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Lucifer felt a call.
And as unlike himself as it was, he felt the need to answer it.
A portal opened infront of him, in the form of a pentagram opened, as they usually did, just like one would imagine a trapdoor, or a door suddenly appearing infront of one. If the caller was skilled, or determined enough, or even just lucky, they could set such a portal just beneath Lucifer and safely summon him. But he had the option to vanish just as quickly as he came and usually the human souls pulling for his attention just lacked the ability. Perhaps they would manifest Lucifer as stepping into a door and out, which is why they would usually place theyr summoning portals infront of him. Lucifer usually managed to dodge such doors but he did not on that day.
And what greeted him was a basement.
The basement was old, dusty, and drowning in mouldy air. Boxes cluttered every corner. In the center stood a dark oak table with five chairs around it. A single oil lamp on the table illuminated the room with weak light. A small, old radio sat on a pile of boxes in the corner. The air was cold, thick, stale. One chair had been pulled out, as though waiting for someone.
Lucifer did not sit.
He did look around and saw a young man in his late thirties, clearly the one who had prepared this scene alone.
There were corpses in the room.
Lucifer almost regretted coming.
Another spectacle of human cruelty, and he was the one to blame for the state of humanity.
The mortal before him will certainly pride himself for having summoned the King of Hell himself.
So Lucifer, the Deceiver, the fallen star, lied.
“Who is it you were expecting, human soul?” he asked.
The man, Alastor, flinched at his sudden appearance.
His ever-present grin slipped for a breath before snapping back into place, far too tight.
“Oh-ho! Quite unexpected company,” he chirped too loudly. “Though I must admit… you’re not exactly who I was hoping for.”
The radio crackled behind him with a burst of jazz before screeching into white noise. That broken thing.
He eyed a fresh corpse pile while maintaining polite conversation.
“Tell me, darling, do all divine beings make such dramatic entrances? Or is that your personal brand?”
Lucifer knew this was a jab at his appearance, and while he would love to make Alastor feel the presence of the King of Hell to save his own pride, he quickly composed himself, held back his growl and send a sneer through the electronics in the room, that would press on Alastors ears for a second.
Lucifer, not wanting to reveal his identity and reward the mans ego, played dumb and walked through the room, still not acknowledging the presence of the chair that was reserved for him
“Do tell… who were you hoping for?”
*Alastor's grin snapping back wider,too wide, like he's forcing it.
“Oh-ho! Playing coy, are we?” His voice dipped into a crackling whisper. “I didn’t speak the name aloud, but surely you can feel who this little tableau was meant to attract~”
“Though between us? I expected… Someone with a bigger presence.”
He gestured to the carnage with faux disappointment.
“Did my offering not meet his standards? Perhaps?”
“Whoever it was meant to attract, that was surely a miss, sinner.” Lucifer laughed.
“How many bodies lie there, mortal?”
Alastor hesitated just barely, before smoothing his smile.
“Well, now, it would be tacky to count in front of company.” He waved vaguely at the piles. “Let’s just say… enough to make a statement.”
A radio crackled: “LOCAL MAN DISAPPEARS IN MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTA—”
He slapped it off.
“…I may have gotten carried away.”
That damned, broken thing.
Hell was overcrowded because of men like this. Lucifer thought. Five more sinners thrown down before their time, all for this mortal’s pride.
“And that is what you call an offering?” Lucifer asked, while chuckling.
“A shallow, prideful gesture. Gifting someone something and then using it yourself… is that not tacky?”
Alastor bristled.
“I-” a beat passed, “I’m being efficient with my resources.”
“And what do you want in exchange for five souls, a square of chocolate and what is that? Coffee? Surely you did not summon me for my splendid company.” Lucifer asked.
Alastor smoothed his hair, regaining his composure.
“I want entertainment" His eyes flick over Lucifer’s pristine appearance mockingly. "You clearly have flair for dramatics~ So tell me…”
Alastor leans back.
“What’s your best trick?”
Lucifer smiled and after rummaging in his pocket he set something on the table: a simple, red apple. And he rolled it toward Alastor.
“Eat.”
Alastor stares dubiously at the apple for several seconds, eyeing it like it might jump up and bite him instead. He glances up at Lucifer with a mix of annoyance and curiosity.
"You... want me to eat an apple."
His voice crackles with skepticism.
"Is that it? Your grand display of divine power is... making me consume a piece of fruit?"
Lucifer just checks the clock. He leans over the table then, looking into Alastors eyes and slowly, very slowly keeps leaving forward.
The silence is pressing and the air is damp in the basement, exaggerating the smell of the old wood and mold and as Lucifer leans forward, with a thump on the table, he is now a snake, slitherin its way towards the apple infront of Alastor
“Eat”
Alastor feels the snake say in Lucifer’s voice. But the snake does not speak.
