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Hell was not known for its kindness. Torture was something one could purchase as easily as if it were a necessity, and some might argue that it was. There were all kinds of cruelties available for a sinner inclined towards seeking them out, but Alastor did not need to go in search of suffering.
That was something he could manage all on his own, his frustration mounting as his skin crawled, his nerves squirming under his skin in silent protest as he pulled away from Lucifer's touch.
“Alastor?” Lucifer did not chase him – did not try to hold him still. He had no interest in making Alastor endure anything, although sometimes Alastor wished his sense of fairness was just a little more skewed.
Alastor shook his head, closing his eyes and sucking in a breath as he shuffled back on the bed, putting space between them. Enough space that the buzz of static against his skin calmed, though errant threads of unease still wound their way through his system.
It was important to note that intimacy with Lucifer was not new to him. It was not even something he detested. Quite the opposite, in fact, their long history of misunderstandings, arguments and brawls evolving into something neither of them had expected – but which they also couldn't deny, as much as they might have tried to at first.
No – intimacy with Lucifer was a pleasant experience, and there was nothing Alastor liked more after a long day of difficulties in town than pinning the King of Hell under his weight, swallowing up every gasp and whimper as if the sounds themselves were opium, soothing his distressed temper.
If somebody could offer him an explanation as to why, then, his body was choosing now to reject the other man's touch, Alastor might consider giving them a standing ovation.
“It's fine,” Alastor muttered, his shirt hanging off his shoulders and his chest flushed with heat. Lucifer blinked at him, his brows pinching up in the centre of his forehead. “It's fine.”
“I don't think it is. Do you not feel like being touched right now? It's okay if you don't. Just – just tell me. Come on, we've worked on this,” Lucifer murmured, as though Alastor needed the reminder. A growl of static rumbled in Alastor's throat, and he lurched forward, crossing the space between them in a horrifyingly jerky kind of dash.
Alastor wanted Lucifer to touch him. He wanted to touch Lucifer. To lose himself in the sensation of flesh against flesh, to indulge in the kind of intimacy he'd never craved – not until Lucifer had looked upon the sins he'd already committed and apparently decided he needed one more.
“Hold still,” Alastor demanded, and if one might question his authority when ordering the King of Hell around, that one was not Lucifer himself.
Lucifer spread his fingers, holding his hands out and to the side, his bare chest gleaming in the low light of his room. His purple lids shuttered his gaze, his lips tinged with just the faintest hint of pink. How odd, that he bled and blushed gold – and yet his lips and cheeks were the rosiest things Alastor had ever seen; particularly after he'd bestowed his attentions upon them.
Trembling a little, trying to hide it, Alastor reached out and wrapped long fingers around that slim waist. His lip curled, his palm itching where Lucifer's skin pressed against him, but he ignored it. His body was being ridiculous, and Alastor would not let such a nonsensical aversion get in the way of him claiming what was his.
“Are you sure–”
Alastor didn't bother to tell Lucifer to shut up. He closed the distance between their mouths and captured Lucifer's lips in a kiss. It was usually a pleasant experience, the soft press of the other man's mouth against his – the thrilling sensation of the forked tips of Lucifer's tongue slipping past sharp teeth, trusting Alastor not to bite it off.
Right now, it felt as if he'd prefer to burn his own lips off than endure it for longer than the span of ten seconds.
Static squealed, Alastor's ears pinning to his skull as he jolted away. He released Lucifer's waist with a hiss of disgust. Not at Lucifer, oh no – the man was doing absolutely nothing wrong. He was looking at Alastor with concern, with care, and it almost made everything worse.
If Lucifer had even an ounce of the cruelty humanity had ascribed to him, he would have pressed Alastor down to the bed until his skin stopped squirming. Alastor had asked him to, when this had happened to him in the past. It was extremely clear how interested Lucifer was in the proceedings – although that interest had started waning, the outline of his cock against the front of his slacks softening the longer Alastor struggled.
