Archive of Our Own

Lucifer didn't have a silver tongue before The Fall. If he had, things might have gone differently at the trial. That was one of the final parting gifts bestowed upon him by his siblings before they cast him out. There's a sort of twisted irony to it all. The snake, who gave up everything so human souls could choose their own destiny, always one over enunciated word from stripping it from them all over again. 

A few millennia ago, he'd had a harder time controlling it. It's not as if they cast him down with a copy of "How to Survive Your First Fall For Dummies." 

He remembers being overwhelmed in those early days, pulling away from reality, and telling Lilith to leave him alone. She had no choice but to walk away, and the heartbreak he saw in her eyes is something he will never forget. 

Lucifer never wanted to have control over others. He just wanted to be heard.

But thousands of years did a lot to strengthen his self-control, if nothing else.

All that to say, as a general rule, Lucifer doesn't influence Sinners. Not because he can't—far from it—but it goes against the spirit of the whole "Gift of Free Will" thing.

Living at the hotel has been making that rule feel more like a loose suggestion. 

It seems that every other Sinner that steps through their doors makes it their mission to put either themselves or others at risk of physical harm. While it's endlessly entertaining to watch Alastor and Vaggi fight over who will deal with their latest problem child, neither has the touch for more delicate situations.

It took a few months for Lucifer to realize just how outside of her depths Charlie really was. In his defense, he'd been a little distracted since moving in, and the whole angelic battery situation didn't help matters. Besides, when they first rebuilt the hotel, the residents were pretty stable, all things considered. So, Lucifer didn't really see how naive her methods were until after he recovered.

To his surprise, it was Alastor who backed him up when he told her she needed more help. He connected her with Belle so she could bring in therapists who were actually equipped to address the trauma coming up in their little group therapy sessions, much to the bartender's relief.

Things were starting to calm down.

"Dad!"

Charlie's voice rings out, and Lucifer sprints across the lobby and up the stairs before he can even think about what he's walking into. He pauses as he rounds the corner to take in the scene. A little ferret-looking Sinner wrings their hands from just behind the girls. Vaggi has her spear drawn. It's pointed to the ground, at least for now, but Charlie stands between her and one of the other guests, clearly trying to keep the situation from escalating. 

From the looks of things, it's a little late for that.

He's seen the Sinner around the hotel before, but there are so many of them, most of whom barely make it a week before giving up. It's been largely pointless to try to attach names to each of them. Not that it matters now. The scales along the bridge of their nose are cracked open, and thick red blood runs down one side into the corner of their mouth. Their gaze flits around wildly, panicked and unseeing. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucifer sees a familiar shadow slither into the hall, and he just barely manages to move in front of Alastor before he reincorporates, all teeth and crackling static. 

"Stand down, Bambi." 

His words are soft enough that Lucifer's sure no one else hears him over the Sinner's hiccupping breaths. Alastor's eyes narrow and dart over his head to where Charlie and Vaggi are playing interference. Lucifer takes the way his antlers shrink back to their normal size as a particular kind of win.

It's probably a good thing Charlie's too distracted to take notice. He hasn't taken the time to unpack what's been building between him and Alastor. It's delicate—something he doesn't want to ruin with the light of day just yet. 

He waits until he's sure Alastor's calmed down before turning back to the sobbing mess on the ground. 

It's not pretty. The poor things scratched bloody gashes into their arms, and every so often their head swings back against the wall, hard enough that Lucifer can't help but wince sympathetically. 

"Ladies." Lucifer tips his head to the side, silently asking them to step away. 

Vaggi hesitates, but Charlie sends the other Sinner away with a few hushed words and grabs Vaggi's hand, pulling her along. 

Alastor hovers over his shoulder, close enough that Lucifer can feel the warmth of his body against the back of his arm. That's been a newer development. He wouldn't call it PDA—no, that’s definitely something Alastor does not do—but he also isn't trying to hide their newfound connection anymore. The casual hand on his shoulder, a cup of coffee waiting on the counter, drinks at the end of a long day. It's oddly comfortable. Almost domestic.

"What happened?" Lucifer asks, looking between them.

"I don't know," Charlie all but whispers, "I think he got in a fight with Kit?"

Lucifer has to assume that was the Sinner she just sent away. It would have been nice to get a bit more information from them, especially with how quickly they scampered off. A conversation to have with Charlie when there wasn't a soul leaving fresh bloodstains in their carpet.

"What's his name?"

"Shane." 

"Okay." Lucifer nods, more to himself than anything else. 

It's the weekend. None of Belle's girls are on shift. They can call one of them in, but likely not before Shane manages to tear a chunk of flesh from his forearm. It won't be the first time in the last few months that he's helped Charlie calm one of the guests until they could get more qualified help. It will be the first time he's done so in front of anyone other than Charlie. 

He doesn't make eye contact with Alastor or Vaggi as he steps around the group to crouch down in front of the Sinner. He breathes deep, pulling on the familiar, bitter-sweet taste of liquid silver until it's coating his tongue.

"Shane, look at me," he says, but it's not his voice. Not the one he's grown to know, at least. It's layered with every version of himself, ancient and harmonic. 

He looks up almost immediately, eyes puffy and bloodshot. There are shallow scratches along his scalp, where it looks like, at some point, he'd made a valiant effort to tear his own hair out.

"Good." Whispers and echoes float between them as he continues. Some mimic him while others speak a long-dead language. "Take a deep breath. You're safe."

Lucifer tries to tune out the sound of Vaggi cursing under her breath in Spanish. Really, after everything they'd been through with that TV fuck, this is probably high up on the list of "Really Scary Shit" for most of them. 

"Safe," Shane echoes. He takes one stuttering breath, and then another.

