Chapter Text
When the deer demon began his fight on the sandy, barren battleground in the center of the crowded Colosseum, the first word that had come to Lucifer’s mind was bloodthirsty. Not at all the demure, peaceful image the word deer typically conjured.
The man had fought like a demon– shadows and claws and powers Lucifer could only guess at based on the brief massacre he had just witnessed. From the gladiator’s prominent ears to his sanguine eyes, there was no hiding his origins.
But when he had looked up, bloody, victorious, his enemies slaughtered at his feet– those piercing red eyes had met Lucifer's– and Lucifer found he couldn't breathe.
The roar of the crowd faded to white noise in the background of Lucifer’s mind as the demon dragged a long, clawed finger across his cheek, smearing blood and gore in a futile attempt to wipe it. A desire sparked low in Lucifer's stomach, one he hadn't known for years; not since his former Empress had defected back to her home country.
Of course it would be a demon to catch his interest, after all this time. He was a bit of a masochist like that.
“What's his name?” Lucifer asked Paimon, the advisor stationed beside him. He didn't take his eyes off the demon, leaning against the rail to get a better view as the gladiator holstered his sword with a dramatic flourish, finally breaking eye contact. Lucifer wanted those eyes directed back at himself– he would see to that. There had to be some advantages to being Emperor.
“This one is called Alastor, Your Majesty. Referred to as the Demon of the Arena by his fans. A very promising talent.”
Alastor.
~*~
What a pretty little thing the emperor was. Lucifer, Emperor of the Seven Rings– the paintings of him did not do the reality justice.
Alastor was annoyed just looking at him.
He could almost imagine how smooth Lucifer’s hands would be under the golden tips of his gloves– he suspected the man hadn’t worked a day in his privileged life. With hair the color of sunlight and skin as white as an alabaster statue, he looked almost divinely designed for his role. Perhaps he was, given that he was rumored to be angel-blessed.
By contrast, Alastor’s hands were bare beneath his vambraces. They were callused, and covered with blood and sweat.
That second part, he didn’t mind– though he could do with a nice pair of leather gloves. He rather enjoyed the golden tips of the ones His Majesty wore– though Alastor would prefer a more practical metal.
Something about the Emperor's body language, the way he leaned forward over the rail like he was preparing to jump into Alastor's arms, made the demon think he’d impressed the diminutive despot.
Good.
One day he’d have to kill him, and catching his attention was the first step in that process.
Alastor finally let his gaze drift from the Emperor, twirling his blade for dramatic effect before sheathing it. The audience roared; he'd been a crowd favorite since the first day he stepped into the amphitheater.
As a convict, he’d been more sacrifice than gladiator; so it was an unexpected plot twist when his deal took effect in the moments before his inevitable death, cursing him into this demonic form before the mortal blow.
His eyes swiveled back up to where the Emperor stood upon his dais like a God, his intense golden stare still focused solely on Alastor. Who knew the next time His Majesty would attend one of these gladiatorial games? Alastor had to seize the opportunity to really catch his attention.
He brought two fingers to his lips, and in the mimicry of a blown kiss, arched that arm up until his fingers pointed at the Emperor himself.
It was a well known bit of news that the Emperor had been a bachelor since the departure of his wife seven years ago. There was speculation that this was because he… swung the other way, so to speak.
The crowd collectively gasped, a hush falling on the arena. The Emperor raised a hand to his mouth in shock, finally glancing away with a golden blush adorning his cheeks.
That little move had undoubtedly earned Alastor a kiss– but whether it would be from the Emperor, or the executioner's blade, had yet to be determined.
Turning on his heel, Alastor strode to the gate where his handler awaited him, collar in hand. The arena was thunderous upon his exit, the boldness of his gesture invigorating the masses all the more once the shock wore off.
The general populace was always terribly predictable.
“Feeling suicidal today, ay boss?”
The burly guard clipped the collar around his neck, and Alastor clenched his teeth as demonic power flowed out of him like water from a sharply tipped pitcher. It never got less unsettling.
“You've no idea, Husker. I bet you my dinner that one of His Majesty’s subordinates comes calling tonight– and not for my head. If I win, you get me a fresh pair of those nice socks. Mine have holes in the heel now– it makes me feel unrefined.”