Struggled to get over the issues within himself, and his teeth clenched painfully tight as he narrowed his eyes into a glare. Staring at Lucifer as if this were somehow his fault, while Lucifer looked on helplessly.
“Can we take a break?” Lucifer asked. Not 'do you want to take a break', and if he avoided putting the onus on Alastor to admit to something like that, then Alastor supposed he ought to be grateful.
“Fine,” he huffed. Very ungratefully.
His movements felt as if they were edged with razor wire as he unfolded himself from the bed, crossing the room to slump into one of Lucifer's armchairs. His ears sat low, misery emanating from him as loudly as his static hummed and hissed, the corners of his smile all twisted.
This wasn't fair. Why now? Why, when he'd finally found somebody he could stand the company of, did his useless corpse of a body betray him? They didn't even have to have sex. He could make that bargain with his body, if it would satisfy whatever cruel game it was playing on him. He would content himself with stretching out along the bed, his head resting on Lucifer's thighs as the man scrolled through his phone with his free hand.
The hand that wasn't free would be combing through Alastor's hair, gently rubbing at the bases of his ears and stroking down the soft lengths of them. Each pull of his claws would send a raspy sound echoing in Alastor's skull, a low whine rising in his throat as he imagined the gentle pressure of Lucifer's knuckles rolling against the base of his antlers. He could almost feel it.
He'd hardly realised he'd closed his eyes, curling into that armchair like a kicked puppy – and the sensation of Lucifer's claws over his ears was helping to ease the way his nerves had tightened, relaxing them until they no longer felt ready to snap.
“Um. Alastor?”
Alastor's ear flicked, Lucifer's voice dragging him from his wandering thoughts. He tilted his head a little, pushing his left ear more firmly into Lucifer's palm.
“Alastor, gorgeous. What's going on? Talk to me.”
He grumbled a denial, more focused on the way Lucifer's fingers felt against his scalp – before reason bubbled up within him, reason and logic and understanding. Lucifer was on the bed.
What, then, was running their claws through his hair?
Crimson eyes snapped open. The sight that greeted him was almost comical in how bizarre it was, and Alastor might have laughed – if he hadn't been so confused. His own shadow, its arms wrapped around Lucifer's waist and its glowing grin bared in a wide, content smile as Lucifer's hand settled absently on its head.
His ear flicked again, a rumble of feedback rolling in his throat when Lucifer tugged gently at one of his shadow's ears. Nerves on his own scalp prickled, sensation racing away down his spine like ghostly echoes of a touch he couldn't bear to endure right now – but which seemed determined to reach him regardless.
“Interesting,” Alastor muttered, at once intrigued – and perhaps a tad jealous, his silhouette looking over at him with something that might be called triumph. He shivered again when Lucifer's claws brushed the hair on his shadow's – on his – nape, sparking faint threads of electricity under his skin. “What are you doing?”
“I–” Lucifer started to respond, and Alastor cut him off with a brief blat of static. He angled his gaze down; down to the shadowy imitation of himself curled around Lucifer's middle, and the king's eyes followed his, surprise flickering in their yellow depths.
“You. What are you doing?”
His shadow didn't respond. Not with words, at least, for it had never managed to develop the power of speech. It was many things, including an irritation sometimes, but talkative was not one of them. He cocked his head, and his shadow buried its own more firmly into Lucifer's palm.
Warmth settled across Alastor's ears as Lucifer's fingers covered both of them, the curiosity rising in his chest managing to snuff out the exasperation he'd been contending with. A moment later, he lifted his chin, not breaking eye contact with the glowing half-moons his silhouette had in place of proper eyes.
Its grin widened.
An air of mischief seemed to hang about it as it swarmed up Lucifer's torso, shoving its face into the crook of his neck. Alastor let his eyes close to slits, vaguely aware of the scent of apple-freshness and starch. His nose warmed a little, and his shadow lifted its head to angle its grin towards him once more.