"You don't want to hurt yourself," Lucifer says definitively. He lets more of that silver drip into the polyphonic tones until he feels it curl around his words and settle into the creature before him. 

Shane's hands loosen from where they dig into his arm, and blood sluggishly wells up in the painful-looking punctures.

"There you go," Lucifer encourages. He carefully watches for any adverse reaction as he starts to pull back the influence of his words. "You're going to go with Charlie to get cleaned up, okay?"`

He nods dumbly. Now that the fight has drained from his form, he looks much smaller. Tears well up in the corner of his eyes as he brings his legs to his chest, and thin arms wrap around them.

Lucifer stands and gestures for Charlie to follow as he takes a few steps down the hall, out of Shane's earshot. 

"Is he going to be okay?" she asks, glancing past Lucifer to the Sinner still slumped back against the wall.

"He should be okay for a while, but we need to get one of Belle's nurses over to check him out. Get him cleaned up. Don't leave him alone. I'll text your aunt."

Vaggi doesn't follow when Charlie moves around him and kneels next to Shane.

"Sir… What was that?" Her words come slowly, and Lucifer's sure he sees that same trepidation echoed in Alastor's sharp gaze from where he stands behind Vaggi.

"Something I'd rather not have to do." It comes out harsher than he intends. "I'm sorry. Just help Charlie, yeah?"

There's almost no hesitation before she nods curtly and steps into action. Lucifer hates that he can still see the soldier beneath the soft edges. He watches as she hurries to Charlie's side, only turning to face Alastor after they've rounded the corner.

"Alright. Say it."

"I wasn't going to say anything." Alastor feigns disinterest, brushing non-existent dust particles from his lapel.

"Bullshit." Lucifer waves a hand to the side, and a shimmering portal appears against the wall. "Come on."

Alastor rolls his eyes, but follows through to Lucifer's rooms.

Before the portal has even closed, Lucifer pulls out his phone to send a message to Belle. She replies immediately, letting him know she'll have someone over before dinner. It'll have to be good enough. 

He pockets his phone and drops onto the edge of the bed, watching Alastor curiously.

One of the first things Lucifer noticed about Alastor when they started whatever this is, was how different he could be in private. Alastor has a very carefully constructed mask. It's something he wears with pride, ensuring that he has complete control over his image. 

For reasons that Lucifer still can't figure out, it seems to drop in these hidden moments. At least, Lucifer's pretty sure that's what's happening. His shoulders relax, his ears are more expressive, and even the ever-present smile feels less forced. 

The alternative is that this is a very different mask, something specifically made to manipulate him. Sure, if that's what's happening, it's definitely with an ulterior motive, a tool to garner exactly the emotional response he wants. Probably to use him for whatever his next scheme is. 

There's a wildly fucked up part of Lucifer that doesn't really care. That would mean Alastor made it just for him, and it's been a very long time since someone's put in that kind of work to get his attention.

Usually, Alastor doesn't hesitate to make himself comfortable once they're alone. Most days, he sprawls out across one of the armchairs or his bed, while playfully berating Lucifer's decor to get a rise out of him. Not today, it seems.

He hasn't moved since stepping through the portal, seemingly entranced by the hellish flames in the fireplace.

"You alright there, Bambi?"

"Must you with that name?" Alastor sighs as he turns to shoot a halfhearted glare his way.

"Mmm, yes," Lucifer hums. He pulls off his coat and tosses it to the end of the bed before leaning back on his elbows, watching Alastor as he crosses the room. It's really unfair how pretty he is when he's irritated. It's hard not to needle those little reactions from him. "It's cute."

"You're incorrigible."

The way his upturned nose scrunches further in irritation is really not helping the "cute" allegations, but Lucifer decides to keep that to himself. 

"You like it."

Lucifer grins wide, and Alastor just stares in a way that makes him feel like one of Niffty's little roaches. Spread out on a corkboard, ready for vivisection.

It has no right being as hot as it is, but that is not why they came to his room in the middle of the day. 

Apparently, Alstor didn't get that memo. 

He unbuttons his coat with sure hands, his shadow peeling him out of the garment and whisking it away. It takes a lot of self-control to keep his gaze focused on Alastor's face once the jacket is gone. Especially when he loosens his bow tie so his collar hangs open, framing the little tuft of fur that escapes his shirt as he undoes the first few buttons.

"I'm sure you have questions." Lucifer's voice is slow and measured.

"They can wait."

Alastor invades his space, long legs slotting between his own, where they hang off the side of the bed, and then he's leaning over Lucifer, pressing him into the mattress with one clawed hand against his chest. 

"Come on, Al. I know what you're doing." It comes out breathless. 

Lucifer had already mentally prepared himself for the possibility that Alastor would be angry or decide he couldn't trust him—both fair and reasonable reactions, given everything. Instead, Alastor's looking at him like he's something to be devoured.

"Oh?" Claws dig into the comforter on either side of Lucifer's head, tearing at the fabric. "And what's that?"

"You're trying to distract me."

"Is it working?" Alastor purrs. He noses down the side of Lucifer's throat, teeth scraping against porcelain skin in a way that leaves him shuddering.

It would be so easy to just go along with this. His body is begging him to just let this stupid man fuck him into next Tuesday. 

Lucifer inhales, sharp and frustrated.

"No. Nope."

There's no missing the flash of disappointment when he puts his hands against Alastor's chest and gently pushes him off. His smile tightens, and shadows lick around his ankles, like he's about to melt away.

“Oh, not so fast.”

All it takes is a hand around his wrist and a gentle pull, guiding him to sit on the bed, to stop him from dissolving into the shadows. 

