Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1
Just one more dose...

He hadn’t wanted to be there.

Charlie had dubbed it a bonding night after successfully convincing Angel Dust to return to the hotel with promises that Alastor would actually intervene if he sensed any unwelcome presence lingering around Angel Dust’s being, rather than declaring it to be not his circus, and not his monkeys, because no, Alastor. The hotel WAS his circus, and the sinners inside WERE his monkeys whether he liked it or not.

And as such, it was his job to protect them. Not just let them be hijacked and used. He’d been tempted to quit again after that speech. Ears dipped, smile twisted into an ugly snarl of a thing while Charlie, backed by her holier than thou girlfriend who kept butting in, berated him for his lack of action over something everyone knew he had to have known about.

Vox’s power had always relied on his radio waves, every bit of technology the little clown had, tapped into his domain, so it stood to perfectly logical reasoning that yes. Alastor should have been aware whenever Vox had him hijacked.

And he was.

He just hadn’t cared very much. He hadn’t seen it as a threat. Angel had made his bed, so he had to lay in it like a good little boy, simple as. So the sad little diaper baby Vox found out a few morsels of behind the scenes intel, he hadn’t thought it’d amount to much until—well. It had. Curse of a Sinner, an abundance of pride had left him a little blind to the possibilities of how far down chain reactions could tumble.

Quitting would have been easier, he had no real reason to stay. Lucifer was entertaining, certainly, but he had no deals tying him to the hotel, no chains denying him leave—he could go where he pleased, cause whatever chaos he deemed entertaining enough to satisfy the hundred year craving for destruction, he could even—Lucifer had wandered by in the background mid-berating, Alastor’s eyes straying from the two in front of him, ears perking up, to the angel still sporting bandages from his injuries as he tiredly trudged through from parts unknown to the staff kitchen, in what could only be described as a… duck onesie. Stay.

He could stay. So he stayed.

And as penance for his lack of action when it mattered most—Consent.

He hadn’t wanted to be there. He’d initially tried to say no, halfway through sounding out the first syllable before Charlie was listing off reasons why he should attend. Bonding with the staff! Ew. Getting to know the people he was looking after! Why? It’ll be fun! Doubtful. Fine, it’ll show the Vee’s we’re all totally unaffected by their bullshit. Ooooh.

She’d even managed to get him to change his attire a little for the outing. He’d inverted the colours on his shirt, material now black, with red accents, left his coat behind, swapped his monocle out for a set of tinted red spectacles set upon his nose, the useless arms replaced with chains so that if they fell off, they’d simply drop to his chest not to the floor, he tied his hair back, leaving just a few face framing strands loose and holding his spectacles in place at the same time, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

That was the extent of the changes. He felt naked.

The club was loud. Music pumping from all corners of the room, speakers lining each of the walls, Alastor’s ears had adopted a permanently pinned position in an effort to block out the interference. Scents of perfumes, alcohols, sweat and—other bodily fluids assaulting his nose, bodies pressed too close, lights—he wasn’t even able to escape it by sitting at the bar. No amount of his stay the fuck away from me aura was deterring people from nudging him, brushing past him, their half-hearted apologies and drunken laughter proving not everyone in Pentagram City found him terrifying.

Drunk and or drugged idiots tended not to feel fear the same way. Liquid courage and all that and Charlie had expressly forbade him from violence, another reason to tempt him into quitting but—deep breaths. Deep calming breaths. He had his radio tower at the Hotel now. He had a whole studio there.

It was the best place to broadcast from, given it thrummed with angelic power. The walls basically full to the brim with it, tapping in to strengthen his broadcast had been a cinch really. Ohhh the things he did for the craft, the sacrifices he made.

He rested his head in his hands, elbows propped up on the bar top, thankfully the surface neither sticky or wet, thumbs pressed to his temples gently rotating into the tight skin, attempting to ebb the growing headache before it could take root.

Someone sat beside him, a brave soul he’d give them that— claws brushed his back— “Hey lil sugar, you look tense…” absolutely not. A slight tilt of his head, eyes sharp, he looked to the side, to the tall horned, broad shouldered demon, Succubi, by the look of him, not a Sinner, probably just up from Lust for the vibes.

Alastor’s grin stretched wide, twisted into something vile, menacing, black ichor dripping down between his teeth to dribble over his lip, antlers slowly growing in size until—“WHOA there!” Charlie was there, with just enough reasonable force, twirling the Succubi out of the way with a chipper “leeeeet’s get you out of the waaayy, hahaaaa” before Alastor could turn him into a permanent fancy new stain on Consent’s tiled floors. “Alastor! You agreed to no violence!”

“I’d call that self-defense, he touched me.” A perfectly reasonable reaction in his opinion, why wouldn’t vicious murder be a reasonable reaction to a caress from a sex demon with intent.

“You’re sitting on your own at a bar in a sex club, Alastor. A simple no thank you, I’m not interested, would suffice! Succubi are all about positive consent!” Asmodeus was a real stickler for that, his demons would only ever engage in consensual copulation, nothing forced, nothing coerced, or they’d risk his wrath and while he may not be the strongest of the Sins, he was still a ruling Sin. “This is a safe place to enjoy yourself, Alastor! Even non-sexually! Just—come over to the table with us, it’ll be fine, I promise.”

He could have been home with a good book. Perhaps a glass of Sazerac on rocks by the fireplace. A little jazz on his radio—maybe some light finger foods for an easy supper before retiring early to bed. But no. She wanted him to play along. Couldn’t she have gotten her actual father to play along? “Nghhhh” He grumbled through clenched teeth, but… he stood from his seat, he cast a brief side-eyed glance to the Succubi who’d already moved on to a more welcoming patron, and followed her to the group over to the side, all sat in a booth Charlie had finally used her name to book for their sole VIP use. 

Apparently ensuring the city wasn't vaporised by Vox had endeared her a little more to the people she'd saved.

“Heyyy big bad finally joins us lowlifes!!” Immediate regret. Alastor levelled Angel Dust with a look that could wither an entire field of wildflowers. Alastor would forever curse the fact that repeated exposure to pain and suffering lessened the effects of true terror over time. Angel seemed completely unperturbed by his obvious irritation, smile beaming, arms out in exuberant welcome “oh c’mon Smiles, cheer up lil buck! You love music! I’ve seen y’dancin before! It’s just a different genre a’both!” A different genre… hm—Alastor took another look around the club.

Music, laughter, alcohol, flagrant disrespect of common decency—his ears perked up, expression levelled, before almost softening. The occupants of the table getting a firsthand experience of Alastor finally seeing the club. Although his thought process would remain a mystery to them, It almost reminded him of—well… life. Playing for an audience during the prohibition, laughter, music, alcohol a plenty, flagrant disregard for the law, his people and others coming together for harmless fun during a time when life didn’t want them to have any.

He took a breath, relaxed his shoulders, and settled at the table beside the spider who’d welcomed him in. “I suppose it has its familiar charm.” He drawled. “However if you ever call me lil buck again, I will sew your mouth shut in your sleep on principle” the threat landed as harmlessly as intended. No real heat behind it.

“Sure thing, Smiles for miles! Never again.” Angel even winked at him. Gone were the days when he was feared by the powerless. His name carried much less fear and perhaps… that didn’t have to be a bad thing. It could be useful, nobody ever said that a lowered guard of an opponent was an inconvenience. “Hey, if you keep this kinda chill all night, we might even get’cha laid, big guy!” Unnerving, a little irritating, sure. Not an inconvenience.

“And give one of these pitiful excuses for demons something to brag about? Heavens no, I have higher standards, my good man.” Angel blinked down at him, head tilted to the side like a curious puppy who’d unlocked brand new information. He didn’t ask any further questions though, simply shrugging at the answer he’d been given, before moving his elated outlook on to his other companions, companions who thankfully, were now mostly leaving Alastor to try and relax.

His ears twitched, shifted in a bid to parse and separate the frequencies around the club into something he could actually function with.

It all clashed horribly at first, but… in separating them properly, a slight adjustment applied to his own personal frequency, with just a little effort, he could relax, enjoy a drink. Grab a little snack from the tray Charlie had procured. Relaxation didn’t mean he had any intention of indulging in anything physical with anyone there though, as he’d told Angel, he had standards.

Sure, he hadn't always, sex wasn't an entirely foreign concept to him.