Alastor chuckled at his own joke. He was not unaware that he was currently half nude and covered in viscera; it was a call back to his days as a refined, upstanding citizen of Pentagram City.
Husker snorted, leading him away from the center of the arena as workers scrambled to drag out the bodies and prepare for the next matchup. “Sure, boss. Why not? It's a deal.”
~*~
The audacity.
Lucifer was thankful for the loose fitting nature of his toga as his body leapt up in response to the gladiator’s bold gesture.
By the time Lucifer had regained enough of his composure to look back out onto the grounds, the demon was already walking away.
Gods, he even had a tail. They must have specifically tailored the skirt to allow its protrusion– all the better to catch the eyes of the audience.
And today, of him.
Paimon tutted unhappily at his side.
“Shall I order his beheading, Your Majesty?”
“No!” Lucifer responded much too quickly before clearing his throat. “No need,” he continued in a calmer tone. “In fact, I want him to attend to me.”
“To– to what, Your Majesty?”
Lucifer wasn't sure he’d ever seen his advisor’s eyebrows rise so high– they nearly vanished into his graying hair. Lucifer was certain that he was the cause for most of those grays, but such was the life of being advisor to the worst Emperor the Seven Rings had ever known.
Though to be fair, there had only been two.
Charlie gasped behind him.
Oh yeah.
“Not like that,” Lucifer amended with a nervous chuckle. “I want him to… wait on me. Bring me my desserts, feed my ducks, cater to my whims and the like. Just for a few hours, to see how I fancy it.”
Paimon frowned.
“It's an order,” Lucifer added quietly.
He figured that sounded sufficiently emperor-like. Everyone knew he was just a figurehead in terms of actual governing, but that didn't mean they could deny him.
Paimon appeared less than pleased but he didn't dare vocalize his thoughts.
“As you will it, Imperator.” Paimon bowed before heading down the steps that connected the Emperor’s dias with the rest of the facility.
Once the gladiator was entirely out of sight, Lucifer sat back down upon his throne. Xantia hissed softly from his wrist before slithering into his lap, curling into a spiral.
Xantia was just as otherworldly as Lucifer himself. Though he couldn't communicate with his golden serpent in the standard sense, her emotions came to him through whatever divine– or perhaps unholy– bond they shared. She comprehended his words as well, even if she could not form them herself.
In this moment, she exuded a sort of soft understanding. Tia didn't hold the societal prejudices of humans. To her, to see her friend take steps to ease his loneliness– this was a good thing.
It was nice that at least one being wouldn't be judging him today.
~*~
“So Dad, I really think we should put a stop to these games; they’re cruel. They’re barbaric.”
Charlie had been lamenting the horrors of the games for the entirety of the event, and her emphatic protests continued as they walked the short, straight path between the arena and the palace grounds. Guards marched on all sides, but the path was still mostly vacant thanks to the priority exit the Emperor’s party received.
“I know, honey,” Lucifer responded absently. Half his mind was still dwelling on the fact that the demon-cursed gladiator would be in his quarters soon… and he really had to clean.
Lucifer kept minimal staffing at the palace. People stressed him out, and stress made it exceedingly difficult for Lucifer to hide his demonic attributes.
However, a single maid was simply not sufficient for maintaining grounds of that size. Niffty did her best, but his palace was still hardly fit for company.
Paimon simply pretended like he didn’t notice, smart man that he was. He would inquire if Lucifer was in need of more staffing, and Lucifer would politely decline, and that would be that until next month when his advisor tactfully asked once again.
“...and so I think if we start an initiative to show that these demon-cursed citizens are truly redeemable– Dad, are you listening?”
“Ah,” Lucifer blinked, coming back to the present. “I’m sorry Charlie, my mind is a little distracted right now. I know you feel passionately about this. I’ll think on it, I promise.”
Lucifer had no love for the gladiatorial games– but it was very obvious the people did, and Lucifer had no desire to rock the proverbial boat. It was also an easy way to keep the jails from getting overcrowded, when the worst convicts could just be tossed into the arena.
But Lucifer also wanted his daughter happy– wanted to give her everything he possibly could, because he knew he could never give her the one thing that had mattered most– a happy family.