A murmur of rapidly changing stations spills into the air as he glares off into the middle distance. Let it be known, the Radio Demon is not above pouting to get his way. 

"Alastor?"

The only response is a noncommittal sound, barely audible around static. 

"The silent treatment, really?" Lucifer raises a brow, leaning forward to invade Alastor's line of sight. "You know that doesn't really work when I don't know what you want, right?"

"You're being ridiculous," Alastor growls. He rips his hand back and gets to his feet, pacing the space in front of the bed almost frantically. "I am fine. I don't need you to coddle me."

"I know."

The thing is, if Alastor didn't want to talk about this, whatever this is, he would just leave. That's not a hunch—he's done it, more than once. For all Alastor's theatrics and showmanship, he is profoundly uncomfortable with genuine communication, more so than Lucifer. The fact that he's still here, engaging at all, means there's something he wants to talk about. 

Lucifer waits patiently for Alastor to find the words. He paces back and forth a few times before he spins on his heel, coming to a harsh stop. His smile is wobbly, like it's fighting to be something else. 

"You didn't need to talk to Charlie or Vaggi about— Why me?"

The fact that he can't say it speaks volumes.

"Charlie and Vaggi weren't held captive for weeks by an overlord whose main compliance tool is hypnosis."

He keeps his words as neutral as he can. It's not something they talk about. Really, Lucifer has no idea what happened to Alastor while he was held "captive." It's just everything he knows about the former Overlord and his cohorts paints a horrible picture.

Except, now Alastor's starting to look more amused than frustrated. His ears pop back up, and his eyes widen for a moment in recognition, before he shakes his head and laughs. He emphasizes just how hilarious he finds this idea with a laugh track that spills from the radio on Lucifer's bedside table. 

"Oh, Lu," he wipes a non-existent tear from his eye. "No. Vox did not attempt to hypnotize me during my little visit. He hasn't tried that since," Alastor sighs, looking back theatrically. "The sixties? Who keeps track? No, he can't hypnotize me."

"He can't?" Lucifer echoes dumbly.

"Heavens no! It's all frequencies after all. It only took a few pathetic attempts for me to learn the frequency he broadcasts that particular trick at and block it."

"Huh."

That feels like information that would've been good to know, but Lucifer's not in a position to complain about secrets kept. Still, that doesn't explain why Alastor was so upset. "So in the hall, just now, you weren't bothered by that?"

Alastor sighs, resigned. Apparently, having a good laugh at Box's expense was enough to calm him down. His shadow drags an armchair from the corner, facing the bed, so that he can sit across from Lucifer. He crosses his legs and leans back with a thoughtful hum. 

"I am curious," he admits slowly. 

"About?"

"All of the Sinners with such powers work similarly. A combination of frequencies and visuals. There are those with poisons, of course—substances, however, are a completely different game," he waves away the idea entirely with one hand before moving on. "But you don't have any visuals, and I didn't feel any frequencies."

"You want to know how it works?" Lucifer asks incredulously. 

Alastor's grin widens, almost manic, as he leans forward, claws digging into the upholstery. 

"I want to know if I can beat it."

"Beat it?"

"Of course." He says it like it's an attainable goal.

"It doesn't work like that."

"How do you know?"

Lucifer opens his mouth, retort on his tongue, before it snaps closed, and his lips pull to the side in thought. He's used it so infrequently over the years that Alastor's question plants the tiniest seed of doubt. Maybe the only reason it never happened is that no one has had the opportunity. 

Alarm bells ring in the back of his mind. Big, red, screaming things that tell him he's playing with fire. 

"Alastor." Lucifer shakes his head, and his tongue clicks behind his teeth. "I can't—not to you. I'm sor—"

"Oh, you can," Alastor cuts in, his smile sharp. "You had no problem doing so five minutes ago."

"That was different." It is. It has to be.

"You're right." Alastor pauses, and for a moment, Lucifer believes that he might actually be conceding, something that happens all too rarely. 

He really should have known better because just as he begins to relax, Alastor opens his mouth again.

"It is different. I'm giving you explicit permission, and he did not."

The jab claws straight through his ribs, and Lucifer sucks a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

"All I did was calm him down enough for Charlie to step in." He doesn't remember getting to his feet, but he's standing now, hands clenched at his sides. "I didn't—"

Lucifer wants to say that he didn't make the Sinner do anything, but that's not quite true. Not only had he forcibly stopped him from continuing to harm himself, but he'd also twisted his thoughts. The silver words had made him believe, even if temporarily, that he didn't want to hurt himself. 

It was the only choice at that moment. The Sinner was a danger to himself, possibly others, and Charlie was there between him and the angelic spear poised and ready. Vaggi and Alastor wouldn't hurt her, Lucifer knows this.

He just wanted to help.

"It doesn't matter." Lucifer shakes his head and falls back to the edge of the bed, his arms drawn across his front. 

A static-laden crackle snaps through the air before clawed hands frame his face, and bright red eyes fill his vision as Alastor kneels in front of him. He regards Lucifer curiously, glowing eyes flitting over his features. 

"What doesn't matter?"

The way Alastor's claws scratch against the line of his jaw is far too gentle, and the sudden shift leaves him feeling unbalanced. 

He swallows thickly, unable to look away. 

"Why I did it," Lucifer explains. "What's the point of all of this if I'm just going to pick and choose when to take free will from Sinners? I can't just force them into redemption."

"Now, that's a bit dramatic." Alastor rolls his eyes, but the huff he lets out is good-natured. "You kept everyone, including that little lizard, safe, and likely saved us from having to repair yet another wall."

Lucifer rolls his eyes.

It's not quite an apology for Alastor's sharp words, but there's a silent recognition that a line was crossed in the way he's backtracked. It's something fairly new for Alastor, and it soothes some of the jagged edges in Lucifer's chest. 