Alastor's entire body goes rigid for a split second, his pupils dilate as the realization hits him. His hands clench into fists, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.*
"...Oh." His voice comes out hollow. "That's... quite the twist~"
The snake flicks its tongue at him impatiently. Alastor hesitates only another moment before snatching up the apple with shaky fingers.
CRUNCH.
He takes an aggressive bite while maintaining unblinking eye contact with the serpent like this is some sort of perverse staring contest.
The world snapped.
The basement vanished.
He stood in a swamp.
The apple was gone.
A knife sat in his hand.
A pale, white deer moved through the fog, glistening in silver moonlight.
Alastor knew, instinctively, he must hunt it.
He could not resist.
The deer looked at him, then ran.
Alastor charged after it, mud sucking at his feet, breath ragged.
His heart pounded, bones aching as if they wanted to split out of his skin, growing larger and larger, piercing pain tore at his flesh. He saw red.
The deer stood waiting again, turned away, shimmering just like the murky waters surrounding them.
It should have run further. It should have escaped.
It waited to be killed. But the hunt had left Alastor hungry.
“You’re mine…” Alastor growled.
What followed was only wet, quiet squelching.
A dirty, primal slaughter beneath moonlight.
And when it was done.
Lucifer lay before him.
Not the deer.
Lucifer.
Laid out on his stomach, drenched in sticky golden blood. Mangled deer limbs splayed around him.
The Devil looked up at him.
“Claim your prize.”
Alastor stared down at the King of Hell, chest heaving, knife trembling in his hand. His pulse thundered. He should feel horror. Fury. Something… else. Satisfaction even. Anything else.
But instead
A deep, twisted pressure unfurled inside him.
He won.
Lucifer, terrible Lucifer, lay at his feet and lifts his hips, his holes on display, glistening with blood or wetness and tight as though neglected, for centuries.
The muscles on his back, tensing with six scars, slits to resemble eyes to haunt whoever would dare to look at him.
A jolt of excitement tingles down Alastor's spine at the sight.
He was already feeling a strange mix of triumph and power from having bested Lucifer, but the sudden display... that was something else entirely.
He lets out a low, shaky breath, his hands trembling from excitement as he grips the knife.
"Is this... my reward?" he finally manages to croak out, his voice hoarse.
He slowly circles Lucifer, his eyes greedily taking in that scarred back.
“Consume as you please. however I will warn you that one drop of my blood would kill a human instantly,”
Lucifer hesitates and then
“Alastor.”
Alastor freezes mid-step at the sound of his name, spoken so deliberately, with such an undercurrent of warning.
He turns his head just enough to meet Lucifer’s gaze over his shoulder, a slow smirk spreading across his face.*
"Aha-ha! Now you know my name?" His voice drips with mocking amusement as he crouches beside Lucifer. "How omnipresent."
The knife gleams in the dim light as he raises it slightly, not quite striking yet, but poised for whatever comes next. Barely able to conceal his excitement.
"...But I do wonder... is that a threat? Or an invitation~?"
“See, old sport… you can choose that one~”
Alastor's grin turns downright feral at the words. His fingers twitch around the knife handle as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr.
A beat of silence- then he suddenly flips the blade and slams it point-first into Lucifer’s hip with a sickening crunch.
Lucifer hisses, his tail slaps the floor in rage. He did not expect that one.
Alastor’s eyes widen in surprise for a split second. Then he laughs, sharp and unhinged, as Lucifer reacts. His grip tightens around the knife handle, twisting it deeper just to hear the King of Hell hiss again.
A sort of laugh that only a man that feared for his life could laugh.
"Oh-ho! Did I hurt you?" He coos mockingly, "Poor little devil~"
Lucifer feels a slight embarassment build inside of him, as more slick drips down his thighs.
And as he looks down at Alastor’s body, he can’t help but scoff.
“You seem awfully bad at handling unexpected feelings yourself… Is the thrill of the kill enough for you? Do you prefer to please yourself in the dark, alone? Or perhaps you kill because you are so repressed. You wouldn’t be the first or last~”
He speaks in a sing-song tone as his wounds begin closing up right where the knife has left them.
Alastor's expression falters for a second as Lucifer's words hit a nerve. He's right, of course. About all of it. Alastor has a lot of... deep-rooted issues, but he's always been good at hiding them behind a mask.
He bristles, grip on the knife handle tightening again as he twists it cruelly.
Lucifer now, laughs too, from pain. The pain evident in his furrowed brows, his little squeaks.
He lets his tail trail down his holes, spreading his wetness and the blood from his hip that is trickling down, leaving behind a golden trail.
“Such a vile creature… Slaughter is more agreeable than desire.”
The sight of Lucifer like this: bleeding, but still defiant, only adds fuel to the fire inside Alastor. His eyes track the motion of Lucifer's tail, drinking in every little movement.