Charlie sighed, but immediately brightened up as she caught sight of her personal guard and partner. “Vaggie!” she waved excitedly, her long blond braid bouncing as she weaved through their guards to launch herself into Vaggie’s embrace.
Paimon had expressed his distaste for the relationship to Lucifer– told him that Charlie would make for a powerful political tool were he to use her marriage as such– but Lucifer had informed Paimon exactly where he could shove his opinions on the matter. Vaggie was a loyal and loving partner, and she made Charlie happy– and that was all that mattered to Lucifer. Not to mention the fact that Lucifer’s own political marriage had completely soured him to the idea.
Lucifer gave his daughter a hug before they parted ways in the front courtyard of the palace. She headed off towards her own living arrangements on the grounds, arm linked with Vaggie’s. A more humble– though much better kept– abode than Lucifer’s, he could spy its brick facade a few unnecessary gardens over from the main building. He was loath to have his precious daughter too far.
Lucifer mentally ticked through everything he had to take care of before the gladiator's arrival. He’d begun carving wooden ducks a few years ago, and his bedroom floor was currently littered with them.
Xantia’s tongue flicked against his chin, and he gave her head a little pat. He couldn't remember the last time he’d been this excited. He hoped the man would like him.
~*~
How wonderful the expression had been on Husker's face, when not half an hour after Alastor’s fight, a pair of guards came seeking him out on behalf of the Emperor. They’d barely returned from his physical assessment with the arena’s head physician– who had given him a clean bill of health, of course– when the two had come knocking.
Alastor looked forward to his new pair of socks.
Oh and the private bath they’d provided him– warm, lavender scented water– he'd only enjoyed such luxuriance once or twice, during his more auspicious years. Nothing like the cold, communal showers he’d been subjected to for the past seven.
Even the toga provided for him was made out of finer linens than he’d ever had the privilege of touching. It was red– the color seemed to follow him. It was his favorite, so he didn't mind.
Alastor was prepared to present his most charming smile tonight. He admittedly had very little experience in seduction, but his manipulation skills were top tier– and really, how different could they be?
To kill the Emperor, and to exact the vengeance that had led him to this point, he’d need to get his hoof in the door. There would be no second chance if he fucked this up.
Two armed guards escorted him alongside the Emperor’s advisor, Paimon.
Now this bastard, he knew. Lucifer never graced the Senate meetings with his presence, and Paimon was the man who attended in his stead. Alastor remembered him as a wise and cunning politician, but a terrible human.
“If you attempt in any way to harm His Majesty, you will be executed. Mind your manners. I recall your sharp tongue; keep it to yourself, or I will ensure that you lose it.”
Alastor’s grin widened. So he did remember him. He did so love when people remembered him.
“How lovely that you remember me. Tell me, how is little Stolas doing these days?”
Paimon frowned.
“Which one was that, again?”
Alastor squinted in amusement, and Paimon shrugged it off when he didn't respond. Cunning politician, terrible human.
Entering through the massive, guarded ironwright gate and onto the palace grounds, the first thing Alastor thought was…
Unkept.
Roses so wild and thorny, the bushes seemed more threatening than a show of opulence. He rather liked them. Trees that required trimming, a stone path that required de-weeding.
Questionable landscaping aside, the buildings themselves were still magnificent– tall columns and dramatic archways, terraces that surely gave lovely views of the city, carved murals of the Gods on the retaining walls. The architecture was all stone, and that stone was the same brilliant white as the Emperor that resided within.
“The Emperor has… unique tastes, when it comes to the decor. Do not comment.”
Alastor's eyebrows rose but he kept his silence.
Entering the palace, nothing seemed very out of the ordinary. If anything it just seemed lifeless. Dusty, perhaps.
A larger-than-life statue of the former Emperor was centered on the first landing of the marble stairwell that dominated the foyer. He looked nothing like Lucifer– Alastor considered this to be a good thing. Had the Emperor looked like his father, Alastor wasn't sure he'd be able to stomach feigning attraction to him.
The former Emperor had been the one to order the Exterminations in the first place. He'd inadvertently shaped Alastor into the monster he was, paving the path for the future downfall of his own son.
Though by all accounts, the former Emperor hadn't been much of a father to young Lucifer. Alastor had never even known his own– perhaps they could bond over their shared childhood trauma.