Blackened hands move to cover Alastor's, fingers wrapping loosely around bony wrists. He doesn't pull them away. Just holds him there, like an anchor, before turning into one to gently press his lips to Alastor's pulse point. 

He stays like that, eyes closed, breathing in the warmth of Alastor's skin. It's quiet, save for the soft static that rolls off Alastor, like the hiss of speakers searching for input.

"You were worried I was upset about the fact that you can influence Sinners." 

It's not a question. More like Alastor's putting it out just to confirm he understands.

When Lucifer finally opens his eyes, Alastor's still kneeling between his knees, leaning into his space with a sort of fervent curiosity that is impossible to decipher. This is part of what drew Lucifer to him. It's so rare for someone to truly surprise him—to leave him feeling curious and hungry for more—and Alastor manages to do so at every turn.

"Yeah." 

Lucifer gently lowers Alastor's hands, holding them between his own. He tries not to show his disappointment when Alastor smoothly gets to his feet and pulls away.

"A reasonable concern," Alastor muses as he sits back in the armchair. "You thought I would be uncomfortable in our arrangement with the knowledge that you possess such an ability. I wasn't, for the record. In fact, from where I'm sitting, it appears the only one uncomfortable with your actions here is you."

He raises a brow as the claws of one hand drum against the armrest. 

"I don't like using it," Lucifer says, voice clipped.

"I can tell," Alastor deadpans. "But my point is, you expected me to speak about these concerns you imagined up for me, so it stands to reason you should offer me the same courtesy."

"What?" Lucifer's brow furrows.

"We aren't talking about you harming anyone or using ill intent. You used your power to protect a soul under Charlie's care, and I'm telling you, I want to experience it. Obviously, whatever upsets you about that has nothing to do with harm caused, so why are you so upset at the thought of using this gift?"

Alastor sits back, one leg crossed over the other, and folds his hands over his knee, patient as Lucifer tries to figure out how to respond to that.

"Gift?" he breathes, shaking his head. "It's—this is a punishment, Alastor. You get that, right?"

"Isn't everything down here?"

"I—sure, Yeah, I guess." Lucifer shakes his head, and the words spill out before he can think better of it. "But, I gave up everything for you all to have free will. They gave me the ability to take it away as punishment. So that every time I saw a soul use my gift to bring pain and suffering, I had to live knowing I had done that, and that I could stop it whenever I wanted."

He looks up at the ceiling to stave off the burn at the corners of his eyes, and takes a shaking breath to contain the waves of rage and pain and disgust. At Sinners, at the heavenly court, at himself. 

Alastor, for his part, remains silent.

"Do you have any idea how long it took for me not to do it on accident?" 

"You had to learn how to control it," Alastor notes.

"Yes!" Lucifer finally looks back at him, laughing incredulously at how calm Alastor is about all of this. "It took centuries, and I don't even think I was meant to be able to control it."

Alastor hums noncommittally, and it's enough of a response for Lucifer to barrel forward. 

"It's one thing doing that to a random fucking Sinner having a panic attack in the hallway. I stopped them from hurting themselves and handed them off to Charlie and Belle… Someone else will make sure they are okay, and if they're mad at me for helping them, it doesn't matter. They all already hate me."

That seems to finally draw a real reaction from Alastor, his brow raising into his hairline as he clicks his tongue behind his teeth.

"But you?" Lucifer chokes out a laugh. "You don't give up control for anyone! You are so stupidly proud you think you have an actual chance of breaking through angelic influence, but you don't, Al. You won't be able to break through it, and you'll hate me for it. I'll be just like him, and it will ruin everything."

It's not until he's finished that Lucifer realizes he's panting, blood thumping in his ears. His throat feels tight, and there's a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. When he speaks again, it's barely above a whisper.

"I don't want to mess this up."

"Is that all?" Alastor says after a beat of silence.

Lucifer sputters.

"That's not enough?"

Alastor shrugs. He uncrosses his knees and laces his fingers together, elbows pressed into the arms of the chair to lean forward.

"Ask me why I want you to do this."

"I already did. You want to try and break through—"

"I lied," Alastor says smoothly. "Ask me again."

"Fine." Lucifer rolls his eyes with a huff. "Why?"

"Nope." Alastor shakes his head with a tsk. "Keep up, Lucifer. I'm giving you explicit permission to pull the real answer out of me. I just told you I was lying. What reason do you have to believe anything I say at this point? I know what I will end up saying. I know I have no chance of fighting your will, and the only thing that will come of you using that silver tongue of yours to encourage me to speak is you having a true, unfiltered truth."

Lucifer isn't sure how he feels about that. 

There are so many things he wants to know. It's not that he doesn't trust Alastor to some degree. He trusts that he won't hurt Charlie, even if he knows that's part of a larger plan he's yet to work out. Despite his dietary choices, he lets Alastor suck his dick without worrying that he's going to bite it off for fun. 

But he also trusts that Alastor will, at the end of the day, protect his own interests, even if that means ruining him in the process. There are so many material ways Alastor could harm Charlie's goals, their relationship with Heaven, everything they're working towards, but most of all, he fears knowing the real reason Alastor returns to his bed night after night.

Once he asks, there's no giving back that knowledge. 

"It's just a question," Alastor says, as if he can read his mind. His voice is calm and sure, but his fingers tap against his leg anxiously—practically vibrating out of his skin.

He should say no. It's right there on the tip of his tongue. Maybe he gets up, crawls into Alastor's lap, using his own tactics against him. It's worked before. 

"Please, Lu."

Well, fuck.

Lucifer takes a deep breath and nods. 