“Yes, I think I'm starting to get the picture,” he murmured. Lucifer stared at him over his shadow's head, his yellow eyes still wide with confusion.
“Okay, great. Do you want to explain it to the rest of the audience?” Lucifer prompted. Alastor huffed a low sound of amusement, deep in his throat, and settled more comfortably into the armchair. He nodded at his silhouette – and it wrapped shadowy claws under Lucifer's chin, tipping his head up until his mouth brushed the shadow's jaw.
It was a measure of the trust Lucifer had in him that he wasn't wiggling against its hold. He made no effort to extract himself, letting himself be manoeuvred around like a beautiful porcelain doll. Alastor lifted his chin and tilted his head, swallowing against the feeling of phantom lips on his throat.
“Still lost, sire? Do I need to... spell it out for you?” Alastor asked, the tip of his claw scraping against the arm of his chair as his shadow traced a meandering shape over Lucifer's chest. Alastor had little control over what it chose; he could only hope it wasn't spelling out anything too dreadfully embarrassing.
Lucifer looked as though he were pondering the question, shivering faintly as the shadow's tongue curled around the front of his throat, its teeth brushing against his ear. It pressed up against him, and Alastor basked in the warmth of Lucifer's body against his – all without having to deal with the pesky difficulty of skin contact.
The king may have his moments of outright stupidity, but he was not completely lacking in intelligence. He wrapped a hand around the waist of Alastor's shadow, blinking over at the way Alastor shifted in his seat. Claws were sitting over his spine, only they weren't, and the confusion of that conflict was positively decadent.
A flash of understanding, and Lucifer lifted his other hand to the shadow's head, fisting his claws in its hair when it tried to push against his palm once again. Alastor's mouth fell open as his scalp prickled, a quiet scatter of feedback bouncing against his teeth.
“You can feel what it feels.”
Not a question, though Alastor hummed something of a confirmation.
“For the most part. Slightly muted, perhaps, but... oh.” His explanation died on his tongue as Lucifer yanked his shadow's head back, his forked tongue lapping up its throat as he watched Alastor over its shoulder. Heat spread over Alastor's neck, trickling down his spine when Lucifer's claws tightened in his – in his shadow's hair.
“And it's alright?” Lucifer checked. “It's not... bothering you?”
Always so concerned, so aware of Alastor's fickle moods. He shifted as his shadow moved, pulling against Lucifer's hold – trying to clamber atop him. Alastor snorted static through his nose and rolled a lazy wrist in the air.
“Surprisingly, no. Though it's a little more eager than–” Alastor gasped, his spine arching against the seat and his claws digging into the armrests as the hand Lucifer had around his shadow's waist darted down to its tail, plunging his fingers through pitch-black strands of not-quite-fur. A bolt of lightning shot up Alastor's back, heat and pleasure fluttering over his hips.
“Oh, you can be plenty eager. Don't pretend like you're not wriggling and whining underneath me almost every night,” Lucifer argued with a grin, finally finding a spark of the sadism he should have had from the start. The blat of a trumpet in the air announced Alastor's disagreement.
“Incorrect, sire. Sometimes I'm writhing atop you.”
Lucifer snorted, ignoring the shadow's hands pawing at his slacks. He didn't break eye contact with Alastor as he sat back, releasing his hold on its hair and tail – letting it crawl into his lap. The heat spreading over the insides of Alastor's thighs was absolutely astounding, the warmth of Lucifer where he knew full well Lucifer wasn't situated.
“And is that what you want for tonight? Do you... want your shadow riding me? Would you feel that?” Lucifer's voice lowered, his hands wandering down over the shadow's ass. Claw tips pressed against it, the pressure an echo and a prickle against Alastor's cheeks.
His shadow definitely didn't seem opposed to this idea, rolling itself atop Lucifer's lap until Alastor felt the distinct impression of something poking him in the rear.