He’d used it to his own personal gain in life, a tool to be used with deeply unsatisfying quick to finish partners in dark offices, bathrooms, and the occasional supply closet because heaven forbid anyone see someone in power lowering themselves to bed someone like him, no matter how desperate they’d been to pursue him on his way to stardom, but—he hadn’t needed to do any of that in Hell. He’d landed in the afterlife with power built into his new body. No need to slip in and out of anyone’s lustful arms to get himself ahead. So, standards.

Sure, his new lithe, agile slip of a thing form still drew the lustful gaze of many a sinner, but—no. Nobody in Hell had ever been able to claim they’d had the Radio Demon, and anyone from his life who'd landed there had been swiftly silenced before they could boast.

He shouldn’t have relaxed.

He shouldn’t have sat next to Angel Dust, and he shouldn’t have relaxed.

It wasn’t the next round of drinks that appeared, or the one after that. Or even the one that followed that. No, he’d been appropriately buzzed by the time it happened. A mistake. A simple slip up, a wrong glass taken while absently focusing on a particular beat in a song he found familiar. Likely something that’d sampled an old track he knew—a glass that’d been intended for someone else, someone next to him, someone equally buzzed with his guard lowered, a much weaker, easier potential victim even among powerful friends.

He'd taken a gulp. The glass was the same shape—hadn’t looked at it, had he looked, perhaps he’d have noticed the difference, the amber of his whiskey compared to the crimson red of the liquid in the glass he’d drank from, it’d have been obvious even in the vibrantly lit up club. Even if he’d taken a sniff first, he’d have noticed the pungent stench. Overly strong notes of strawberry hit the back of his throat in a gulp he shouldn’t have rushed to take.

It forced him to look at the glass in confusion but upon recognising it wasn’t his glass, he’d thought nothing of it, simply rolled his eyes in disgust before he dropped the now mostly empty glass back down to the tray and picked up his actual one, leaving Angel to despair over his lost drink in perfect obliviousness to what Alastor had unknowingly saved him from while dooming himself.

It didn’t happen quickly.

Alastor’s body was a custom build riddled with an overwhelming number of powers, a number of which even he wasn’t entirely aware of. Sometimes he just tried something new and it worked! Drugs took time to sink into his system, should have taken longer, but that time was lessened greatly by the following gulp of whiskey he’d taken to rid himself of that dreadfully strong strawberry aftertaste. Soon enough, because they weren’t that lucky, sounds started to blur together, voices muddled, his eyes hurt, lights too bright, volume too loud, every breath felt laboured, hot… he was hot, clammy—he tugged at his collar, claws tearing at the bowtie at his neck until tattered fabric came away in his claws, remnants left to hang around his shoulders, collar of his shirt facing a similar fate.

Nobody at the table noticed him leave.

He got up from his seat, the others in varying states of inebriation, he needed water. Just—just a splash of water on his face, he’d be fine. He managed to push through the throng of sinners to the bathroom, yanked someone out of the way before they could slip in before him, and—ignoring their indignant yell at his back—closed the door behind him before stumbling and crashing into the opposite wall with a static ladened screech.

In his struggle to turn around, to push himself up from the wall and turn over to sit back to the wall, he didn’t notice the door opening, didn’t notice it closing—locking. “Well… not who we wanted but at least usin the whole bottle wasn’t a waste, ey, boys?” Oh but he noticed that. Bleary ruby eyes struggled to focus on the newcomers to his own personal hell. A grimy bathroom floor of a sex club.

Sure it’ll be fine, Charlie. Everything would be perfectly fucking fine.

“Jesus fuck, boss that’s the damn Radio Demon” one of them held another back, fear, self-preservation, Alastor didn’t know, didn’t care, he was—fuck he was hot. Why was he so hot? “We probably should—” He ached. His blood felt like liquid fire, his skin itched under the fabric of his clothes, wanted them off, needed them off, he felt—empty. Too empty, he wanted—he needed—

“Mnnhm, sure is, better prize than some fancy fuckin whore anyway, an with the dose we gave ‘im, stand back, give it a minute to settle properly, he’ll be on his knees beggin for it like any other slut. I got dibs on first round, don’t want your sloppy-ass seconds, an get the fuckin camera we could make bank off’a this piece of shit” Alastor’s eyes flashed, his shadow coiled around his feet, sluggish, like tar as those words sunk into his altered brain. Dose. Whore. Angel Dust’s glass. Strawberries.

What happened next… could have been accurately described, as a very bad time. Understatement, probably, but accurate all the same. Outside that bathroom, for everyone else, the night was going great, Sinners and Hellborns alike having fun, enjoying the alcohol, the music, the vibe, then without any warning, no alarms, no sirens, just one moment a great atmosphere… the next…

Alastor.

Gigantic. Terrifying. Eldritch being of infinite nightmares, Alastor.

Half of the club was gone in the instant it took for his gigantic form to erupt from the bathroom floor, bodies of Sinners and Hellborns alike buried under piles of rubble and glass. The gigantic body of the Radio Demon towering over it all, his deafening screech of pained rage echoing like nails on a chalkboard across the Pentagram, mouth drenched in blood, viscera, the remnants of who he’d eaten coated in thick black ichor, tentacles smashing through anything and everything they came into contact with, while only the people closest to Charlie, the hotel staff, a couple of waitresses and patrons, and what few guests had accompanied them protected by the Nephilim’s shield, quickly summoned to protect what she could.

Vaggi moved to act, spear summoned, Charlie held her back. Exorcist level angels weren’t a match for him anymore, long since having armed himself with the knowledge he’d gained from Carmilla, risking her to whatever this was, wasn’t worth it.

“We have to do SOMETHING, Charlie, we can’t just—”

“I know!! I know, but—but he promised no violence! So—”

“Yeah, and he’s a psychopath, why do we keep trusting him?!”

But Alastor—while his tentacles and shadow were swatting at everything and anything that moved close to him, the demon himself wasn’t actively trying to hurt anyone. His claws were on his own body, ripping, tearing at himself as he stumbled through rubble, like he was trying to tear the crap out of his system by sheer brutal force of will, gigantic palm crashed through the ceiling destroying the bar, its tender having barely managed to escape before the whole thing came crashing down under Alastor’s weight, the rest of that portion crumbling too when Alastor fell down atop it. Terrified screams erupted from those within the shield, and those struggling to escape outside of it, Charlie couldn’t expand it any more than she already had without weakening it.

“Smiles drank my drink” Angel’s eyes were on Alastor’s struggling form as he spoke, wide, briefly turning just to look at the mostly empty glass now being inspected by Niffty, sniffed by Husk, the bartender rearing back in disgust as if his nostrils had been burned “bathrooms the only thing in that direction an he’s covered in blood clawin at himself like he can’t fuckin breathe—Charlie!” Angel grabbed her shoulders, forcing her attention to land on him “Alastor drank my drink!!”

“So?! What does that—have… have to do with—” if there were any colour to her face to begin with, it would have drained just as quickly as her expression faded into realisation then shifted into dawning horror.

She’d promised it’d be safe.

Phone—phone, she scrambled for her phone but—no. Just a multicoloured screen greeted her upon opening it up, Alastor’s out of control power undoubtedly screwing with everything remotely connected to radio waves within… potentially the entire goddamn Pentagram with the size of him. “Vaggi, go get my dad.”

“What?!” Another haunting screech of pain tore through the air, tentacles whipping into neighbouring buildings as Alastor struggled to push himself up, to move, to do something, anything to rid himself of—of whatever they’d done to him to no avail. Too hot, too much, clothes too tight, constricting. His leg shot out, smashing into the building across the road, hoof dragging deep gouges into the road as he pulled it back again. Nobody inside, street emptied out the second Alastor’s terrifying form had reared its head through the roof of the place covered in blood. “I’m not leaving you here with th—"

“GO GET MY DAD!!” Vaggi stumbled back as Charlie cut her off, looked up at the monstrous form still struggling to move, whipped out her wings, timed it as best as she could, and shot off into the sky, barrel rolling and weaving through an attempt two tentacles made to catch her just quick enough to dodge it, flying out of reach toward the hotel as fast as her wings could possibly carry her only looking back once as another crash and harrowing screech tore through the airwaves as Alastor arched, scrambled at the ground for some kind of purchase, claws digging deep gouges into the pavement, the road, the floor of the club, tentacles lashing out at random.

Charlie would be fine within her shield, Vaggi and Lucifer had worked hard together with her to perfect the defensive power after Vox’s meltdown, she’d be okay—they’d all be fine.

Vaggi didn’t pause upon making it to the hotel, she could still hear the sounds of chaos downtown, she tore through that hotel as fast as she could move, not stopping to knock, no time for manners, Charlie, everyone was in danger—she blew through that apple shaped door like a whirlwind, uncaring as to the state she found the King in on the other side.