"Okay, yeah."

Alastor's smile widens, pulling at his eyes in the way it only does when he's truly pleased.

Lucifer gets to his feet and rolls up his sleeves slowly before taking the two steps it takes to put him between Alastor's knees.

The push and pull is so normal for them that the reaction is immediate, almost natural. Lucifer steps into Alastor's space, knees pressing against the cushion of the chair, and Alastor's head falls back to gaze up at him. 

He stays uncharacteristically silent. 

It's just a question, Lucifer reminds himself. Alastor's practically begging him for this, and yet it feels so precarious. 

He runs a hand through his hair, and Alastor hums melodically when his touch lingers at the base of one ear. 

"You're sure?" Lucifer whispers. 

"If you put this off any longer, I'm going to bite you," Alastor says sweetly. He snaps his jaw as if to prove his point. 

It breaks some of the tension. 

"Okay."

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the back of his throat, gathering the metallic taste that lingers there. It takes almost no effort to draw it forward, the liquid silver coating his tongue and filling his senses. His hand draws down from the cusp of Alastor's ear to cup his jaw. His thumb runs along it gently, savoring the moment.

When he speaks, the layered voices vibrate against his bones. It feels heavy and light all at once.

"Take a deep breath for me, Bambi." His own voice murmurs the words, and the others follow suit, echoing and soft. They curl through the air in ways he knows Alastor can't see, twisting with his own airwaves and shadows to nestle into his very being. 

The impact is immediate. Alastor's lips part as he takes a heavy breath, his chest visibly rising, and glowing red eyes widen in surprise.

"There you go," the voices say. Lucifer can barely hear himself through them, even as he feels his own lips move. "Relax. It's okay."

Alastor melts into the chair as he breathes out again, until even his ears droop to the side. It's so rare to see Alastor like this. Even fucked out, he always has an edge of vigilance that never seems to fade. Lucifer isn't sure whether it has to do with his form, or if it's his own fear and distrust that leave him constantly on edge. 

Now, though, he looks soft. As if the moment he told him to relax, every string was cut. The smile's still present, but it's fallen to a barely there curl at the edges.

Lovely art by Alloplush

"Doing alright?" Lucifer asks softly. The echoes dim. It takes considerably less effort to keep him like this now that they've twined their way around his soul.

Alastor nods easily. At the very least, Lucifer knows he's telling the truth. Alastor wouldn't be able to hide his discomfort if he wanted to right now. 

"How's it feel?"

"Warm."

The static is gone from his voice, but Alastor doesn't notice, or if he does, he doesn't seem surprised by it. 

Lucifer hums. He drags his thumb along his bottom lip, hesitating.

Actually asking the question feels dangerous. Alastor thinks he knows what he's going to say, but true honesty is difficult. Lucifer knows better than anyone how easy it is to lie to yourself. Or, worse yet, Alastor could actually believe he has a chance of telling him a pretty lie to hide some greater scheme.

He's not sure which would be worse. 

He lets his hand fall away, but stays between Alastor's knees, his own pressed against the seat of the chair. Close enough to feel the warmth of Alastor's thighs caging him in, but far enough to not have to rip his hand back when the venom of Alastor's words hits. 

"Tell me why you're so insistent on this."

"Curiosity," Alastor says without missing a beat, and then he stops.

The influence makes him malleable and ensures he can't lie. It doesn't make him any less Alastor. He grins up at Lucifer, his eyes slightly glazed over, looking like the cat that got the cream when he successfully fulfills the compulsion with a single word. 

Lucifer fights the urge to lean down and kiss him.

"About figuring out how to break out of it?" he asks instead. 

"Not really, no," Alastor says. "I mean, it would be fun to try, but I imagine such a powerful gift is not meant to be broken. Side-stepped, maybe, but to actually break out of it? No. I can block radio waves, disturb electronic signals, but I have nothing on a God."

The reverence in Alastor's gaze leaves Lucifer breathless. He licks his lips, and his hands twitch at his sides, itching to reach out for some kind of physical comfort to soothe his own anxieties.

"What are you curious about then?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Alastor hums thoughtfully.

"I've had Sinners try and control me in every way imaginable. Hypnotized, drugged, blackmailed…" 

The casual way Alastor says these things leaves guilt clawing at Lucifer's insides. He gives in to the pull and reaches out to card his fingers through Alastor's hair, and his heart clenches when he presses back into his hand with a contented sound. 

"They were all pitiful grabs for control that centered around power taken, not given, and I am curious about how yours differs."

"Power given?" Lucifer focuses on those words, trying to discern the difference in Alastor's mind. Of course, the things people did in hell were often about taking power from others, using their souls for personal gain, but the phrasing strikes him. "Tell me more about that."

Alastor's jaw clicks, a subtle line of tension that gives him away. This is why he asked Lucifer to make him.

"Alastor?" The echoes build, curling around Alastor's throat and tongue, demanding. 

"The idea of allowing you to take that power from me is arousing." The words are strained, but Alastor keeps his gaze, sure, even as color rises beneath the fine fur of his neck to pepper his cheeks.

Had Lucifer made a short list of what he thought Alastor would tell him, this wouldn't have even made the list. Now that he's said it, however, it makes sense in a kind of twisted way. The tension he'd seen in the hall, the way Alastor practically jumped him the moment they were alone. Of course, his obsession with power and control would extend to the bedroom. The only real surprise in this fantasy of his is that he's not the one in control.

"You wanted to tell me this."

It's not a question, but Alastor nods, lips pressed tight.

"Did you want me to force it out of you, or did you need that?"

"Both." 

The static is back, just barely, the questions clearly edging out of his comfort zone. 