Sharp teeth flashed in a grin as Alastor's lips curved even higher. He adjusted himself, claws curling over the ends of the armrests as he planted his heels on the floor and leant forward. His tongue swept over his lips, his mouth all at once flooded with saliva and his throat too dry.
He could feel it. Could feel how excited Lucifer was by the prospect, and Alastor's eyes glinted with satisfaction when his shadow ran its hands up Lucifer's chest, tweaking over his nipples and wringing an absolutely stunning gasp of air from his throat. Though Alastor's flesh might be working against him, he could still drive Lucifer to madness – could still watch as his face flushed gold and his lids lowered, a soft groan tumbling from between his lips.
And it was still him. Alastor was still the one responsible for such a reaction, the King of Hell staring at him as though he could imagine no better sight.
“I would feel it,” Alastor murmured, shivering as Lucifer's touch skimmed over his backside, his palms cupping the shadow's ass and pulling it against him. Warmth flooded over the insides of Alastor's thighs again, his dick stirring with a kind of vague interest at the phantom touch pressing firmly against the base of it. He lifted a finger to his own mouth, running a claw thoughtfully over his bottom lip as his shadow dipped its head and captured Lucifer's mouth in a kiss.
He wondered, for a moment, what this felt like to Lucifer. Alastor knew well the texture of his own silhouette, that inhuman coolness and odd give that it had. Firm enough when it needed to be – firm enough to wrap solid claws or tendrils around his enemies, at least – but it was not the same hardness of skin and bone.
Although speaking of hardness–
“Enjoying yourself?” Lucifer asked lowly, pulling his mouth away from the shadow and peering over its shoulder. He reached down, claws scraping Alastor's chest and stomach where they raked gently over skin that wasn't his – and his hips lurched as Lucifer's hand cupped his shadow, palming the interest it bore in a mimicry of Alastor's own.
His, of course, was trapped within his slacks – and a clatter of feedback rolled in his throat at the pressure, his dick slowly thickening as it filled out. He hummed, leaning back in the seat as his pulse sped up and his breathing quickened, sensation running over his nerves in ever-tightening spirals.
The shadow wriggled against Lucifer with a shamelessness Alastor himself only ever displayed once the man had pushed him to the edge of insanity. He ought to chastise it – ought to tell it to behave itself, that it was embarrassing them both – but any complaint he might have had died on his tongue as Lucifer's hands snapped up to seize his shadow's wrists, yanking its wandering hands away from his chest and flipping it down onto the bed – pinning it beneath his weight. Alastor's heart stuttered in his chest, his cheeks darkening with the way Lucifer stared over at him.
“Or is this better for you? I can't – I can't pin you to the bed and make you endure my touch when you don't want it, you know that. But I can pin...” Lucifer paused, as if not sure quite how he should refer to Alastor's shadow, whether calling it 'him' would be odd but 'it' too impersonal.
“Yes,” Alastor muttered an assent, stretching his own neck out when Lucifer's tongue ran up the throat of his shadow. “Mm – yes. This is absolutely perfect.”
He never would have thought he'd be indulging in such a thing, watching the man he called his mouthing at another's neck and chest. Watching those slim fingers he was so well acquainted with press into his shadow's hip, and the telltale prickle of his claws echoed on Alastor's skin. It felt somehow depraved, sitting here mere feet away, his eyes drawn to the hard line Lucifer's cock made against his pants when he shifted – and Alastor dropped his hand down to his own crotch. Adjusting himself, desperate to relieve some of the pressure building in his lower half.
Lucifer's gaze snapped up, yellow switching to red for the barest fraction of a second as Alastor's breath hitched in his throat.
“Oh, no. No no no – leave it alone. Put your hand back on the chair, gorgeous. I want to see how much you can really feel through your shadow,” Lucifer said with a grin. A whine of protest rose in Alastor's throat, a pathetic little bubble of feedback – but the demand only intensified the heat already crawling through his veins, something in his chest tightening at the order.