Alastor chuckled to himself.
As they ascended the steps to the second floor and turned to the West wing, Paimon’s warning abruptly made sense. The divide where standard palatial decor turned into whateverthefuck this was, was like walking from a pristine winter landscape directly into a blaze of autumn.
Gaudy, colorful, utterly absurd– it brought to mind the traveling entertainers that always arrived in the late spring and early summer. They would pitch their vibrant tents on the outskirts of Pentagram City, providing exotic treats and dramatic performances for anyone with the coin to pay.
Unique tastes, indeed.
Paimon rapped thrice upon an unassuming wooden door.
“Uhh– one minute, one minute!” came the muted response.
Paimon sighed, as if this behavior was nothing new.
Interesting.
There was an odd series of clunks and thuds before about thirty seconds later, the Emperor himself flung open the door.
His red and gold eyes immediately honed in on Alastor. Alastor schooled his expression, locking on an ambiguous grin.
“Come in! Come in,” His Majesty said, bouncing backwards and waving his hands. They entered in a single file, Paimon at the head, Alastor with a guard to his front and back.
His eyes surveyed the room. It held similar motifs to the rest of the wing, excessive drapery and deep reds abounding.
Lucifer paced to the far wall, consisting of two massive arched glass windows with a door between. It led out onto a balcony, facing the interior courtyard. The sunset streamed in through the windows, the vivid orange sun perfectly situated to give the Emperor the illusion of a fiery halo, highlighting his entire frame with a warm glow.
Alastor felt his confidence falter.
He was beautiful. Flawless, even; though the red circles adorning his cheeks were rather odd. Clad only in a white toga, various accouterments removed, he still looked just as regal as when they’d locked eyes in the amphitheater. His Majesty was petite, likely coming only to the middle of Alastor’s chest, were they to stand face to face– but he could tell from the breadth of his shoulders and the contours of his arms that he was well built.
Alastor hated it.
“You are much shorter in real life.”
Damn.
He’d intended to be charming, but the cutting words spilled out anyway.
Lucifer blinked at him with wide eyes, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
“Shall I cut off his tongue for you, Your Majesty?” Paimon asked, one eye twitching in annoyance. The guards raised their weapons.
“No need,” Lucifer said with a wry grin, waving them down. “Leave us. The guards may stay positioned outside the door, I’ll scream if I need you.”
“Are you certain, Your Majesty? The demon is blindingly fast– you saw him fight.”
He stepped away from the window, breaking the illusion of divinity. “Is that not an angelic collar I spy around his neck? Has he not been thoroughly searched for weapons?”
Paimon bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Point taken. Enjoy your evening, Your Majesty.” Paimon retreated, the two guards pivoting and following in his wake. Alastor remained unmoving, hands braced behind his back.
Alastor noticed the change in the Emperor’s posture the moment the others left. The sudden slouch of his shoulders. An uncomfortable shifting of his feet.
The small man scratched the back of his head with a nervous chuckle. “Uhhh– hi.”
~*~
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Alastor had looked spectacular in the attire of a gladiator– and was now absolutely sinful in a simple red toga as he stood before Lucifer, fanged yellow grin glinting dangerously in the orange-pink hue of sunset.
What am I supposed to say? He’d started with hi, and really didn't know where he was supposed to go from there. He was sort of hoping the man would respond.
“Good fight today,” he continued with an awkward thumbs up.
Alastor tilted his head, crimson eyes assessing. The grin was getting a little creepy.
One of his ears twitched.
Gods, I want to touch those ears.
But Lucifer didn't want to be weird about it. The demon was likely to do anything he asked, but Lucifer would much prefer it if things felt a little more… consensual.
Alastor bent down in a bow. “The name’s Alastor– a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty. Quite a pleasure.”
His voice. Shit.
It was not all what Lucifer was expecting– the demon looked like he should have some sort of feral, guttural growl thing going on, speaking in only monosyllabic words, throwing together sentences with dubious grammatical structure. Instead he was eloquent, and the juxtaposition between the rugged visual and apparent intellect hiding beneath left Lucifer wanting him even more.