Wrapped up in blankets on his bed holding a Radi— he threw it off the other side of the bed with a startled yelp as the door blew inwards. Not important. “Doesn’t anyone know how to KNO—whoa-whoa, kiddo! Where’s the fire? What’s—” He was up, noting her frantic, frazzled appearance, immediately alert, lounge clothes melting away in a rush of flame replaced by standard attire.

“Charlie’s in danger!” Lucifer’s sharp ruby gaze snapped to the window, just in time to see a familiar gargantuan black tentacle arch up into the sky in the distance and take out one of the taller high-rises in a vicious swipe. He grabbed Vaggi’s arm, and without waiting for further explanation, further information, literally any thought for context, they were there.

Both of them witnessing Alastor having turned to his front, trying desperately, with agonizing, harrowing cries of pain, to drag himself away from the carnage, only to collapse in the street as his arm gave out under him, the ground quaking under his immense weight, chest heaving, heavy breaths kicking up dust and rubble around him— “what in the ever loving fuck is going on?!” Lucifer, unable to tear his eyes away from Alastor’s immense self, had to be physically yanked by Vaggi to look toward the club, where Charlie was struggling to hold her shield up against the weight of the crumbling building above her and everyone who’d managed to squeeze into it for their own protection.

With a snap of his fingers, the building was gone. Obliterated. The whole thing, not even dust remained of it, leaving just the group huddled around Charlie, and however many bodies were remaining beneath what had been piles of rubble, Charlie dropped her shield. Arms drooping to her sides in exhaustion “dad—Alastor he—” she panted, casting grateful looks to the sinners around her who kept her upright.

“Smiles was drugged!” Angel supplied, vaulting over bodies to cross the distance between the group and the King, zero hesitation despite Alastor being right there “took a drink meant for me, an—fuck, y’majesty he’s not—this ain’t— it’s not his fault, none’a this is his fault!” As if he needed to plead Alastor’s case for him while the demon bleated out a pained squeal behind them, clawing at his clothing once more in a bid to release himself from it.

“Smells fruity, like strawberries dialled up by a thousand” Husk supplied after making his way over, glass in hand to pass it to the angel as if it’d help “smells like one hell of a dose too.”

Lucifer took a look at it, the last dredges Angel Dust had thankfully decided not to finish off still a vibrant crimson at the bottom of the glass. “That was meant for you?” Lucifer balked “The hell were they trying to do, kill you?” Angel shrugged helplessly, he had no idea what the drug had been, just that if it was that strong then—maybe it would have, potions like that were supposed to be used in small splash doses, not even a shot of it would have been required to get the desired effect. They’d wanted him fucked up, they’d wanted him to stay fucked up. A tentacle shot at them, only to be deflected harmlessly by the archangel “You lot get back to the hotel, and STAY there. Vashnu, take the injured Hellborns, Sinners will pull themselves back together, Hellborns won’t. Go!” She nodded, immediately moving into action like a good soldier under a preferred leader.

“Y’majesty, drug like that, he’s—he’s gonna to need y’to—” Angel started, voice quiet, hesitant

Only to be cut off by Lucifer who, after vanishing the glass away, put his hand up to stop him, “I know what he needs, it’s okay. All of you, back to the hotel.”

“Dad…” Charlie started, only to stop when he levelled her with a look. “Right… right, okay, let’s never speak of this. Everyone! Follow me back to the hotel! If you can move, help people who can’t! Niffty, Husk, get back to the hotel and get the first aid supplies ready!” Even Charlie, renewed strength under duress, tugged a sinner's arm over her shoulder to help them stand upright “Dad! Gonna need a shield!”

“No problemo, kiddo” Lucifer with one hand, without breaking even the slightest of sweats, flung up a glowing golden shield that stretched wide enough to give the group of survivors just enough time to get through the onslaught of vicious tentacles that’d have surely taken them out had they tried to move without him there. It wasn’t Alastor's fault. His powers were going haywire, his shadow doing everything in its power to protect its master from an obvious threat, survivors just lucky the damn thing hadn’t been able to summon his puppets as easily as it’d conjured the tentacles.

They’d have been slaughtered.

But that—the shadow didn’t seem to be as big of a problem when those survivors finally disappeared from sight, out of harm’s way, and no longer a threat. Tentacles dropped to the ground with harsh thuds, Alastors shadow slumped against a far wall, trembling, leaving just Alastor and himself. Immense and terrifying, bleating out pathetic little calls he clearly couldn’t keep in amidst waves of heavy breaths and choked groans. Lucifer wasn’t a threat to him, everyone else? Potentially a threat… Lucifer? Not even a blip. He wouldn’t take that personally. He dropped the shield. No sense in hesitation, Lucifer approached, eyes on those tentacles for any sign of movement, not that they could hurt him, the same way he couldn’t hurt Alastor, an eternal stalemate of the two most powerful beings in the Pride Ring, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be wary of them playing possum.

All wariness left him the second he reached Alastor’s face. His glasses long since gone, lost beneath rubble, his hair no longer tied up, a mess of ragged crimson strands—

“Oh, Bambi… what did they do to you?” He couldn’t even dredge up the familiar irritation upon seeing that face of his. Alastor looked… horrible. His skin clammy, eyes hazy, pupils blown so wide they might as well have been the whole iris, brows pinched, his smile twisted in agony underneath glowing green stitches. Another pained wheeze escaped the demon before he tried to move, tried to shift, tried to do something, anything, but his body just—it just wouldn’t do it. Helpless. “Don’t—don’t move” Lucifer reached forward, hesitating briefly as the demon flinched back, ears pinned, out of the corner of his eye, he saw that shadow move, clearly struggling as Alastor's control over his own powers ebbed, he didn’t let it deter him, pressing through the hesitance, he breathed a soft sigh of relief when Alastor seemed to relax as hand met skin. “That’s it, much better… I’m gonna get you out of the street, okay?”

“N-not… not the—nghhh” he huffed, struggled under the onslaught of need that coursed through his veins, a white hot burning desire he couldn’t push down, couldn’t cast aside, couldn’t fight “h-hotel—not, not the hotel.”

“No, definitely not the hotel, doubt you’d even fit in there right now. Hah, uhm. Which room… fuck—which room’s big enough for you uhhh— okay, yeah that—” Lucifer pushed himself up onto his tiptoes as if that could help him judge the sheer size of Alastors gargantuan form “yeah that should work, alright…” he laced his fingers, cracked his knuckles out in front of him “guess this is happening!” Lucifer gripped Alastor’s torn sleeve, and within the next second, the ruined street melted away, replaced by an empty room. A massive, dark, empty room. Not that Alastor cared, or could focus on anything of note to describe it, but Lucifer had teleported them to the ballroom at the palace. A room Lilith had once upon a time used to host concerts, parties, galas, and meetings for various kinds of Sinner empowerment nonsense that he’d usually avoid like the plague.

Now it was just a room in an empty palace he’d done nothing with in nearly a decade, its last use as a meeting point for a rally that led to Lilith’s apparently voluntary disappearance. He was trying really hard not to be angry about that.

Not for himself. For Charlie.

She’d tried so hard, agonised over every ignored phone call, message, desperate for even a sliver of her mothers’ attention through crisis after crisis and she was just—up there. The whole time. Ignoring it all.

He shook his head, not the time to think about it, especially with Alastor struggling to push himself up, to move, claws scraping, digging into the tiled floor as he struggled in the dark. Lucifer clapped his hands lighting up the room with the overhead chandeliers “alright big guy, any chance of you getting smaller? I mean, you’re usually a bit of a beanpole but—at least I could have handled you like that…” he could probably shape shift into something similar but—Alastor was already taking up the majority of the space in the room, adding a giant Devil to the mix felt like it’d only end in disaster and property damage. “Doing it like this… yeah no, wouldn’t work, it’d be like throwing a hot dog down a hallway.” A tentacle lashed out smashing through one of the pillars to Lucifer’s left “whoa! Hey! Trying to help you here!”

“Don’t—I don’t nee-ngghhhh—hah… ah! Mnnggh—” Alastor panted heavily against the tiled floor as another wave of heat crashed into him, tearing at his resolve, his resistance crumbling like brick turned to precariously packed sand. “I don’t… I don’t need that kind of h-help!” So very convincing. Lucifer just stared at him, expression deadpan.

“Mmn-hmn, and I'm God. Listen Bellhop, you—”

“H-Host!”