“Now you choose to find your cruelty,” he mumbled – but there was no bite to the words. He replaced his hand on the arm of the chair, gooseflesh prickling over his bare chest where invisible fingers ran down it.
He swallowed, even as Lucifer watched him – as his shadow stretched its arms above its head on the bed, perfectly content to be trapped underneath Lucifer's weight. It was no longer wriggling, as if it were completely ready to accept this – now that Lucifer was giving it what it wanted.
What Alastor wanted.
No denying that he wanted it, his blood was singing loud enough in his ears that Lucifer must hear that confession – hear it in every pop and squeal of static as his claws wandered over the shadow's chest, and Alastor's lids dropped low, his teeth catching on his lip as his own nipples hardened with the anticipation.
When Lucifer pinched a hardened nub of darkness between thumb and forefinger, Alastor couldn't say who reacted more strongly – him, or his shadow.
His shadow curved its back into an obscene arch, wispy legs spreading around Lucifer's hips as it pressed up against him, shadowy claws tugging at his back. Alastor, however, let out a breathless moan as the touch shocked his nerves, heat settling into a tight knot in his guts and his dick straining against his zipper.
Oh yes, he could feel it.
He only hoped Lucifer was enjoying the discovery.
Lucifer's enjoyment didn't seem to be in question, his smile widening as he lowered his head to graze his teeth against the nipple not clutched in his claws. For a moment, Alastor thought his shadow might burst into threads of darkness, its form losing clarity under Lucifer's hands – and the idea chilled him. It couldn't abandon him – not now.
But it regained its solidity, stretching and writhing and almost melting through the bed when Lucifer's mouth trailed lower – and Alastor watched him, arousal mixing with hunger somewhere deep in his chest, his every synapse threatening to catch fire. He swallowed, a shiver coursing down his spine when Lucifer sat back on his heels and pushed a palm up the shadow's leg.
Lucifer glanced up. Meeting Alastor's eyes as his hand kept moving, and Alastor knew what to expect, he knew that feeling–
He didn't know it well enough. Wasn't so well-acquainted with it that the push of an invisible touch against his hole didn't make him squeak, because there was nothing there. He was still in his trousers, for all that was unholy, and he clenched his jaw as Lucifer's tongue swiped over his teeth. The man was grinning, smiling – all while Alastor panted through the feeling of pressure against the sensitive nerves of his rim, easing its way inside him.
His muscles clamped down against the intrusion – if intrusion it could even be called. On the bed, his shadow tipped its head back, staring at him with glowing eyes, its grin upside-down and jagged. It didn't pant, because it had no breath to do so. Alastor would have to breathe heavily enough for the both of them, sweat prickling against his nape when the pressure within him increased.
It was odd. There was no cool, wet slide of lubricant against him, though his muscles were starting to relax just the same. Lucifer was gently teasing him open, the slide of his fingers not so much felt as sensed, and Alastor choked on a whimper when pleasure pulsed and pooled low in his abdomen, his legs quivering where his feet remained planted on the floor. The grip he had on the armrests of the chair was undoubtedly going to damage the thing, though it certainly wouldn't have been the first time their trysts had ended in ruined furniture – and his mouth fell open with a choked gasp when that pressure within him increased yet again, his shadow rolling itself against Lucifer's hand with absolute abandon.
Every inch of his skin felt taut and flushed – begging for Lucifer to touch him, though Alastor knew his body would revile the sensation the moment he did. He could only sit here, aching with the need to have Lucifer's hands on him, whimpering quietly when Lucifer pressed a palm against his shadow's hip – and the movement sparked heat along his own nerves.
He tipped his head back, his breath escaping him in short, static-laden puffs. As much as his lids wanted to drift closed, to let him bask more fully in the sensations wracking his frame, he forced himself to peer at Lucifer and the shadow through the long lines of his lowered lashes, his dick throbbing against his slacks and his fingers shaking around the armrests he clung to for dear life.
