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Sleepy Lucifer sat on the bed. Alastor's room was peculiar: a long forest in place of the wall opposite the bed, which disappeared with an accidental blink or reappeared whenever Alastor wished. Above the bed hung a deer's head, and in the personal fridge, probably the body of that same deer. Strange.
This was the fifth night they spent together: most of the time, Alastor told stories about people, about amusing tales from the lives of earth's inhabitants, embellishing the narrative with laughter from the audience.
They hugged. Embraced, surrendering to the moment: pressing each other to their chests, soaking in each other's scent, absorbing parts of each other, feeling as if they were alone in the entire hell, while the air around them pulsed and smelled of Lucifer's perfume.
Nothing "more" interested Alastor: he almost never reached into forbidden places, except for the desire to press Lucifer closer to his chest. He didn't try to hint, just told silly lewd anecdotes from his past life. And Lucifer did not object. He had already been in serious relationships with sexual connections. Now, he had a daughter and depression.
With Alastar, it was about living in the moment, waiting for the next night and new stories. Sometimes over a bottle of whiskey for two.
Lucifer followed with his gaze and sniffed, stopping at Alastor's red coat, which was carefully folded over the back of a chair.
A brilliant idea appeared in Lucifer's head, and a sly smile found its way onto his face. He quickly dressed himself in the coat, wrapping himself up.
Alastor's shoulders were broader, and he was taller. "Asshole," thought Lucifer, twirling in front of the mirror. Alastor's cloak barely covered his butt, but on Lucifer, it went down to his ankles. "What a asshole," Lucifer repeated.
The cloak smelled of demon. As far as Magne knew, Alastor didn't use any perfumes, naturally smelling of leather, deer fur, old whiskey, and filth, but the latter was common to all the inhabitants of hell. No one paid attention.
And the mix of these scents... Surprisingly arousing.
Lucifer fell onto the bed, breathing heavily. The room around him swirled, and golden blood flowed to his cheeks and groin.
Hands wandered over his body as if they were someone else's, covering his chest. His body was quite delicate for the king of hell. Lilith often spoke about it, squeezing the snow-white hands of her husband. And now, he touched himself, smelling the cannibal's coat.
Lucifer lied every time he said he didn't feel the heat when Alastor used his tentacles, helping himself with daily tasks. Now these tentacles touched him in dreams under closed eyelids.
The tentacles lifted his nightshirt to his neck. The tentacles stripped him of his pants, spreading his legs. Satan, he hadn't done such a thing for centuries.
It seemed that along with the tentacles, Alastor's shadows touched Lucifer, wrapping around his dick, running fingers over the tip of the urethra, sending the thinnest part of the shadow inside, causing Lucifer to arch weakly. The fantasy drove Lucifer insane, making him so... disheveled.
Hundreds of shadowy hands enveloped Lucifer's sensitive body, sending him to paradise, back countless years to the unfortunate apple. Only pure pleasure in Eden.
Lucifer was a mere angel. God made humans resemble his children, so now Lucifer was corrupt. Damn depraved and sinful. Most humans needed intimate closeness, but Lucifer understood that Alastor was different. Alastor didn't crave the body of an angel, but he didn't disdain physical contact.
Lucifer accepted this and truly respected it. But Alastor was so... Lucifer couldn't describe it. He wanted to touch him, to watch him. To delve into his head, tear the dead brain into two parts, and read everything written there.
Damn, Lucifer flinched, hearing foreign steps. He wasn't sneaking.
Lucifer threw off the coat, adjusted his clothes, and tried to take a natural pose.
"What are you doing here?" Alastor's gaze was direct, but the smile never faded.
"Nothing?"
"I see..." Alastor nods, tilting his head to his shoulder. "Charlie is calling you. And hand me the coat, please."