Another little pained bleat of a sound echoed around the room, Lucifer found he didn’t like it. That sound didn’t belong around the Radio Demon. It had no place there. “Fine, host, if not me, then who? Do you have a girlfriend out there nobody knows about? A boyfriend? A Non-Binary partner? A situationship nobody really understands who could handle you? I can get them if you want but you need to get this shit out of your system and lemme tell you, it won’t come out with time—” Not the kind of drug that’d do that to a Sinner anyway. It’d stay in his body, torturing him, driving him deeper and deeper into insanity until he was clawing at the nearest warm body, desperate for relief, and unlike Hellborns who could simply die, Alastor wouldn’t, he’d just keep getting worse. He was still lucid, still coherent enough to speak, but—seeing him like that… “Not even Asmodeus himself could get this out of you any other way, I’m not about to let you tear yourself apart, or worse, let someone else find you when you’re too far gone to say no… we may not get along, Alastor but—would it really be so bad to let me help you?”

It was clearly just his gargantuan size stretching the time they had left, forcing the drug to take longer to circulate. It’d been a good idea at the time, hulking out to slow its progression but—it was time to face the music.

“H-How are you—” huff… huff “so oka-ahnnggg—okay with… with this?” A good question, followed by a valid accusation of, “like you’ve been wanting this t-the whole time… like some—some kind of pervert.”

Unfortunately, Lucifer was quick to raise his hackles in offense, “oh like you’re such a catch, fucking psychopathic, manipulative, cannibalistic piece of shit that you are. Absolutely, I’ve been actively foaming at the mouth for the chance just to dick you down, this is my dream come true, truly. Bambi I’m the King of fucking Hell, you think my options are limited to lusting over you? I’m trying to help you, regrettably this is the only way I can help, now unless you have a forty foot dildo I can shove up your ass hidden somewhere, shrink.” Not that that would help. It wasn’t about stuffing something inside. Lucifer had been forcibly present for the briefing on sex drugs circling around the Pride ring.

Asmodeus had forced his way into the palace after several of his demons had wound up on death's door due to them being unable to synthesize a cure in the Lust Ring for the multitude of bullshit sex drugs circulating in Pride, the Sin barging in just to drag his ass out of his workshop in hopes he could address it.

The only antidote they’d found to the majority of them… cum. Because of course it was. Either from a Sinner or from something like himself would do, Hellborn cum didn’t do shit apparently.

Whatever biological bullshit ejaculate was made up of, either male, or female, or angelic release would do the trick, but it had to be in quantities to either match or overwhelm the dose. Whoever had spiked that drink… either didn’t know the dosage issue, or were counting on it. Alastor had likely saved the spider a lot of pain and suffering to his own detriment.

Luckily for him, Angelic release tended to work a little quicker.

“How romantic” Alastor scoffed, before a fresh wave of heat slammed into him like a freight train to the gut, his claws digging deep grooves into the tiled floors as he screeched his discomfort.

“You want romance? Fine!” Lucifer clapped and spread his arms out wider, the chandelier light replaced with far more intimate candlelight, pillar candles large and small lined the walls, rose petals on the floor, he’d even conjured music to filter from places unknown, “Doth this meet your impossible standards, oh great bitchy one?” Alastor merely flinched back, a soft keening whine of a sound dragging itself from the depths of his chest. Lucifer paused, expression twisting into something he’d never admit was regret “Alastor…?” He tentatively approached the giants face, indignant rage he’d felt melting away the second he saw… Alastor wasn’t smiling, the fact felt like a knife lodging deep into Lucifer’s soul, twisted, impossible to recover from. He’d been so sure that smile was permanent—that it was just his face… he felt awful. “Oh… Oh Bambi, I’m—I’m sorry… fuck.” He didn’t let Alastor pull away, didn’t let him hide that face of his even though he tried, no, Lucifer reached forward and placed his bare palm on that too warm gargantuan cheek, gentle in his caress over heated skin. Alastor closed his eyes, as if savouring it, as if soothed by the contact “you are the most effortlessly infuriating thing I’ve ever come across in my entire goddamn existence, but that’s—that’s no excuse for behaving like that while you’re… while this is happening to you, I’m so sorry. Shrink for me, please? I’ll make it stop hurting, I swear.” Sure, he couldn’t deny it might change a few things between them too, couldn’t promise that it wouldn’t, sex changed things whether you wanted it to or not. “Then we can go back to hating each other, sound good?”

But he could offer a degree of normalcy at the very least.

“I don’t… I don’t hate you” voice so quiet despite his size, spoken through an exhale of “you—you make me–” his breath hitched with a pained wheeze “laugh.” The smile was back, weak and small, but it was back, and Lucifer was all too suddenly struck with the notion that actually… the demon really wasn’t hard on the eyes. Edges softened by a weakness he couldn’t fight, his ears dipped in submission, he was actually… kind of beautiful while vulnerable.

That… probably wasn’t going to be a thought he’d be able to get rid of, and he knew it the second it crossed his mind, dammit.

Lucifer brushed the back of his hand across cheekbone in an attempt to soothe “yeah… you make me laugh too, Bambi” every single goddamn day was a new adventure thanks to Alastor, never a dull moment, even if it was him instigating instead of Alastor, even if they were arguing, harmlessly scrapping, pushing each other’s buttons, the demon had always been up for a witty back and forth to make life at the hotel interesting. “When you shrink… it’s gonna hit you hard, okay? Just… don’t fight it, I’ll take care of you.”

Alastor nodded, his eyes drifting shut, then slowly but surely, as if accepting the hand the cards had dealt them, trusting the Devil to handle everything he was with care… he shrank, his mind slipping through his grip like smoke, immediately submerged into nothing but thick, syrupy heat, body slammed with a need so overwhelmingly strong it fully immobilised him leaving him on his back, hot, wordless save for the pitchy, static laden whines and heavy panting, feebly trying in vain just to reach for the warm body nearby in hopes the Angel could provide what he needed.

“I’ve got you, Bambi, shhh shh shhh” Lucifer crouched low, before effortlessly scooping the demon up into his arms, jostling him just enough to settle his head into the crook of his shoulder, appearing, but not quite being, entirely unaffected by the way he nuzzled in, or the way his tongue lazily lathed up the side of his neck for some kind of contact—fuck.

He breathed in, heavy, and exhaled a shuddering breath—it’d been. A while since he’d last been intimate with someone. He steeled himself, swallowed hard.

It was showmanship that made Lucifer snap his fingers to do things, the wave of a hand, swish of his cane, gestures, and flourishes before things would happen or manifest, he didn’t need to do any of it, a fact he was eternally grateful for because with just a thought, a bed appeared in the centre of the room in a flash of crimson smoke, one big enough that even the largest of sinners would have room to sprawl. Nothing fancy frame wise, they didn’t need fancy, he wasn’t trying to impress, it needed comfort and all around access.

Upon it were piles of blankets, pillows, throws, cushions set atop the plushest of mattresses to sink into, he wanted Alastor to be comfortable. And raised off the ground. Always plan ahead.

With more care than he was almost entirely certain Alastor would show him in the same situation, Lucifer laid Alastor down atop the blankets, immediately taking a step back to avoid the hands that feebly groped empty air for him “ah-ah” Lucifer chided, doing his best to ignore the pained warble of static that met his rebuttal “I’m not going anywhere” his own clawed fingers made quick work of his bowtie, waistcoat gone next, eyes unable to tear themselves away from how Alastor reacted to his words as he went for the buttons at his waistband, popping them loose.

The demon twisted, rolled on the bed until he lay sideways across it on his back, clothes tattered and torn, his own frenzied handiwork, head draped down over the edge of the bed, the lingering promise of what he needed clearly giving him just enough strength to move, eyes dark, hazy with molten lust, his mouth open, hot, wet—inviting.

Lucifer’s cock pulsed within the confines of his pants, he glanced downwards, really? That easy?

He was never going to be able to look at the demon the same way ever again, that fact wouldn’t stop him though, nor would the fact that Alastor’s mouth probably shouldn’t be a place anyone put any part of their anatomy unless they wanted to lose it. Ingestion was a good place to start. It’d be worth the risk. “Be a good boy now, Bambi” He crooned, one hand curling around the demon’s throat, gentle, practically cradling the slender column of heated skin, thumb tracing a soothing, barely there line along the width of his trachea, just below the bump of his Adam’s Apple “no biting and I’ll get rid of those clothes for you… deal?”

