Work Text:
“It is well past time for a lesson, pet.”
The blood in Lucio’s veins halts as it turns to ice. Fear has him frozen from the inside out even as the fires of the Devil’s realm flare hotter around him. There is an unreadable gleam in beady black eyes, and it sends shivers of fear down Lucio’s spine. The Devil stands above him, tall and gloomy and regal. He’s power, and Lucio’s knees are weak. A clawed hand rakes through his hair, collapsing Lucio to a kneel. The Devil’s fist locks tight, to keep Lucio from falling to his hands and knees as he drags him. Lucio stumbles the whole way, knocking against the stairs up to the Devil’s throne, before he is draped across the smooth stone. His hands slap against the high back of the chair, narrowly avoiding bashing his head into it. The build up of sweat on his palm is making them slick down polished stone, and Lucio hates the physical proof of his nervousness, his fear.
The Devil doesn’t care. He trails a hand along Lucio’s spine, slicing his shirt to ribbons. Lucio opens his mouth to protest, knowing his shirt won’t be salvageable when he leaves the realm. It snaps shut. The Devil blankets his back. His skin stings with the heat that roils off the Devil, though the silk of his stole is ice where it hangs to brush Lucio. Lucio’s vision blurs into a heaving tangle of black and red as his nostrils fill with smoke and brimstone. He wants to sneeze or cough, though it wouldn’t do much. The Devil’s breath is thick against his cheekbone as he purrs into his ear. Lucio can’t avoid the clouding smog.
“Do you know how many chances I’ve given you?”
“I—” Lucio chokes as the Devil’s hand cups his throat, “No. Sir.”
“Mm, do you know why I give you so many chances?”
Lucio knows that purring tone. It’s the low, thunderous sound of victory, like chariots lapping around the colosseum. It’s the Devil’s admission that he’s winning. The sign that every trick, plan, and plot has led exactly where he bid. It’s satisfaction.
Lucio doesn’t know what he’s won this time. He can only wonder. The Devil waits until Lucio gets the picture. He sits here with a hand at his throat, and a fog of arousal and fear clouding his thoughts. Lucio isn’t supposed to know because the Devil wants to enlighten him. He awaits a response.
“No?”
“Of course, you don’t. You’ve always been stupid, haven’t you?” Lucio almost preens before he recognizes the insult.
The Devil rises. He makes careful work of stripping Lucio the rest of the way. His claws are precise as Lucio’s garments practically fall from him. Once naked, stark against the dark obsidian around him, the Devil slides his fingers between Lucio’s cheeks. He traces over the hole he finds there, pressing into Lucio’s perineum to make him buck. He weighs Lucio’s balls in his hands, swollen and tender to touch already, before glancing his claws down Lucio’s shaft. Precum beads at the top of Lucio’s cock, his arousal sweeping any fear he had left off a cliff. It tumbles slow then quick into a broken and bloodied heap at the back of Lucio’s awareness.
Lucio truly relaxes into the Devil’s touch now. Big hands guide him to lay across the seat of the throne properly. Lucio’s toes don’t brush the ground and his cock ends up trapped between his belly and the hard surface of the chair. It’s not nice, but it’s not bad either. Lucio only needs a thought to will the obsidian to soften. The Devil’s realm isn’t his, but it bends if he begs. A pillow cradles his hips, and his elbows sink as if he’s leaning on a mattress. His cock pulses at the welcome lushness almost enveloping it. Lucio thrusts down, unable to stop himself. It’s soft and teasing along his length.
Two slippery fingers shoving into him jolts Lucio out of his ambling pleasure. Lucio moans through them, and his forehead taps the back of the chair. He sags into it, a breath fogging the polished surface at the burn that is not-quite-there. Lucio clenches, but the Devil finds him loose. A sated rumble fills the air as the Devil fingers Lucio open with two then three then four, only to replace them all a sudden with his cock.
The burn is forefront now as Lucio stretches around the girth as the Devil seats himself. Lucio whimpers as he melts into the throne. His toes brush the floor as they curl and uncurl. The Devil is thick and hot inside him, and Lucio thinks he might die. Choked out by sulfurous heat, too dazed by pleasure to remember to breathe, and too full to try. Lucio can’t keep hold of the realm, and the chair turns back to harsh, cool obsidian underneath him, though there is a puddle of his own precum forming under him.
The Devil doesn’t wait for Lucio to brace himself. He simply thrusts, steady and mean. Lucio’s body is pliant and willing under him. The Devil delights in the way his ass jiggles with each thrust. Lucio moans half in pain, half in pleasure as his hips snap into the edge of the chair. The bruises that will undoubtedly be left to show what happened here, excited Lucio further.
“Pet.” The Devil says, as if he’d repeated himself. Lucio glances back over his shoulder. “Do you hear yourself?”
Lucio hadn’t known he was speaking, but it’s obvious. His voice is high and tight as he calls out.