He can feel the heat building within him, stirring something primal that's demanding to be released. It's a feeling he's been suppressing for some time, especially in front of audiences, due to the nature of it being a nuisance, or often even too banal to pursue, but the sight of the King of Hell laid out so defenseless beneath him is stirring it to life with a vengeance.
“Desire… Alastor, is a gift.” Lucifer now coos.
His holes look so inviting. Alastor thinks about his fingers inside of him and nearly gags in disgust.
Alastor's breath hitches, his grip on the knife slackens for just a second as his mind races with filthy, filthy images. The way Lucifer’s body is laid out so perfectly for him... The slick golden trails leading right where he...
"You insufferable little…" He snarls through gritted teeth, but there's no real heat behind it. His free hand twitches toward Lucifer’s hip before he forcibly stops himself.
Alastor’s pupils dilate, his entire body locking up at the sight, golden blood and slick pooling together in such a lewd display. His knife clatters to the ground as his hands twitch uselessly at his sides.
"You-" His voice cracks into static, raw with conflict. He wants to shove Lucifer away like garbage. He wants to dive in headfirst.
A choked noise escapes him before he finally growls, "Stop looking at me like that."
Pained. Stop looking at m pained, thinks.
Alastor's entire body tenses, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he stares down at Lucifer, golden blood smeared across his hips, slick dripping shamelessly onto the floor. His fingers twitch at his sides, torn between reaching out to claim or to consume.
A beat of hesitation.
Then Alastor snarls and grabs Lucifer by the hips.
He pulls Lucifer towards him, his mind is an absolute mess of conflict as he drags the king of Hell into his lap. His grip on Lucifer's hips is tight, almost bruising, as he looks up at him with darkened, conflicted eyes.
"You did this on purpose." His voice is a hoarse whisper, tinged with accusation. "You wanted me to lose control."
“To humble you,-”
Alastor lets out a sharp scoff, fingers digging into Lucifer’s skin.
"Humbling? You think this-" He jerks Lucifer forward slightly, causing him to rub against the bulge in Alastor’s slacks. "This is humbling me?"
Alastor's hand trembles as he hesitates for a second, his fingers hovering just above Lucifer’s dripping pussy.
The air between them is thick with tension, his breathing ragged.
Then, finally, he gives in. His fingers brush against the slick folds, testing the heat before plunging two digits inside with a rough thrust.
"You're going to regret this," he growls through gritted teeth,"I promise you."
Alastor's chest rumbles with a deep growl- an animal noise of pure frustration…
…with himself.
He's sick for this, they both know it. His fingers are moving before his brain catches up, pumping into Lucifer with a ruthless rhythm. He's angry, angry at the king of Hell for tempting him like this, and at himself for falling right into the trap.
Alastor's entire body locks up in horrified arousal, his fingers stilling mid-thrust. He stares down at the slick, swollen mess of Lucifer’s neglected cunt, golden blood smeared across his thighs like some kind of blasphemous offering.
Alastor's breathing is heavy, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his side.
His thoughts are racing. All thoughts of disgust are drowned by the overwhelming flood of desire.
"You are…" he rasps, his voice thick with need.* "You are absolutely filthy."
"You're enjoying this," he accuses, but there's an edge of disbelief as he slowly pulls his fingers from Lucifer's drooling pussy and then pushes them into his ass, not stopping despite the fact that his head is reeling.
“W-wrong… you humans are. You have a divine being in front of you~”
Lucifer holds him close to still his movement for a moment, to adjust
“And look what you decided to do…”
Alastor’s fingers curl harder at the sound of Lucifer’s voice, his breath hitching in sheer, unbridled lust.
He can feel the way Lucifer's little body is trembling around him, the clenching, the dripping.
His free hand suddenly grips Lucifer’s hip like a vice as he pumps his fingers deeper, just as slick spills out in a sudden rush from between their bodies.
The sensation of it makes his head spin, he's completely lost in it now, the conflict between his emotions drowned out by the overwhelming lust. He looks down at the mess covering them both, and something animalistic seems to snap in him.
Alastor’s breath stutters, his fingers buried to the knuckle the mess dripping down his wrist. The sight alone makes Alastor’s cock twitch painfully in his pants.
And if Alastor would not be too consumed by his grotesque horror, he could see the golden shimmer on Lucifer’s cheeks.
THUD.
Suddenly Alastor finds himself sitting at the table in his basement, as though woke up from a nightmare, drenched in dread.
He is alone at the table, the room looking untouched.
Alastor jolts forward in his seat, a gasp tearing from his throat as he glances around the room wildly.
For a moment, he seems absolutely shell-shocked.
Then, he lets out a harsh, hysterical laugh and leans back in his chair, running shaky hands through his hair.
"Goddamnit…" he mutters hoarsely to himself.
But no one there to hear him.
A failed experiment at summoning a demon, his little ritual had seemingly done nothing.
That is besides the little trail of golden blood, right beneath the table, which Alastor will not find, not for several more failed attempts.