“Yes!” he replied with a little too much enthusiasm, clasping his hands together. “And I’m Lucifer, Emperor of the Seven Rings and all that stuff. Sit down, sit down!” he panicked, gesturing at the sofa on the wall across from his bed. His bedroom was pretty sparse now that he’d purged it of wooden ducks and laundry. Bed, sofa, end tables, dresser. Pretty windows that led onto a balcony with an excellent view of his duck pond.
Why can't I just be normal about this?
“So, um. Good weather for a match today, right? Do you, uh– enjoy what you do?”
Fuck that wasn't the way to go about this. Do you enjoy being a slave of the Empire? Why was Lucifer so bad at this?
He was happy Xantia was outside bathing in the fading rays; he was judging himself enough for the both of them.
~*~
Alastor exhaled with a loud ha!
Lucifer flinched.
This was the Emperor?
This bumbling, awkward little man who looked like he wanted to crawl under his bed and hide after that last question?
The gods smile on me today.
“I do enjoy a good fight. A pity I rarely get that here,” he responded, taking a seat as offered. The plush sofa molded to his shape, a far cry from the furniture adorning his glorified cell.
Lucifer fiddled with the ring on his finger, taking the seat beside him on the sofa but leaving plenty of space.
“So is smiling just… your thing, or are you just really happy right now?”
Alastor’s grin sharpened. “Since my damnation, I've found the expression to feel most natural.”
“Ah. Yeah not sure natural is what comes to mind when you grin like that,” he laughed.
Lucifer's eyes focused on his mouth, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.
Ah. It was as Alastor had suspected.
The Emperor wants me.
How convenient!
How advantageous. He couldn't let this opportunity slip through his claws. Alastor was used to inspiring fear, not lust– but he understood the basics.
Alastor brought a leg up onto the upholstery, knee in the air– the fabric slid down, exposing his thigh to the very crux of his groin. Lucifer’s eyes followed the motion of the fabric, black pupils dilating so large they nearly overtook the crimson irises around them.
Oh yes. There was no doubt in Alastor's mind– Lucifer wanted his body.
Now what could he get with this information; this power?
“Why am I here, Your Majesty?” Alastor asked with a coy tilt of his head.
He watched Lucifer’s Adam’s apple bob with a swallow as he tore his eyes from the skin of Alastor's thigh.
“I don’t know, Alastor.” It was the first time he'd heard his name from those rosy lips, and he observed with interest as the Emperor lifted a brow in challenge. “Why did you blow me a kiss?”
Shit.
Alastor had told himself he was ready to be used physically, but now that the topic was at hand, an uncharacteristic fear had taken hold; it settled deep in his bones as he began to second-guess his choice of strategy.
He’d provoked this, he damn well better have the balls to follow through.
“Because I wanted to kiss you, of course.”
The Emperor tilted his head up with a ha ha, exposing a slender ivory neck. He quickly sobered.
“I’m going to call bullshit there, buddy. But I'll play.”
He scooted over, and Alastor stiffened as the man pressed his body against Alastor's side.
~*~
Lucifer knew what lust looked like, and this wasn't it. But if Alastor was going to lie, then Lucifer was going to play along.
He placed a hand on Alastor's bare forearm, and the man flinched.
Fuck he's soft.
He imagined fitting his entire body against that velvety softness but banished the thought. He was getting ahead of himself.
“Is it so unbelievable?” Alastor grit, straightening his leg and shuffling the fabric of his toga to cover the tantalizing view he’d just given Lucifer. His words and his body language did not match. The way Alastor craned his neck away, smile wavering like a cornered beast– as if the feel of Lucifer’s touch was terribly unwelcome. It made Lucifer a little sad.
“People don't want me, Alastor. People want my power. Perhaps some would fuck me for my looks, strikingly handsome man that I am.” He winked at Alastor and he swore he saw the man grimace through his smile. “I'm not really getting that vibe here. But” – Lucifer kneeled on the sofa to eliminate their difference in height, then leaned forward until their lips nearly brushed – “If you came here to kiss me, then you have my explicit permission to do so, Demon of the Arena.”
After seeing Alastor’s reaction to touch, Lucifer kept one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his own thigh. He was going to let Alastor close the remaining distance. Then Lucifer could at least pretend this wasn't him taking advantage of a man well below his own station.
Peck.