“Please— please, sir— want,” he begs, mostly unintelligible except for the pleas that are punched from him.
“You’re trying so hard to beg me, but cannot even gather yourself to do so. YOu use your body to make up for that though, don’t you? I don’t ask, yet you are so eager to give. It’s breathtaking.” He’s right. Lucio’s hands are braced to push himself back into each of the Devil’s thrust, his hips angled to meet them as he stretches his feet to reach the ground. The arch in his back is painful with the jerk of each thrust, but Lucio ignores it in favor of taking, taking, taking.
“Fuck—” Lucio brings his forearm flat against the back of the chair, forehead tucked into the crook of his elbow as the Devil fucks him harder.
“I find it hard to resist you like this. So desperate.”
Lucio’s face is hot with a rush of shame because he can’t begin to stop the noises he’s making. As the Devil angles himself deeper, Lucio’s mouth gapes. Please— more— harder— trip of his tongue with every breath, and compared to the unfaltering monotone of the Devil’s own voice it makes Lucio even more pathetic. He hands his head, his whole body flaring hotter at the embarrassment washing over him.
“Desperate for my help. For my mercy. For me.”
The Devil tsks, and fucks Lucio somehow faster. Lucio drifts in the waves of bliss, sweat matting his hair to his brow. He tries to brush the damp blonde out of his eyes, but it doesn’t work. The gel that had held it back is all but gone.
The oppressive heat of one hand leaves his hip then the other. They walk up the length of his spine once it becomes obvious that Lucio’s trembling limbs will hold him for the moment at least. Lucio jumps at the prick and tickle of the Devil’s claws along his back. The Devil digs into Lucio’s ribs, thumbs pressing on either side of his spine. Lucio gasps as the pain flares above the pleasure, lashing clarity through the dizziness. It’s too much. Lucio’s instincts have him bending to escape, though it is futile. There is heat and pair and the slick drool of blood in rivulets, and Lucio moans. The Devil’s heat grows against him.
Lucio’s attention is scattered across the sensations, until the Devil speaks, close to his ear.
“Since you fail to behave, I will give you a punishment. A reminder of your patron, who bids you, who provides for you, who owns you.”
The Devil tears his thumb through Lucio’s flesh. He watches as Lucio bleeds until blood has pooled into the dip of his lower back. He soaks his hand, and drags it around until it’s pressed to the smooth expanse of Lucio’s sternum. His fingers extend out across soft skin, long enough to touch the hollow of Lucio’s throat.
Lucio must scream as the Devil makes contact with his skin. He cannot hear it. He cannot hear anything beyond his own racing heart and the Devil’s low, rolling chuckle. The area is incomprehensible pain. It burns and burns and burns, deep through skin and muscle, flesh and bone to sink into his essence. Lucio is dying again, searing from the inside out as if with fever. Once the Devil is finished there will be nothing left but ashes streaked grey over obsidian, Lucio is sure.
In reality, Lucio is shrinking like a withering flower. He curls until he’s a tiny ball around the Devil’s arm. The Devil blankets his back. His fur ghosting the nape of Lucio’s neck and the line of his shoulders. Lucio focuses on the feeling as he comes back to himself. The Devil’s left hand wraps around his shoulders. He delicately uncurls them. The motion prompts a groan from Lucio though he sits up all the same.
“Look at you now, my pet.”
“Wha—” Lucio mumbles.
He peels his eyes fully open despite the tears sticking his lashes together. The black of the chair has transformed into a mirror. Lucio can see himself. It’s nothing he’s not seen before. Expansive stretches of supple, smooth skin over muscle and decorated with a healthy rosy flush. His hair is tousled and sweat slicks it back as Lucio grooms it back to see better. Bruises are already forming in reddish purples across his torso from the rough treatment. His hips are especially dark. His torso is smeared in his own blood, but Lucio doesn’t see anything new.
The Devil looms over his shoulder, massive comparatively and smirking. His bready eyes are trained on the center of Lucio’s chest, and Lucio flicks his gaze over it again.
There’s a brand. A symbol of the Devil, permanently marring his skin, and barely visible through the blood. It stretched from his collarbone to just below his chest, completely covering his sternum and some of his pecs. It has scarred into dark pink, but the skin feels like nothing under curious fingertips. Lucio traces the curling horn coming from the skull before darting his eyes up to meet the Devils.
“It will only be visible to you once you leave my realm,” The Devil says, a hand coming around to caress Lucio’s abdomen.
“...you,” Lucio starts.
“A reminder, pet. You will not forget your place.”
Blood rushes to Lucio’s cheeks as embarrassment squirms through him. He’s naked, cock soft between his thighs as he leans back into the Devil’s fluffy chest. He’s been marked by him for the foreseeable future in a much more permanent way than usual. Powerlessness sweeps through him, and he feels humiliated under keen eyes. And yet, arousal echoes through him all the same. He meets his own lidded gaze in the mirror, and finds something there.
Bliss, as if he’s had his pleasure satisfied.