Lucifer's hand moves idly, scratching at the base of his ear, circling where the hard bone of antler meets sensitive skin. The air in the room has changed, shifting to a tension that demands attention. 

"Have you thought about this before?"

Surprise flashes across his features, like he didn't expect the questions to continue, and then the flush creeps across the bridge of his nose—a bright splash of color against the warm tones of his skin.

"Of you actually using the power you wield in bed, yes. Often," Alastor growls. "But I did not know you had this particular trick at the time."

The thing is, the first time they fucked had been after a fight. Lucifer doesn't even remember why they were fighting, just that they were at each other's throats, ready to draw blood. It was late, the rest of the staff had long since retired to their rooms, and when Alastor slammed him up against a wall the tenuous thread between lust and anger finally snapped. 

Things calmed somewhat after that. It's never gentle, far from it. Bickering and pushing buttons is still a form of foreplay, particularly for Alastor, but the animosity isn't quite so sharp. While he hadn't expected Alastor to say that he wanted to submit to Lucifer in such a real way, this is just a natural escalation to the game they're already playing, really.

"I never thought you'd be one to submit," Lucifer murmurs, head tipping to the side. 

"I'm not." Alastor's smile wavers, ears dipping down. 

It takes Lucifer a moment to understand. 

"But you want to?"

Shame finally catches up with Alastor, his gaze cutting to the side as he nods, his voice barely there.

"Yes."

"Look at me," Lucifer murmurs as he grabs Alastor's jaw. His claws dig in just enough to force his chin up, not that Alastor would be able to fight the compulsion anyway. The glowing red of his eyes has gone almost black, and Lucifer can feel his heart beating rapidly beneath his fingertips. 

He's barely touched him, and already he's falling apart. 

"It must be exhausting, being so in control of everything all the time." Now that he knows it's all too easy to play the part. He digs one claw into Alastor's cheek until a thin rivulet of blood breaks free. "You need me to help you let go, don't you?"

Alastor nods, a barely perceptible thing, and a whine breaks from his throat, stoking the embers burning at Lucifer's core. 

He's considering leaning down to lap up the droplet of blood working its way down to his throat, when clawed hands land on his waist and bony knees press against the outside of his thighs. He doesn't yank Lucifer into his lap like he's done in the past. Instead, he gently pulls at his hips, silently begging Lucifer to come closer. 

"None of that." Lucifer lets just the slightest hint of silver drip out, more a suggestion than a demand, but Alastor bends to it just as beautifully. His legs go lax, knees falling open. "We're having a conversation. I want to hear you talk more."

"Lu."

Lucifer hums, but doesn't relent. 

"You have to tell me what you want. Exactly what you want, otherwise we'll stop right now."

It's not an empty threat. Clearly, having to vocalize his desires leaves Alastor squirming in what he's pretty confident is a good way. It also means he doesn't have to worry that he's pushing too far. 

"Go on." 

There's no echo. No silver threading through his words, but he's not sure Alastor's coherent enough to notice. His eyes squeeze shut, and static rises. 

"I don't want to have the choice," Alastor chokes out. "I want to be at your mercy and know that it's something I asked you to do to me. I don't want to be able to think. Fuck, Lucifer, I—"

The hands on his hips tighten again, claws digging into his back, but he doesn't try and pull Lucifer closer. Instead, he hangs on, like it's the only thing keeping him grounded as he teeters between the warm calm of Lucifer's influence and the heat already tenting his pants. 

"Please."

"You're beautiful like this," Lucifer croons, "So good for me."

He leans down to kiss him. It's just supposed to be that, a gentle press, but the moment their lips meet, that option is gone. Alastor meets him with a growl, teeth and tongue clashing, and then he's pressing up from the chair and walking them back until they hit the bed. Familiar shadows quickly scoop Lucifer up, tossing him to the center of the bed with little fanfare. 

"Eager are we?" 

"God, yes." Alastor tears at the buttons of Lucifer's shirt as he crawls over him.

Their lips crash together again, and Alastor tears at his clothes, demanding in the way he seeks skin. 

Lucifer laughs at the whine Alastor lets out as he buries his face against his neck. He mouths at the pulse point, hot breath huffing out as he finally rips the last few buttons of his shirt, pressing it open. He could grant him mercy, snap both their clothes away, but there's something so delicious in the desperate way Alastor claws at him. 

He's still not sure how he feels about actually influencing Alastor here. Talk is one thing. If Alastor needs help pulling the words out, well, he can help there. Especially when he asks so sweetly, but actually forcing him to submit feels different. Even if the thought has his dick throbbing painfully against the seam of his pants. 

With a show of power, Lucifer tosses him onto his back and straddles his hips, pinning him to the mattress. Alastor lets out a huff, and there's a moment of struggle before golden ropes wind their way around his wrists and pull them back against the mahogany headboard. 

It's not a surprise when Alastor pulls at the ropes, his hips bucking beneath Lucifer as he writhes. 

"Now, now," Lucifer tuts softly, "Don't you want to be good for me?"

"I want you to make me," Alastor growls. His back arches off the bed, straining towards Lucifer desperately. 

It goes straight to his dick. 

"And you think I need to do this to do that?" Lucifer's voice echoes around them, and Alastor shudders. 

"I would prefer it," Alastor bites out.

"Perhaps another time," he murmurs gently. 

There's a flash of disappointment, but it's quickly wiped off his face when Lucifer rolls his hips forward, grinding them together between too many layers of clothes. Alastor's head tips back against the mattress, and he groans. 

"How about this," Lucifer muses. "You keep talking, tell me the ways you want me to break your mind, and I'll take what I want."

Sharp teeth snap shut, and his chest rises and falls rapidly, but he doesn't speak. 