Lucifer’s eyes widened as Alastor placed the chastest, fastest possible kiss on his lips– like a quick breeze that was just passing by. If he had blinked, he may have missed it.
Lucifer couldn't contain his reaction, bursting into laughter as Alastor scowled through his grin, his sharply upturned nose scrunching in indignation. Lucifer collapsed into a fit of giggles, withdrawing from Alastor to clasp at his own stomach.
“Was it funny to you?”
Lucifer wiped a tear from his eye. “That barely even counted as a kiss!’
“I’d say it counted.”
“Your kiss count must be pretty low if that’s your standard.”
For the first time since Alastor's arrival, the demon looked embarrassed. He averted his eyes, cheeks darkening.
“I hardly see how my body count is any of your business.”
Lucifer laughed again. “Who’s talking about body counts? I'm just talking about kisses, man.”
“You talk ridiculous for being an Emperor.”
“And you talk ridiculous for being a mmph–”
Alastor grabbed a swath of fabric from Lucifer’s neckline and hauled him into a second kiss.
Despite his initiation, Alastor was as stone-like as one of Lucifer’s garden statues.
“Relax your jaw, part your lips,” he muttered against Alastor’s tight-lipped grin. With a quiet exhalation, the demon relaxed just enough that Lucifer could slide his tongue along the seam of his lips, grazing his fangs.
Lucifer threw a leg over Alastor's thigh to ease the angle; he didn't want to do a full straddle, lest he assault the man with his raging hard-on.
Alastor released the fabric of his toga, one hand rising to weave into Lucifer’s hair, the other falling to his waist. Lucifer repeated the motion of his tongue against his fangs, and Alastor parted his mouth further while his breath stuttered.
~*~
The Emperor’s dainty tongue sliding along his fangs was a surprisingly pleasant sensation.
As he opened his mouth further, the oddly trusting creature began weaving around his fangs like they were made of hard candy, rather than deadly weapons that had torn out more than a few throats during his time in the arena.
His Majesty's small hands rested on his chest, the white a stark contrast to the red of Alastor's toga. He fisted the fabric before sliding his tongue slowly into Alastor's mouth, a tentative touching of tongues, and Alastor resisted the urge to bite down and pull away.
It wasn't nearly as repulsive as he was expecting, and that alone was enough to trigger some sort of fight or flight response– so instead he sat, frozen, the hand on Lucifer's narrow waist gripping a little too hard.
“You can use your tongue too, you know,” Lucifer murmured before sinking back into his lips. The rest of his body rigid, Alastor managed to maneuver his own tongue into Lucifer's mouth.
He tasted sweet, faintly of apples. Lucifer moaned, and Alastor felt it from the tips of his ears to the tip of his dick.
Fuck.
His antlers extended as he swept his tongue deeper, and the Emperor made a choked sound that sent a shiver down Alastor's spine. With the hand he had fisted into his silken golden locks, Alastor wrenched the Emperor's head back for a better angle, eliciting a gasp and another moan.
Perhaps being used in this manner wouldn't be so bad, Alastor considered as he began to devour His Majesty’s mouth in earnest. Moans turned into desperate whimpers, and Alastor noticed the way the Emperor had begun rutting gently into his thigh.
“We– we have to stop,” he gasped, pushing back from Alastor’s chest.
Alastor raised a brow, confused. He did not release his hold.
“Why?”
“Because,” the Emperor said, looking pointedly down at the prominent tent in his toga. “l'm going to start thinking with my dick– oh don't give me that look, if I was thinking with it now we’d still be making out– and I don't want to force you into something you don't want. Unless you uhh– do want to take care of this…”
Lucifer’s golden eyes were bright with a mix of lust and hope. Alastor wanted to laugh.
This man, force him?
This timid little creature, whimpering in his lap not moments before? Even with his collar suppressing almost all of his power, Alastor found himself unworried.
He had entered this room this evening fully expecting to be raped by a tyrant– to debase himself and sink to his lowest low in order to achieve his goals– and instead found a horny little white dove that was afraid to hurt his feelings.
~*~
Lucifer was about ready to combust as Alastor dropped a hand to his lower leg and began sliding up under his toga.
“And if I take care of this, as you say– do I get to have, perhaps, a repeat visit?”
