paperwork.
“Maybe I’ll get five minutes of peace to concentrate now,” he muttered, flexing and blowing on his sore-looking hand.
Lucifer, feeling almost himself again, pushed up onto his elbows and shook any last remnants of fuzziness from his head. Peace? Not bloody likely. The time for near-naked sunbathing might have passed, but he’d brought plenty of power tools and had a billion ideas concerning how to piss the neighbours off. Although annoying Pierce was way more fun.
I wonder how much I need to irritate Pierce for him to spank me again after that?
Pierce had sat back down with his back to Lucifer, so Lucifer headed off to find more clothes and mull things over.
He still couldn’t quite read Pierce. The man was definitely holding something back. Nevertheless, being with Pierce was exciting. Those tender moments in the aftermath aside—and dwelling on those, he decided, was not helpful—Lucifer was pretty sure Pierce had enjoyed hurting him as much as he’d enjoyed fucking him raw. Sod it, and Lucifer liked that the murderous miscreant made him feel, even if everything between them was chiefly physical. None of this helped Lucifer with his undercover work, or even with the task of “killing Cain”… Unless he could force Pierce into catastrophic over-exertion during some form of hardcore BDSM? Preferably without the Detective too near this time.
Probably not, but who cared. Trying would surely be a fun challenge, although Lucifer found himself moving gingerly to avoid twinges of discomfort, and then picking some atypically baggy clothes to wear for the remainder of the day. He also steered clear of the brooding Lieutenant for several hours.
Pierce might not be the Detective, but maybe, just maybe… Pierce made Lucifer feel a little too much.