"Oh, that's precious," Lucifer teases as he begins to work open the buttons of Alastor's shirt, trailing his claws through his fur as he goes. "You aren't embarrassed, are you?"

The whine is like music to his ears. How had he missed this before? All the times Alastor pushed his buttons, the way he melted when he was tied up. It's obvious now, really, and the rush of power leaves him feeling lightheaded.

"Such a proud thing, aren't you?"

Lucifer untucks Alastor's shirt, spreading it open. He lets a claw run just under the waist of his pants, and a record skips somewhere behind them.

"You put on such a front. The Big Bad Radio Demon, but you want someone to put you in your place, don't you?"

The question drips from his tongue like hot metal, and Alastor gasps beneath him, his hips jutting up against his own.

"Yes," Alastor grits out, unable to withstand the compulsion. 

"Good boy," Lucifer murmurs. 

Alastor shudders, and his eyes fall closed, as if bathing in the words. 

Oh, this would be fun.

He rewards Alastor's compliance, however willing, by finally working his pants open to grab at him through his briefs. He's hard, pressing against the loose fabric, and his dick twitches in his hand.

"I think we both have too many layers," Lucifer muses. With a snap of his fingers, the rest of their clothes disappear. 

"There we go," Lucifer preens. "That's better, isn't it?"

Alastor nods and thrusts his hips so the head of his cock drags against the underside of Lucifer's. 

The drawer of the bedside table slides open on its own, and a bottle of lube floats over, depositing itself on the mattress beside them. 

"Now, I'm going to prep you, and you are going to talk," Lucifer says simply. "Tell me, Al, what do you want?"

"Everything." The word falls from his lips immediately. 

Lucifer hums as he moves between Alastor's legs, arranging pliant limbs until he has a perfect view of that furled hole. There's no rush in his movements, like they have all the time in the world. He coats two blunted fingers in lube and teasingly circles the muscle, not yet pressing in. 

"Now, you can do better than that."

He keeps his eyes fixed on Alastor's face as he slowly presses one finger in, savoring the way his body seems to draw him in desperately. Alastor's breath hitches, and he licks at his lips, watching with a feral hunger that lights a fire in the pit of Lucifer's stomach.

"What do you imagine I'd make you do?"

There's no silver in his words; the only voice is his own. The earlier strands are still there, dragging him into a soft hypnotic state, but nothing is forcing Alastor to comply now, and yet, he starts talking immediately.

"That's the thrill, isn't it?" His breath comes in short pants. "Not knowing. The exchange of power."

"You like having power," Lucifer notes. He slides a second finger in along the first, and his other hand presses Alastor's hip against the mattress, pinning him down as he works him open at an agonizing pace. "Why would you give it up?"

"Because it's you." It's raw, and Lucifer's dick twitches at the unfiltered honesty of it. "It's a gift. To make my will yours. To not be in control for once. I just want it to be quiet."

Alastor lets out a choked sound, torn between a growl and a moan when his fingers curl up just right. They slide in and out at a steady pace, twisting at the bottom of each thrust so his knuckles catch on the rim. It's not nearly enough to push him towards the edge, but with each thrust, each brush of his fingers against the sensitive walls, Alastor seems to unravel in a way he's never seen before.

"Please, Luce," he sobs, body shuddering when Lucifer pulls out, only to return with a third, stretching him open further. 

"You're doing so good, Al. Don't go quiet on me now."

Alastor's eyes squeeze shut, and he nods, panting out heavy breaths. 

"I think about worshipping you," Alastor admits as Lucifer presses into him more insistently, the palm of his hand smacking against his perineum with each thrust. "On my knees for you."

"You do look so pretty on your knees."

He doesn't think he'll ever tire of the way Alastor reacts to his praise like a dying man led to water, lapping up every drop with soft moans and shuddering breaths. 

Satisfied he's ready, Lucifer gently slides his fingers free and sits back on his heels. He licks his lips hungrily as he watches Alastor clench down around nothing with a desperate sound, empty and wanting. 

Alastor's breath picks up, almost panicked when he isn't immediately filled again. 

"I can't, Lu, please. I need—"

"Shh," Lucifer soothes. He palms himself briefly, spreading lube from tip to root. "I'll take care of you. Shut that pretty mind of yours off."

The head of his dick presses against him, and Alastor goes lax, a whine rising up from his throat. He watches Alastor's face as tight heat envelops him. Those once bright eyes are soft and hazy. He's not sure Alastor even realizes at this point where hypnotic influence ends and his own submission begins. There's nothing left of the silver-tongued power threaded between them, and yet, Alastor's blissed out, floating.

His body is easy to manipulate like this. Lucifer shifts thin legs so one wraps around his waist, a hoof pressed against his spine, and he lets the other rest against his shoulder, where he can press soothing words against the inside of his knee as he sinks in. It pulls his hips up off the bed, giving him the perfect angle to drag the head of his cock against that sensitive bundle with each agonizingly slow thrust of his hips. 

"Look at you, so good for me." It comes out breathy and desperate. With Alastor's voice lost to a litany of moans, he can't help but fill the silence with praise and gentle encouragement. 

It's a crescendo. Lucifer's pace never falters, insistent and hungry in the way he grinds their hips together with each thrust. The heat in his gut curls tighter, and he leans forward, forcing Alastor's legs wide, like it will allow him to bury himself deeper. Crawl inside the man lying out before him and carve a space between his ribs. 

Alastor must feel the intensity burning behind Lucifer's movements because his breath falters, a wrecked sound clawing from his throat. 

Lucifer grips the leg over his shoulder while the other moves to Alastor's cock. It's teasing at first, spreading the thick droplets that have gathered at the tip along his length with the barest of touch. He groans when Alastor twitches beneath his palm, his cock pressing up into his hand with each thrust.