Lucifer was aching, cock weeping at the mere prospect of Alastor completing the journey of those questing fingers.
“Are you trying to make a deal with me?” Lucifer countered breathlessly, as if he wasn't already planning out their next encounter.
Alastor hummed an affirmative as his calloused fingers left a trail of fire up Lucifer's thigh, claws dragging across skin with a gentle sting as they climbed tantalizingly higher. He held eye contact as he did, and Lucifer felt the itch on his tailbone as his tail sought to break free.
Control. A deep breath, and the itch faded. Lilith had hated his demonic features, and he'd become accustomed to holding them at bay during intimate moments.
Lucifer had gone without undergarments this evening, so Alastor’s long fingers met no resistance as they wrapped around his cock. He bucked into Alastor's hand with a small cry. “Yes, yes I'll make that deal.”
He might agree to almost anything in the desperation of the moment– lucky it was such an innocuous request, and one he would've fulfilled with or without a deal.
Lucifer cried out again as Alastor began to move his hand.
“Hush now, your Majesty. Wouldn't want to give your guards the wrong idea.”
“Call me Lucifer while you have your hand on my dick, please.”
Alastor chuckled, pumping slowly, too slowly.
“Faster.”
“I'm sure you're used to always getting what you want, hmm?”
Lucifer scowled.
“You're very well spoken for a brute,” he said, finishing the thought that Alastor had interrupted earlier with his lips.
“I wasn't always a brute, Your Majesty”
“Lucifer,” he corrected him with a growl.
Alastor leaned close, hot breath fanning against his ear – “Lucifer” – and Lucifer nearly came on the spot.
“Holy fuck,” he hissed, bucking into Alastor's hand again.
“Stay still, little dove. I’m talking.”
The fuck did he just call me?
“I dare say I would've been referred to as a gentleman by those on my good side, in my days before the Colosseum.”
Even through the haze of lust, Lucifer’s interest was peaked. “What did you used to do then, if not fight?”
Alastor released his cock, but before Lucifer could protest, the man picked him up by the waist like he weighed as much as a feather and dropped him down between his spread thighs, facing away.
Is– is that his erection?
Lucifer felt a distinct hardness pressing against his back as Alastor's hands swept up his toga once more, one coming to rest on his thigh, the other resuming its position on his shaft. Lucifer shuddered in relief as he began to pump him from this improved angle.
After watching his display in the arena, it was hard for Lucifer to imagine Alastor doing anything but fight. Though in this moment, most things were hard to imagine, beyond the feel of Alastor's hand between his legs.
“Mmm. Request venison for dinner tonight. Rare. Then I'll answer your questions.”
“Fuck, man. I don't think it’s fair for you to be making deals with me while you– fuck– have a grip on me like this.”
~*~
This, Alastor could do.
He was in control, and though this was still making him feel things, it was less overwhelming than having Lucifer’s tongue prodding his mouth.
“The day I make a fair deal, I'll have lost my touch,” he responded smoothly.
The Emperor– Lucifer, he mentally adjusted– was coming undone in his arms, hands clinging to Alastor's thighs like a lifeline as his desperate little mewls urged Alastor on.
The room was quiet but for the slap of flesh and His Majesty’s lewd noises. Alastor’s own body had reacted in turn, and his cock throbbed against Lucifer’s back. Every shift of their bodies left him gritting his teeth from the friction.
Lucifer’s head had fallen back against his chest, eyes rolled back in bliss. His face was flushed, his breaths coming in fast, erratic gasps. “I'm so close,” he moaned, and Alastor squeezed tighter in response.
Lucifer bit his lip, eyes wild with lust refocusing on Alastor as he teetered on the edge.
“Come for me, Lucifer. Show me what a little harlot you are for a lowly demon like myself.”
“Oh fuck, Alastor!”
Alastor pressed his free hand over Lucifer’s mouth to muffle his cries. Hips bucking, body shuddering, Lucifer's warm seed dripped down Alastor’s fingers as he trembled in his arms.
After a few moments, one of Lucifer's hands rose up to remove Alastor's. Mouth freed, he let out a long sigh. “You have no idea how much I needed that.” He dragged a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Shit.”
Alastor slid his hand out from beneath the soiled fabric of Lucifer's toga, then looked at it with disdain.