Not being able to touch Lucifer back – not being able control the way his shadow rolled its hips against Lucifer's hand, every movement sparking pleasure against his insides – it was a unique kind of torture. Alastor had thought he wasn't interested in discovering new torments, but Lucifer had, once again, shown him entirely new delights.
“Look at you,” Lucifer murmured, glancing down at the shadow, taunting Alastor with the idea that he might be devoting his attention to anyone but him. A wicked grin lit up Lucifer’s features as he dragged his eyes up, his gaze raking over Alastor's flushed face; over the way strands of hair clung to his forehead, sticky with faint beads of sweat. Lucifer's attention lingered on the undeniable bulge against Alastor's zipper, and he did something – crooked his fingers, perhaps, that was a favourite trick of his – that had Alastor arching against the chair, a moan vibrating in his throat.
“It's nice, getting to watch you so fully. Not having my vision blocked by your chest,” Lucifer added.
Alastor couldn't let such a comment pass. It was too easy, too perfect. He swallowed, trying to steady his breathing even as his guts roiled within him.
“If you weren't so insufficient in t-terms of height, that wouldn't be an... issue...” Alastor managed to get out, smug self-satisfaction flaring in his chest at the way Lucifer cocked a brow his way, his grin morphing into a smirk.
Lucifer's grip over the shadow's waist tightened, a low bleat echoing in Alastor's throat as pinpricks of pleasure darted over his spine. His shadow lolled on the bed, its legs spread wide as Lucifer shifted his fingers again – as he pressed the pads of them gently over nerves that didn't know what could possibly be touching them.
“Insufficient, am I?” Lucifer shot back. Alastor felt the front of his slacks dampen slightly as pre-come beaded and spilled from the tip of his aching dick. “I've never heard you complaining.”
“Then you aren't listening – hard–!” Alastor gasped out, his clever retort choked from his throat as Lucifer drew his hand back and pumped his fingers forward, spiking into the shadow and pressing against Alastor's insides. His hole throbbed around nothing at all, twitching as his muscles tried to clamp down.
“Mm. Hard,” Lucifer agreed, looking at the shadow wriggling beneath him once more. Without warning, he pulled his fingers from it, the pressure within Alastor vanishing – leaving him twitching, his dick still desperate for relief. “Good idea.”
Alastor's stomach jumped up to smack the bottom of his ribs as he wondered what this would possibly feel like. His eyes glowed a deep crimson as Lucifer shuffled back on the bed. He didn't bother with removing his slacks the old-fashioned way – he simply waved a hand, his porcelain skin shining in the low light of the room. If Alastor were closer, it would be glowing red – reflecting the light of his own eyes.
Alas, he had to be content with watching the way skeins of darkness brushed over Lucifer's thighs as the outline of Alastor's silhouette went a little hazy, the damned thing lifting its arms and curving its back like a performer in one of Angel's dreadful films. Lucifer ran a hand up its chest, almost petting it, and Alastor's ears lowered against his skull.
“Must you coddle it?” He murmured, his own thoughts somewhat blurry. Lucifer glanced down at the shadow, tilting his head.
“It's you. And I never coddle you, Alastor, you know that. The opposite of cruelty is not coddling.” A familiar refrain, one that Alastor only hummed upon hearing again. Lucifer leant down, nuzzling kisses into the shadow's chest – and Alastor's hum faded into a low, contented buzz. “Alright, beautiful. Let's see how this is gonna work.”
Alastor didn't have time to reconsider, to doubt what they were doing. Didn't even have a second to tug down his zipper, because a moment later he felt his hole stretching around a cock that wasn't there, nerves firing so enthusiastically through his system that he felt tingles all the way down to his shins. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus – to watch Lucifer's eyes flutter closed, a groan spilling from his lips as his tooth caught on one. His face shone a burnished gold, and as he slid his hips forward, so too did the pressure within Alastor increase.