Alastor’s heavy-lidded eyes flashed through his thick fuck-me lashes, and lazily, he bobbed his head, Lucifer would take that as a confirmation. His other hand sunk into his pants to ease himself free, hard already, a single bead of pearlescent pre-cum shimmering at his flushed golden tip, he tutted to himself. It really had been a while if just the sight of the demon like that was all it took. “Open wide, sweetheart…”

Tongue out, soft, shimmering wet with saliva, dark ruby gaze locked on his cock, on that little pearl of pre—Lucifer, internally uttered a quiet ‘fuck…’ before he eased himself inside in one, smooth roll of his hips, tip to root—he watched, felt the thick of his cock to the slim taper of his tip under his thumb as it found the most welcoming of homes in the demon’s throat, not a single reflexive gag to be felt.

Fuck, indeed. Had he always been that hot?

Just the sight of Alastor’s legs long twisting, knees squeezing together atop the sheets, the feel of his hands weakly reaching back, claws grazing Lucifer’s legs before Lucifer let his tail manifest to coil tight around the demons wrists, dragging them down over Alastor’s head to bind them in place. “Claws to yourself, Bambi” Alastor merely whined around his cock, a fierce vibration that had Lucifer choke on a groan of his own, the Devil pitching forwards just a little, a brief stumble he quickly corrected “good— fuck you’re such a good boy aren’t you? So good—” hips eased back, length of his cock dragging along the textured flesh of Alastor’s thick tongue, he wrapped his other hand around Alastor’s throat, both hands now holding him there.

It was easy to set a pace, nothing harsh, nothing fast, he had no intentions of hurting Alastor, even if it wouldn’t take long for his body to heal, he held the demon’s throat in a lax grip, practically cradling it as he thrust back in, hips undulating in a steady back and forth he could feel beneath his fingers, could see with his own eyes—with a jerk of his head, a second pair of hands joined the fray.

Alastor keened, static warbling in muddied confusion as a new set of slender hands slid up his thighs, easing them apart “easy—e-easy, Bambi… just—it’s just me” Lucifer huffed mid-thrust, eyes lifting to the identical face grinning back at him, conjured sans clothing.

It was rare Lucifer duplicated himself.

Usually used as a parlour trick to intimidate, or something to harmonize with during a song, he could do up to six before it became a struggle to keep track of the sensory split. Like playing co-op on one TV screen, split six ways while equipped with a full body sensory suit. He could feel the torn fabric of Alastor’s pants on his hands, despite his being around that pretty throat. Could feel the soft linens bunched around his knees, despite him standing up.

Could see with both sets of eyes.

He’d never done it with a lover before. Lilith hadn’t liked the idea of it when he’d suggested it. Too much of a power imbalance, she’d claimed, as if there’d ever not been a power imbalance between them, and contrary to popular belief about his vast conquests, he’d been a faithful husband. Devoted and true. Lucifer had been with one person. Just one, even after they'd 'separated.' Over thousands upon thousands of years, just one. The quip about Eve to Adam merely a joke to rile the man up into acting stupid.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of what he needed to do though. Inexperienced in practice perhaps, but knowledge was power, and he had it, and the overwhelming confidence in himself to match it in spades.

Maybe he’d later find his lack of conflict in what he was doing now, breaking that devotion to one… maybe he’d find his willingness concerning, find it to be something he needed to address, but right now it was the furthest thing from his mind.

He could feel that knot twisting in his gut with every swallow of that sinful throat, each pump and draw of his hips like it was trying to milk him for what it needed “need—mnn mmneed to… fuck, Bambi—” yes, he did need to fuck Alastor, that need growing more and more insistent by the second “been s-such a good boy—” not even a brush of those deadly teeth “let’s… let’s get—get these off” His clone waved a hand, ridding the demon of those pesky clothes he’d promised he’d get rid of for him.

But before him lay a feast and both himself, and his clone could only stare in rapt hunger— Alastor, always so covered in his layers, all the way up to his jaw, not a speck of skin to be seen, beneath them—scars littered his body, every inch of it decorated with another, jagged wounds torn into flesh, he’d manifested with them. Had to have, the only one that looked even remotely like it’d been done after death being the fresh one across his chest.

Adam. It sang with his angelic residue. Would likely twinge even now, now he’d somehow healed. He’d survived that. A direct hit across the chest from Adam, and he’d survived. Heavenly Father, how powerful was this Sinner, really?

Not important. Not the feast that drove him—his clone, to slide those long slender thighs up around his shoulders, it was the rest of him.

The soft brown expanse of fur pulled taut over lean muscle, not a soft or voluptuous curve to be seen, his thighs… speckled with pale, cream coloured dots down the outside length running up and disappearing around his back, insides of his thighs a paler, creamier colour than the rest, the thick fur across his chest plush and inviting, he let one hand leave Alastor’s throat just to push forwards and thread his fingers through it as he rolled his hips, as sinfully soft as it looked. His broad shoulders had those same fawn-speckled markings and mid-way down his creamy abdomen began a wispy trail of crimson fur leading to Alastor’s cock, the long red to black tipped length free of its velvety soft fur sheath, hard, leaking white into the fur of his tummy— the picture of sinfully tempting innocence.

Ripe for defilement.

But what his clone saw as slender fingers parted sweat slicked creamy cheeks, what he caught a glimpse of from between the legs he’d thrown over his shoulders—Lucifer groaned—tail. He had a tail. A tempting tuft of crimson fur just above the curve of his ass, a sight he knew he’d never be able to get out of his mind, never be able to unsee—his clone dove in tongue first, Alastor choked around him, and Lucifer saw white.

The demon’s throat convulsed, his back arched into empty space where he’d been held up off the bed, having been so pliant and submissive, he now coughed and spluttered sharp deer-like squeals as thick spurts of cum shot down the back of his throat, filling his mouth, Lucifer only pressed deeper, pelvis flush in short, aborted thrusts, pressed tight to Alastor’s lips, forcing him to swallow gulp after gulp, cock pulsing with each wave of release as his clone sank his tongue into the tight wet heat between Alastor’s cheeks.

It wouldn’t be enough—not for the dose he’d taken, but that was fine. Angelic stamina was not to be scoffed at. Recovery period basically non-existent, he could go again, he could will his cock back to hardness if he’d really needed to, although it was completely unnecessary, not when he could ease back to hear Alastor splutter and cough around the excessive amounts of cum he’d been unable to swallow with the rest, whine, mewl his pleasure to the echoing hall around them as his clone’s tongue coiled, twisted and thrust in and out of his tight little hole like a man starved in a bid to loosen him up.

That’d get him up in a heartbeat.

Lucifer watched, enraptured by the flex of abdominal muscle as flashes of white hot pleasure surged through the deer’s body, his long tail still coiled tight around Alastor’s hands keeping them in place but his legs, his clone’s tail had wrapped around the ankle of one of those, keeping it up over his shoulder, while the other was left to dangle uselessly, crimson hooves curled inwards under the onslaught of sensation.

He could taste it on his own tongue, could feel the texture of his inner walls, smell the musk of sweat and pheromone as if he were the one between those legs. He crouched to the demon’s face, expression twisted, brows pinched in bliss, his eyes rolled back, tongue uselessly lolled out the corner of his mouth, shimmering, coated with remnants of Lucifer’s spend— that sweet antidote that’d eventually bring the demon back from those depths he’d sunk into.

“Does my tongue feel good, Bambi?” Lucifer cooed as he eased his hand along the demons jaw “yeaahh, looks like it feels good” Alastor couldn’t hear him properly, couldn’t focus on him, couldn’t think, could barely coherently exist—just—all he could feel was the onslaught of pleasure.

The swirl of that flexible, forked tongue reaching parts of him he didn’t know existed. Pressing buttons he didn’t know he had until it found whatever it’d been so diligently searching for, rolled against it—and his body broke—it felt like it broke anyway. Like an implosion deep within his core, a bomb he’d been wholly unprepared to tank, aftershocks seized his body every other second as his release splattered across his own stomach, his chest fluff—garbled moans and choked, failed attempts to breathe swallowed by Lucifer’s hot, claiming mouth in a searing kiss he clumsily tried and failed to reciprocate.

All lips, hot breathless panting, the clash of teeth, tongues and saliva, upside down, awkward and messy.