Disgusting.
“Clean this,” was all he said, lifting his hand in front of Lucifer’s face to emphasize the mess he had made.
Lucifer swung sideways on Alastor’s lap before giving him a mischievous grin. He grabbed Alastor's wrist and guided a finger into his mouth.
Oh.
That had not been what he meant.
Alastor looked on in morbid fascination as Lucifer licked off his own spend, finger by finger. The slide of his tongue along his claws had Alastor's erection twitching, and his breath catching in his throat.
A light moan escaped his lips as Lucifer lathed his palm. Alastor did a double take.
“Do you have a forked tongue?”
Lucifer froze mid-swipe, withdrawing his tongue. “What? Of course not! That would be so strange.”
He stuck out a perfectly normal tongue as evidence, and Alastor began to question his sanity. Despite the limited blood flow to his brain at the moment, his eyes rarely deceived him so blatantly.
“I see,” he muttered to himself. Lucifer’s reaction to the observation had been equally odd.
He’d keep it in mind.
~*~
I'm a goddamn idiot.
Lucifer had been so blissed out and relaxed, he’d forgotten to shapeshift his tongue. Basic stuff.
He finished his impromptu hand job with a swiftness before hopping off of Alastor's lap. He kneeled between his legs and gave Alastor his most seductive smirk. Despite his sexual relief, he still wanted to crawl up under Alastor’s robes to experience the rest of the body he had seen on display at the arena.
“Could I… return the favor?” he asked, looking up through his lashes and into Alastor's dark eyes.
He’d noticed that whenever Alastor was getting really into it, his sclera bled black.
It was hot as fuck.
“Absolutely not,” he replied.
Well that hadn't been the answer he was expecting.
“Oh,” Lucifer said, immediately standing up. He walked over to his bed and sat on the edge. Puffed out his lips while he thought for a moment.
This was awkward.
“So… you want me to go get dinner? Or…” he trailed off questioningly.
“Dinner sounds lovely,” Alastor replied, crossing his legs.
Maybe he didn't really enjoy it, Lucifer mused with displeasure. Why else would he want to stop there? Maybe the hand thing disgusted him. Maybe he–
“Lucifer,” Alastor called softly, and Lucifer snapped his head up.
“Keep the titles when we aren't touching,” Lucifer instructed. It was for his own good. It was a bad habit to get into, if they ever met publicly.
Alastor stood, walked in front of him, and took his hand. He brought it to his face, brushing his lips gently over the knuckles.
Lucifer’s heart rate kicked up.
“Lucifer,” he repeated.
This sly bastard. They were technically touching.
“Yes, Alastor?”
“That won't be the last time you fall apart in my arms, moaning my name.”
Oh fuck.
Lucifer had excellent stamina in all senses of the word, and his dick went from a wet noodle to a steel rod in the span of a few heartbeats.
“I’llgogetdinner,” Lucifer rushed out in a single breath before pulling out of Alastor's grip and speed walking out the door.
~*~
Alastor didn't know why an Emperor would need to go retrieve his own dinner, or why Lucifer had thought it was a good idea to go marching past the guards with that telling stain across his toga.
But what he did know was that he could have far more than this man’s cock in the palm of his hand, if he played his cards right.
Alastor sat down on the spot Lucifer had vacated, and plopped backwards onto the soft bed with its burgundy silk sheets. They smelled like him– of apples and cinnamon. It was not unpleasant.
He could get used to this.
Lucifer did not mask his facial expressions well. Insecurity at Alastor's rejection had practically been carved into the wrinkles of the Emperor’s forehead, which Alastor had hurried to smooth. No need for misunderstandings.
It wasn't that Alastor wasn't interested, per say. His lack of experience left him nervous, and if he was nervous then he could slip up– and it was too early to risk making mistakes. There was a decent chance he would be repulsed by the reciprocation, and he didn't want to scare away the timid little dove with a real rejection.
Oh, Lucifer would be so easy to kill. He could tell already. The man was desperate for companionship– a foolish, misplaced trust would inevitably develop with time.
He’d get his revenge on Adam, he’d enjoy his venison dinners, and at the end of it all, he’d off the Emperor and win back his freedom.
And that would be that.