A whine escaped him, and Lucifer's eyes snapped open, landing on him without hesitation. He lowered his head again and pressed a kiss to the shadow's throat, his eyes locked on the way Alastor stared.
Oh, this was a brand-new kind of sin, surely. Alastor's mind whirled, his thoughts all muddied as Lucifer sank into his shadow – and that familiar sensation of fullness threatened to snap his sanity clean in half. His breath huffed in his lowered ears, his pulse thumping against the back of his tongue when Lucifer moved, encouraged by the eagerly grasping hands of the shadow beneath him.
Greedy thing that it was, it pawed at Lucifer's shoulders and rear, encouraging him to get going. Alastor, as much as he might have liked to, couldn't disagree with its motives. The heat coiled within his abdomen was desperate for some kind of mercy, pleasure sparking like embers over his flesh.
Lucifer gave the shadow what Alastor wanted.
He rolled his hips, claws curling around one of the shadow's arms and pressing it down to the bed. Pleasure skittered down Alastor's frame at the faint impression of those fingers, his mouth hanging open as he tried to suck in air. It was hardly any use – any breath he took threatened to scald him, his tenuous hold on his own control slipping further with every sharp thrust of Lucifer's hips.
Did Alastor look like that?
Did he look the way his shadow looked, its knees jutting into the air either side of Lucifer's hips, its own body rocking to meet his movements as he fucked down into it? Was his open-mouthed grin so devoid of any intelligence, hanging open like a drunkard after a bender?
Surely not. And yet – Alastor could feel the flush on his face spreading, crawling down his neck and chest. His nipples tingled with the remembered touch of Lucifer's hands, even though the man hadn't technically put his hands on Alastor at all.
Maddening.
And always, constantly – that pressure in his ass, quiet squeaks catching in his throat and his vision blurring when Lucifer managed to drag the head of his cock over particularly sensitive nerves. He could almost break in half, and he knew his slacks would be unwearable after this – even with Lucifer's quick-cleaning abilities.
His throat crackled with static, a whimper echoing between his teeth. His eyes closed for the barest fraction of a second, every part of him straining towards the other man, wanting nothing more than to clamber onto that bed and feel Lucifer for himself. The ghost of a kiss whispered over the edge of his smile, and Alastor opened his eyes again to find Lucifer's gaze still glued to him – shining with lust, yes, but burning with something far deeper.
There was a moment, a thread of time stretching between them, uninterrupted by the way the shadow wriggled and clawed at the sheets with its one free hand. Alastor's own hand wanted to drift back towards his crotch, his fingers twitching on the chair – and Lucifer grabbed the shadow's other hand, too. Pressure threatened Alastor's wrists, holding his hands away from the possibility of relief, and his face burned as he cast a silent plea Lucifer's way, his brows pinched and his smile twisted and anxious.
Please.
Lucifer smirked, his eyes flashing. “Hold still.”
Alastor plunged his claws into the armrests, digging them in willingly. Trapping his hands there, his ass throbbing and his entire body tense and aching with want. Lucifer released one of the shadow's wrists – and as if it sensed Alastor's desperation, it kept that hand from wandering back over Lucifer's shoulders, moving only to arch further against his thrusts.
Every jerk of Lucifer's hips had Alastor's temples pounding, darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision until the world started to narrow. Until all he could see was Lucifer and the shadow, tangled together on the bed like some kind of obscene image one might find plastered over a stained-glass window – if that window was situated in a church devoted to degeneracy.
Claws raked down the shadow's – down Alastor's – chest, heat dancing in tight trails where Lucifer's fingers roamed. He kept up his movements: long, slow grinds teasing and tormenting that knot of pleasure trapped in Alastor's abdomen until it felt like he would pass out. And finally – finally–!
“Ngg–!” Alastor groaned aloud, his throat thick with feedback and the air heavy with the rolling charge of his ambient static. Lucifer stroked his hand again, deft fingers curled around the shadowy imitation of Alastor's dick, and every pump of his fist was like lightning straight to Alastor's frontal cortex.