“Almost ready, sweetheart, you’re so close to being ready for me…” Lucifer spoke against his lips, licking into Alastor’s mouth as his clone pressed, stretched, teased that ring of muscle to loosen it enough that nothing they did would hurt him. “Does that sound good?” That no matter what, everything they did would feel good for him. Alastor mewled his response against Lucifer’s lips. Everything sounded good in that voice. “Mmn thought so…”

His clone finally pulled back, tongue sliding free with an obscenely wet pop, giving Lucifer a second hand view Alastor’s slick, puckered hole— he groaned deep in his chest, his groin aching in need to sink inside just to feel that heat for himself but first, he let Alastor’s hands go, just so his clone could pull Alastor up from where he’d found himself draped over the side of the mattress into his lap. Lucifer crawling up onto the bed after him, his clothes melting away in a shimmer of crimson and gold speckled smoke.

The demon would have fallen back again, if not for Lucifer settling behind him, or was he in front? Had they switched places? He felt like he’d spun around, dizzy and disorientated, but he couldn’t be sure— the room looked the same on both sides, hazy, aglow with candlelight he couldn’t separate into individual flames, the two Devils caging him between them.

What did it matter which one was real? Both were warm, solid.

His head lolled back over one of Lucifer’s shoulders, ears drooped, mouth open to breathe heavily panted breaths into the dry air. Still too hot. His skin too clammy under his fur. The contact was nice, the bare skin at his back, and at his front, the pressure of them both squeezing him in—a comfort, but it wasn’t enough. His body felt empty.

Like all his organs had up and vanished leaving him just a shell, aching to be filled.

But Lucifer was there, his body, his hands— both sets, moving him, positioning him—Lucifer's tongue hot against his neck where it slid up the warm column of skin, mouth sealing over the line to suckle and nip at the flesh, the other of the two latching onto his collarbone, sinking teeth into his skin as if to mark him, dragging a bleat of pained pleasure from the demon that only spurred them on.

Both taking one of Alastor’s arms each to wrap them around their shoulders, one back over the shoulder of the Devil behind him, whose lips were still latched to his neck, the other curled around the Devil in front, still suckling on his collarbone but it was the one in front that moved to progress first.

His hands curled around Alastor’s hips, inching him forwards until a static ladened gasp tore from Alastor’s throat as his sensitive cock pressed flush against Lucifer’s stomach, friction deliciously painful “me first” although he still didn’t know when they’d switched places, that was Lucifer. Possessive, prideful, a territorial cosmic force, likely the only being in creation who’d fight himself over the chance to fuck someone first.

If he were in his right mind, Alastor would have laughed. Especially since the other growled over his shoulder tail snapping out with an audible crack in indignation, before ultimately submitting to the original’s flash of his demonic red sclera and golden irises.

The clone instead, with a wave of his hand, manifested slick to coat his fingers, just to slather it over the head of Lucifer’s cock mixing lube with semen and saliva, then with a care that didn’t match the growl he’d let out from his forced second place trophy, he wrapped his hand around Lucifer’s length and positioned it perfectly for Lucifer to slowly ease Alastor down.

Alastor’s breath caught in his throat, stuttered bleats of static feedback sputtering from his very being as the head of Lucifer’s cock pushed in, as he was lowered downwards, inch by deliciously slick inch sinking into his well-prepared body, not even an ounce of discomfort to be felt, the Devil’s breath hot against his chest, his collarbone where he’d bitten. “Fuck, Alastor—you… you feel so good, Bambi… so good—mnnnngh” Alastor could only whine his response, he could understand—that first dose giving him just enough clarity to understand but words still evaded him, wispy smoke still slipping through his fingers, body still refusing to respond to what he wanted it to do like his nervous system had disconnected from his brain leaving just pain and pleasure behind, like a limp rag doll to be posed… used.

The clone behind him latched his mouth back onto Alastor’s neck, slender fingers curling under his jaw to pull his head backwards for more access—back pressed flush to the clones chest as Lucifer finally seated himself fully—full… so full… he could feel every hot—thick inch, tapered, subtly ribbed—inhuman, Alastor’s hooves curled involuntarily, a warbled bleat of pleasure tore from his throat as the clone sunk his teeth down, pierced flesh and suckled at the wound he made—it had to be enhanced.

It had to be some kind of angelic magic—no way… no way could that pipsqueak be packing that the whole fucking time.

Like he could practically hear what Alastor was thinking, Lucifer’s clone licked a long stripe up the length of Alastor’s throat, before moving up to his ear to whisper, mouth stretched in a sharp toothed salacious grin as it twitched under the featherlight brush of his breath “that’s all me, Bambi…” a grower, not a shower it would seem.

There was a barb, a witty retort, a comeback on the edge of his consciousness, standing at the void where the connection to his tongue would go—but it disappeared, vanished as if it were never there as Lucifer finally moved.

The Devil had been certain he’d never see Heaven again, maybe catch a glimpse of it through a portal once or twice, get a taste of it at the old embassy but—the way Alastor and his mind-numbing heat clenched around him, almost rhythmic, the way his voice caught in his throat, groans aborted, choked around gasps of air, garbled static and feedback bursting from him as Lucifer set a pace—not too rough, his clone helping with hands on Alastor’s hips, rolling them moving him down in time with Lucifer's upward thrusts—no.

Not Heaven.

Nothing in Heaven could be as sinfully beautiful as Alastor, his body, warm and pliant, the sounds he made with each thrust, the slap of skin against skin, how his crimson hair bounced with each thrust, the subtle damp of his long, luscious lashes—each nip and bite of teeth to his skin, the ambrosia of his blood, a rich coppery tang on Lucifer's tongue he and his clone couldn’t get enough of—his expression. Face flushed, eyes dark, hazy, drunk with lust, spit slicked lips panting heated breath into the air around them so tempting—he wanted those lips, wanted to devour them—but he wanted them reciprocating.

He wanted Alastor to kiss him back. Soon. Enough doses and—he’d get Alastor back. He may not get his kiss, Alastor would have every right to want nothing to do with him after this, but he’d get him back.

“Almost—mnn’close…” it wouldn’t be enough but—Lucifer moved them, the demon letting out a sharp bleat of surprise as he was forcibly pinned to the bed, the clone swiftly moving out of the way, garbled whines of pleasure the only noises Alastor could make as Lucifer sped up, his hip held up tight in one hand, while his thigh was held aloft under Lucifer’s other arm, upper body driven deep into the plush cushions and pillows around his head with each thrust “nnnghh! Mn—hah—ffff—fuck!”

The whole bedframe creaked in protest as Lucifer drove his hips in—then again—again, Alastor silenced by his own throat, unable to make a sound as he came a second time, perfectly in time with the King’s own release, the demon’s body greedily milking the angel’s cock for every drop it of its warm spend until it pooled out around Lucifer’s length with each of his shallow, slow grinding thrusts, dribbling shimmering pearlescent white onto the linens beneath them. 

Only when Lucifer was certain he had nothing left—at least for that round—did he ease out, whole body shuddering from the slick friction along his sensitive shaft but Alastor… laid in the sheets, chest heaving with heavy, exhausted breaths, fingers weakly trying to curl into the linens they were caught up in, eyes fighting to stay open. His fur matted with sweat, Lucifer’s, and his own cum, blood along his neck and collarbone from the wounds he and his clone had left behind.

Ruined.

Lucifer slunk around to Alastor’s head, taking one of the many pillows, he placed it in his lap, then he ever so gently eased Alastor’s head up onto it, brushing damp, matted crimson hair out of his face “I’ve got you, Bambi” he spoke softly “let that settle… just… just breathe for me, okay?” Second dose, his clone close by, that tail swaying to and fro behind him with dangerous intent. Lucifer hissed at him in warning, horns erupting from his forehead as he crowded over the demon’s head, curled over him like an animal protecting what was his. “He needs to rest.”

“He needs another dose” the clone snapped right back, tail cracking like a whip behind him, his inward breath rolling like a snarl at the back of his throat.

“Not yet, let this one settle first, it needs time to work and he needs to breathe.” The clone merely growled back at him, but wisely stayed out of the way for the moment. Lucifer would have only vanished him away if he continued. Alastor released a long, pained little bleat as Lucifer cradled his face, gentle fingers caressing his clammy skin, over his jaw, his cheeks “shhh, it’s okay, Bambi, it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“W-wuh…” Alastor tried, his mouth felt awful, throat wrecked, he needed—needed water but he couldn’t—he couldn’t get it out.