"Lu. I—Please." his words falter, and there's a softness in his plea. 

"I know," Lucifer murmurs. His hand encircles the head of his cock, stroking in time with each thrust. "You want to come?"

Alastor nods rapidly, and his mouth falls open as little sounds punch out of him. 

He can feel how close Alastor is, his walls clenching and fluttering along his length, sending bursts of pleasure that make his vision spark. 

"I wanna feel you," Lucifer growls. The next thrust is hard and fast, chasing the tension at his core as he finally abandons the teasing pace. "Come for me."

It wasn't a conscious decision to let the finest of silver threads weave into those words, but Lucifer doesn't have the opportunity to worry if it was too much.

Usually, during sex, Alastor's reserved. Coming between clenched teeth and bitten down moans. This is nothing like that. His breath falters, and a line of tension runs up his body before it snaps. His back bows up off the bed, pulling at the glowing ropes, as he cries out in broken moans and overwhelmed sobs. It's unguarded, and one of the most beautiful things Lucifer has ever seen. 

He strokes Alastor through it, until there are thick lines painting his stomach, and he's whining from overstimulation. 

Lucifer huffs. His hands move to Alastor's hips, holding him in place as he chases his own release. 

It only takes a few thrusts before he tips over the edge. Everything else fades away, and it's just him and Alastor, falling into each other as he buries himself as deep as he can. Alastor's leg falls from his shoulder as he presses closer, grinding through the waves of blinding pleasure.

When his vision clears, Alastor's still taking shaky breaths, hands tied above his head, but his smile is soft and relaxed.

With a snap of his fingers, the ropes fade into nothing. Alastor's hands fall heavy against the pillow behind him, but he doesn't move. 

"Alastor?" Lucifer asks softly.

All he gets in response is a static-laden hum. 

At least he's responsive. 

Lucifer carefully pulls out, both of them shuddering as his softening dick slips free. He watches, entranced, as come drips and pools on the underside of Alastor's tail. 

In a sudden possessive gesture, he drags two fingers through it, scooping up his own spend only to add it to the mess on Alastor's stomach. He smears their come together until he's satisfied there's no way to separate the evidence of their pleasure. 

Normally, he'd expect some kind of snarky remark from Alastor after that kind of display, but he's quiet. Hands still above his head, eyes softly closed. His breathing has leveled out, and he looks so peaceful. 

He moves from between Alastor's legs, settling beside him, and reaches over to grab one of his hands. He gently rubs his wrist, soothing away any tension left by the angelic rope, and Alastor finally opens his eyes. 

"Hey there." Lucifer gives him a soft smile and brings his hand to his face to kiss his palm. "You with me?"

Alastor nods slowly.

"Good." Lucifer doesn't comment on how hazy and unfocused his eyes look. "I'm going to go get some stuff to clean us up. You going to be okay?"

Alastor just nods again before his eyes slip closed. His smile is soft and unfettered, and Lucifer's pretty sure it's the best answer he's going to get right now. 

He uses his magic to clean himself up, whisking away the feeling of come and lube lingering on his skin. It's efficient, but doesn't have the same touch as caring for a partner, easing them back to reality with gentle touch. 

Lucifer returns with a warm washcloth and a glass of water to find Alastor exactly where he left him, one arm still over his head, claws loosely tangled in the pillowcase. The only sign that Alastor isn't asleep is the faint sound of Salut d'Amour coming from where his microphone is propped against the arm of the chair. 

His eyes flutter open when Lucifer presses the warm cloth to his stomach. 

"There you are," Lucifer says gently. He's careful to run with the grain of his fur, wiping away as much of the come and sweat as he can before moving between his legs. Alastor lets out a hiss, oversensitive, but the cool touch seems to wake him up.

"That was… enlightening." 

"Such high praise," Lucifer quips back lightly.

The rag disappears from his hand in a flourish of red and gold, whisked away to a pile of laundry he'll have to remember to get to before Niffty. They'll still need a shower, but that can wait. For now, the methodic act of providing aftercare is helping to calm the anxious rumbling in his own gut. 

They hadn't discussed any of this beforehand, not before today. They rarely did, to be fair, but they'd also never pushed this far, and Alastor still looks like he's adrift. 

Lucifer rearranges them as he lies down, until he has Alastor's head on his chest where he can gently card his fingers through the sweat-slicked strands with one hand. It takes a moment for Alastor to settle in before he drapes an arm across Lucifer's chest and curls against him. 

They stay like that, in relative silence, until Lucifer can no longer stand it. 

"Was it too much?" he asks softly. 

Alastor's ear twitches, brushing against Lucifer's cheek in irritation, and he lifts his head up enough to glare half-heartedly through narrowed eyes. 

"Don't be stupid."

He tightens his grip on Lucifer and burrows closer, rubbing his face against him like a cat claiming its territory. 

It loosens the clawing sensation in his chest slightly, but Alastor must notice the way his fingers still hesitate, careful as they work through his hair. 

With a sigh, he props his chin up on one hand, his neck at an obscene angle. His eyes flit over Lucifer's face, assessing, before he speaks.

"Let me be perfectly clear. I would have preferred more. You did not cross any lines, and I would very much like to explore that further." He pauses, letting that sink in. "We can discuss this more later, but right now, I would like to take a nap. Can we do that?"

Lucifer lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and nods. He settles back into the bed, pulling Alastor down with him. 

"Yeah, we can do that." 

He drags a blanket over them, one arm holding Alastor while the other returns to petting through his hair. It doesn't take long for his breathing to even out and the static to fade as Alastor drifts into sleep.