That intensity combined with the sensation of Lucifer fucking into him, that insistent press against his inner walls – and the sight. The sight of Lucifer watching him with lips slightly parted, panting and stuttering on soft gasps of pleasure.
It sent him crashing over the edge, with no hope of scrabbling onto anything even approaching control.
His hips jolted, a cry breaking free of his throat and reverberating with the sounds of what might just be the entire woodwind section of an orchestra, pleasure seizing him with merciless claws and wringing him dry. He spilled his climax against the front of his slacks, his nape heating at the way warm wetness spread over his groin. His chest heaved – and Lucifer glanced down, forked tongue swiping over his lips as he took in the mess Alastor had made of himself.
Lucifer's thrusts sped up, each one dragging across already oversensitive nerves, like raking them over hot coals as Alastor's body protested against the threat of sensory overwhelm. He was dizzy, and his shadow – oh, his shadow. It ripped its hands free of the bed, clinging to Lucifer as tightly as it could, driving him so deeply into it that Alastor saw stars – and Lucifer came with a yelp, his own orgasm seemingly catching him off-guard as he braced his hands on the mattress and panted through his teeth.
The pressure within Alastor's ass started to lessen, his inner walls no longer throbbing around the hard shaft of Lucifer's cock. A moment later, the sensation vanished entirely – and there was nothing left to prove their debauchery at all, not as the shadow collapsed against the mattress before melting down the sides of the bed, pooling at Alastor's heels.
Nothing, of course, except for the filthy stain on the front of Alastor's slacks – an almost matching stain marring the bed sheets. That was to say nothing of the way his nerves and body still throbbed and tingled, aftershocks of that encounter zapping over him like a poorly grounded electrical wire.
A grunt from the bed announced Lucifer's collapse, the man giving up on holding himself upright at all. He sagged onto his chest, hair hanging in his face, claws curled over the edge of the mattress as he stared at Alastor with undisguised admiration.
Alastor's ear flicked. “What?”
“Hm,” Lucifer mumbled, nothing even close to an answer. “Good?”
Ah. His typical post-coital level of intelligence was making itself known. Alastor should have suspected. His smile twitched as he finally pulled his claws from the armrests, plucking at the quickly stiffening stain over his groin.
“Good,” he echoed, for once choosing the path of easy agreement instead of mumbled mockery. After how frustrated he'd been with himself for being unable to stand Lucifer's touch – knowing how much he wanted it, despite what his skin had thought – Alastor supposed he should be grateful for the fact they'd found a workaround.
A workaround that did involve the unfortunate ruination of a pair of pants, but it was nothing Niffty couldn't fix. Alastor might have felt guilty for dumping such a thing in the laundry chute, but he knew for a fact she'd cleaned far worse.
“I think I need... a shower,” Alastor murmured, reluctantly pushing himself from the chair. Lucifer perked up, his head lifting from the mattress, and Alastor shook his head in a denial. “No. I still don't think I'd like to be touched.”
Lucifer would deny his disappointment, but his face was as easy to read as a children's picture book. Alastor sighed, his smile softening as he paused to run a single, tentative claw down Lucifer's cheek. When his skin only tingled a little, prickling a warning, he lifted a brow.
“You're welcome to keep me company from the bath, however. I have an absolutely fascinating tale to tell you of the guest in room 77. We finally figured out what's been happening with the saltshakers, and I'll give you five guesses to work it out. I don't think you'll get it.” Alastor's smile widened into something approaching his normal, and Lucifer's lips twitched into an answering grin.
“Uh... putting them up their ass?” He guessed. Alastor shook his head as he trotted into the bathroom, setting the shower running.
“That's one. Try again.”
His shadow drifted along at his heels, languid and docile and grinning with an expression Alastor would go so far as to call insipid. He wondered, vaguely, what other creative tricks it had been hiding from him all these years.
He had a feeling Lucifer was more than a little interested in finding out.
~fin~