“Not yet, sweetheart. Can’t have anything but this, not yet—” Alastor whined his saddest little deer call in distress “Oohh, nooo you’re breaking my heart—I know, I know it sucks, I know, but this has to work, and—and it won’t work as fast diluted with water. After all this is done though, you’re getting the best aftercare of your entire afterlife, a whole royal pampering, food, drinks, treats, a toasty healing bubble bath, you name it, you get it, I swear on my honour as the Devil, it’s yours. I’ll even get you those little pinkie finger snackie pack things those cannibal kids like so much, don’t try and deny it, I’ve seen you snacking on em in the kitchen when you think nobody’s looking, you aren’t that sneaky, mister” ever so gentle he stroked his fingers through Alastor’s hair as he spoke easily made promises Alastor didn’t know whether to believe.

Men often made promises in the throes of passion, only to later fall short on the delivery. It was a nice thought though. That the Devil could care for a thing like him. A pipe dream, but a pleasant one at least.

“You’re close though… lookit this—” Lucifer lifted one of Alastor’s hands up, just to show the digits curling around Lucifer’s own hand, he could feel it—strength trickling through like a crack in a dam “and you got a syllable out! And you’re thinking, right?” He was, his consciousness was there, a little murky, but—no longer just a black void of heat and need, Lucifer was right “it’s working… just a little more.”

A little more brushed his claws up along Alastor’s calf, the demon lowering his gaze to the clone lurking at his hooves, waiting for his chance, what even was he? Lucifer spoke to him, he spoke back, they argued—“wh—whass—at…mmn—him… whas” he groaned in distress, words slurred and useless.

“First sin paved the way for the others” Lucifer got it, understood the question without it needing to be properly asked “I can make six of them in total… makes a total of seven of me, get it?” Seven… seven sins. Seven clones with Pride as the original. But the Sins existed, his expression confused—again, enough for Lucifer to read, he was good at that, reading him. “They’re not the sins themselves, but they always manifest like this… acting like them” as long as they were given enough time to allow their individual personalities to show. Hence why he rarely duplicated himself outside of a parlour trick or a song “I tried for lust when summoning that one but—I guess I was just too mad over what they’d done to you” he’d gotten wrath. The crack of a whip, the snarl of indignation, quick to anger, to press and push. Impatient. “He won’t hurt you though.” As if it needed to be said.

Like Alastor thought anything of Lucifer could actually hurt him.

“S’you…”

Lucifer ever so gently brushed his claws through Alastors bangs in an attempt to soothe, “mnhm, he’s still me.” Lucifer looked up and nodded once “he’s going to move you, okay?” Alastor hummed his acknowledgement, and the clone moved in. No matter what his personality manifested as, the clone was gentle in how he manoeuvred Alastor onto his front, slow and careful in his treatment, hips raised, his head still secure and protected in Lucifer’s care, hair still being caressed, ears petted to soothe him. Presenting for the Devil. 

The urge to take without seeing a face to connect to what he was taking. Wrath.

Alastor groaned soft, low in his throat as Lucifer’s clone slid a single digit up from his taint to his slick, loose hole, collecting what remnants of angelic spend remained of what’d dribbled free just to press it back into him where it was needed. No need to prepare him any further, although the temptation was ever so strong to sink his tongue into that delicious heat once again, it wasn’t necessary. Still loose, still slick with cum, lube, and the clone’s own saliva he lined himself up, and with one easy slow roll of his hips, groin met the slick fur of Alastor’s cheeks.

“Fuck—“ The clone cursed his voice drowned out by Alastor’s own warbled groan, the demon curling his claws into the bedsheets, hooves curling inwards, head sideways on the pillow so the two Devils could hear him. There was no adjustment period, no wait time, the clone gripped Alastor’s tail just to delight in the sharp static bleat that tore from the demons throat, and rolled his hips in—ground into his body, he pulled back halfway, then thrust back in again, again, and again, pace set the clone not breaking a sweat as he drove Alastor’s quaking, groaning, trembling self into the original’s lap.

Alastor grabbed the pillow as he was snapped forwards by thrust and yanked back by hands, a burst of strength he knew he wouldn’t be able to replicate without at least one more dose, and without warning because words wouldn’t work and he wasn’t about to try while Lucifer’s clone drove into him, threw it off the side of the bed revealing what he wanted beneath it.

Lucifer—recovery period non-existent, already hard and waiting for him—for his clone to be done. “Bambi, wh—” Alastor wasn’t waiting for anyone, without hesitation as the clone thrust forwards, Alastor swallowed him whole, tip to root, cutting his words off, replacing them with a choked, “Nnnggghh—fuck!” Dark, slender fingers burrowing into Alastor’s hair, gripping the crimson strands in a grip so tight it was almost painful “Okay—okay yeah… mnhm” Lucifer leaned back, his clone pausing just long enough for the original to get comfortable.

Alastor didn’t even need to move, each pin pointed thrust—every single roll of those powerful hips into that spot his tongue had found earlier—every sound he made, garbled moans, keening whines, choked, sobbed little moans drove Lucifer insane. The Angel’s hand holding his head steady while his hips thrust up into Alastor’s throat, into the vibrations made from each of those mind-melting little sounds until Alastor’s whole body seized a third time with the clones final snap of his hips, the hand on his tail squeezing into the soft velvety mound of flesh at its base as he drove his release deep.

Muffled around Lucifer’s cock in a way that only served to tip the Devil over the edge, Alastor let out a sharp squeal of static feedback that tore through the air, only to cut out—then start back up again and cut out once more—aborted bytes of sound warbling from the demon’s very being only to slowly die out into drawn out white noise static.

The burning wicks on the candles lining the room flashed an eerie green in time with Alastor’s release, the flame on each candle burning brighter, higher for a moment—nobody really noticed. All three of them lost in the throes of release. Lucifer holding Alastors head down, pressing his length deep into the demon's throat. His clone’s tight grip on Alastor’s tail, holding his hips in place as he thrust his load deep.

And Alastor, powerless to do anything but swallow, but take it. unable to even bleat in exhaustion when they finally let him go. Too tired. Lucifer laid him to the side, the clone quick in easing Alastor’s legs into a comfier position, Pillows under his hips to keep them just a little on the side of aloft, while Lucifer held his jaw, gentle in his methods of keeping Alastor’s mouth closed, just long enough for the demon to take in the last of his angelic spend with a feeble, shuddered swallow.

Then it was nothing but comfort. Peppered kisses all over his face, fingers massaging his ears, he could only tremble through the aftershocks as his breathing came out as nothing but warbled white noise and harshly dragged static.

He was tired.

He’d never been that tired before in life, or afterlife. His body had never—nobody had ever—he felt… good. On the edge of pain but— the right edge, every inch of his nervous system thrummed with the most delicious of euphoria, aftershocks amid after glow setting his body alight—warm… he was so warm, but not like before. Not that same overwhelming heat that tore through his body like white hot pokers shoved through his skin—no. This was like… sinking into a bath ran entirely for him, at the perfect temperature for him to just… melt into. The pillow was back. His head nestled comfortably atop it and blankets… no—warmer—softer, something impossibly soft brushed along his skin… Alastor blearily opened his eyes to see white, scarlet.

Feathers. Lucifer’s wings.

The clone had unfurled his wings to curl over the three of them like a protective shield, the original’s fingers working magic into his scalp, the base of his ears, both cradling him in their own ways as if he were something precious. Something worth protecting. He was drifting… couldn’t help it, so tired, so warm… so comfortable… the edges of his eyesight fading to black, his body no longer involuntarily limp but entirely relaxed “will that be enough?” Just on the precipice of sleep, Alastor heard the clone speak so quietly, as if afraid his words would keep him from drifting off if he dared to speak louder than a whisper.

“He might need one more dose…” Lucifer matched the volume, fingers still ever so gentle in their path through his hair, Alastor's eyes closed, fading fast even as they spoke of him “let him sleep for now… we’ll see what he’s like whe—” Alastor didn’t hear the rest, words tapering off into inaudible mumbles as slumber finally eased him into its ever so welcoming embrace.

Only to damn near fold in half as a sharp searing pain shot through his gut about an hour later, a deafening squeal of feedback and static tearing from his lips as pain lanced through him like liquid lava—“what the fuck?!” One of the Lucifer’s yelped, wings flapping in surprise, feathers flying everywhere in alarm, amidst the pain, Alastor could just about note that there were still two of them.

“Alastor, holy shit! What’s—“ Alastor heaved, squealed sharp bleats of static, it was back, his body almost his own again, he could move, he could think, but in the very pit of his gut, it was there, like a knife lodged through his entire being slowly twisting its way through him—he scrambled, reached for the angel, claws falling short in the mad grasp for contact tearing through linens instead “was it not enough?!” It didn’t matter, that he’d missed him—Lucifer was there, his clone too, both holding him steady, both crowding him in to keep him from hurting himself again even though he struggled, one of the Lucifer’s tails darting around to wrap around those hands before they could tear into his own flesh, the other holding his legs down to keep his hooves from catching in the linens where he could wind up tangled and hurt.

“H-Hurts” Alastor just about managed to push through gritted teeth, before he choked and heaved on air—pain lancing through him, his body arching against their combined hold on him “L—ngggh!! Lu—” words cut short by garbled screeches of static

“We shouldn’t have let him sleep!” In the back of his mind, Alastor noted that one as the clone. How did he know? Don’t ask him, he just did.

“Thank you Sherlock where the fuck would Scotland Yard be without you?!” The clone hissed fire at the original, Alastor didn’t have the current mental capacity to wonder how Lucifer knew of Sherlock Holmes. A flash of heat, of need tore through him like a rusty razor blade, teeth clenched so hard his gums ached— “Get hard idiot!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!!” Wings were pulled back into their pocket dimension leaving just a mess of stray feathers lying around “why don’t you get hard?!”

“I’m HOLDING HIM, moron!” It’d have likely been comical, at any other point in time. Lucifer yelling at himself, spitting barbs at himself.

But in that particular moment, Alastor could only snarl, “at the very least, w-will ONE of you—nnghh—hah—just fuck me already?!” Before another garbled screech of static tore from his lips as the last remnants of that dreadful drug played havoc with his body. It was vulgar, and crass, and frankly he hated what he’d been reduced to—begging to be bedded, he’d be appalled at himself later, he’d deal with the shame spiral later.

But it got them moving.

The clone yanked him into his lap with such force that the tail holding his arms together was forced to unravel, allowing them to fall over the clone's shoulders, and Alastor, with just enough strength in his hands, to dig his claws into those shoulders as if to brace himself. “Shh—it!” The clone hissed as golden blood pooled at the eight puncture points, it didn’t deter him though. One hand on Alastor’s hind—the other positioning himself, still loose, still slick from earlier rounds—he slid in with next to no resistance, Alastor’s head thrown back, ears dipped, mouth open to release a frankly obscene groan of pleasure. Back arched, claws clinging to his clone’s shoulders, tearing into porcelain flesh that healed just as fast leaving only smudges of golden blood in their razor sharp wake.

That beautifully sinful body of his having regained just enough of its strength to move his own hips, to ride the length inside of him—riding his cock—Lucifer would never recover from witnessing him like that, the way his hips moved, the indented press of his clones fingers into the sweat damp fur of his ass, the taut muscle of his back shifting beneath skin and fur—his hair… messy, sex mussed and matted with sweat, the noises he made—like something straight out of Lust.

There was no coming back from it.

He could spend an eternity forgetting every little thing he’d heard, everything he’d seen, blissfully letting memories go as time endlessly passed him by, but that… that would be seared onto his eyeballs for as long as time kept on ticking, perhaps even after it stopped.

As would Alastor reaching back for him. Any and all traces of the pain he’d been feeling gone as his body got what it craved leaving just mind melting pleasure behind.

Claws dipped in crimson and tipped with the gold of his clone’s blood, Alastor reached back, grasping empty air for the original as the clone drove into him, the demons moans long since caught in his throat in wordless, soundless gasps of air—Lucifer powerless to do anything but crawl forwards, his hands meeting the demon’s slip of a waist, forehead resting against the curve of his spine, he pressed a kiss to the hard bump of vertebrae beneath his lips, then continued upwards, following that line of his spine up to the nape of his neck over the faint scar that wrapped around it, nuzzling into the soft fuzz of his undercut, an idea forming in his mind as Alastor’s back brushed his chest, the demon leaning into him.

The second hand sensations from what his clone was feeling simply weren’t enough to satiate the hunger that’d awakened in Lucifer’s veins. Fingers curled up under Alastor’s jaw to tilt his head back, lips now close enough to those fluffy, twitching ears of his to utter, “think you can take us both, Bambi?”

His clone’s sharp toothed, salacious grin a wordless agreement to the idea.

Alastor’s answer came not in the way of words, but in his head turning, unnaturally, the crack of his neck unnerving perhaps to anyone else but Lucifer could only shudder in overwhelming need as the demon licked a hot wet stripe up Lucifer’s cheek, groaned in pleasure, and then draped his head back over Lucifer’s shoulder, mouth stretched in a damn near delirious grin—seared. Into. The. Brain.

The clone fell back onto the mattress, tugging Alastor down with him with a soft grunt, cock still half buried inside him, hands braced on his thighs, Alastor’s own hands braced on the bed keeping him from falling atop the clone, that fluffy little crimson tail set high, as if in offering to the original, his clone had stopped moving, was holding Alastor still. The pain didn’t seem to be resurfacing though, as if just the promise of what it needed being so close kept it at bay. 

Licking his dry lips, swallowing a harsh gulp of saliva, Lucifer inched closer, palm coming to rest atop Alastor’s rear, using his thumb to ease his cheeks apart, slick with cum, lube—it’d be a tight fit for sure but… with how easily his clone had slid in—Lucifer used his free hand to position and press himself flush to his clone’s cock, fingers stretching to curl around the both of them. If his cock were in any way human—blunt—it might have been a struggle, but the taper of his tip made easing it past the slick rim of that loosened ring of muscle alongside his clone almost easy.

He could barely hear his own groans over the sound of his blood rushing through his veins, heartbeat thumping in his eardrums as that tight, slick heat surrounded him—inch by impossibly tight inch, nevermind the sounds Alastor made, or his clone—one a choked, garbled warble of static and a harsh, dry intake of breath, linens tearing under scrambled claws as Alastor’s arms gave out from under him, dropping him atop the clone, the other sounds a lip-bitten whimper, tapering out to harsh, heavy puffs of breath.

He didn’t move—wouldn’t dare. Not yet. Too tight beyond his tip even with the slick of lube and cum easing the way. Alastor trembled beneath him, above his clone, tiny bleats of static fritzing about his person. Instead of moving, with shaky fingers Lucifer caressed his tail, felt Alastor’s body react, shudder, heard his keening little moan as he stroked through the impossibly soft tufts of crimson, black tipped fur, ignoring every instinct he had demanding he grip it tight and move in pursuit of friction.

He couldn’t. Not just wouldn’t. He couldn’t. “Shhh” he hushed “I’ve… we’ve got you, Bambi… just—just relax, yeah?” Oh so gentle in how he touched, caressed, stroked that little tuft of fur, it could have taken hours, he’d have waited it, ever so patient despite his own desires, his own needs. He’d have endured an eternity of such a delicious torture. Not even because he had to, but because he thought Alastor might actually need him to.

“Move” Alastor ground through clenched teeth, hips pressing back into the hands holding him steady; he didn't want to wait, even through his own harsh squeal of discomfort— he pushed to no avail.

“No.” Lucifer held him firm, even as he winced, even through the break in his voice “can’t—can’t hurt you… I can’t move yet…” even if he wanted to. And he did. He really did. Every fibre of his being forced him still. Clone beneath them staying just as still as the original. “Wait—wait just… just wait, fuck, you’re so impatient” Alastor merely snarled in response, as if he wasn’t grateful Lucifer couldn’t hurt him.

He was. It was just hard to think with two dicks in a place no dicks had ever been before, an attitude was to be expected.

Lucifer didn’t think his power of manifestation was ever supposed to be used to create lube from thin air, but hey, if you got it, use it! He used it to get a bottle of the stuff. Tongue stuck out over his lip, he popped the cap, and squirted a generous amount of the watery stuff along his length, only to full body shudder as the cool liquid met his heated, sensitive skin, not just once. But twice, thanks clone for the sensation loop. “Nngghh” he breathed shakily, nearly dropping the bottle in surprise.

“Can—can we move?” His clone’s voice almost pained, he’d already been close before Lucifer had slipped in, now he was just on entirely the wrong side of edged.

“Try” was Alastor’s growled input. Greatly appreciated.

Lucifer took a shaky breath, he wouldn’t verbally respond to either of them, instead… he tested it, a shift of his hips, a press inwards—he could move, he could move and Alastor… oh sweet sin, Alastor’s back arched, mouth open in what would have been pure filth had it gotten past his throat—as one smooth roll of Lucifer’s hips sat both himself, and his clone full to the hilt “fffffffff—UCK!” His clone ground out through gritted teeth, sentiment Lucifer agreed with wholeheartedly. “Mn-ot… not gonna last.”

“S’fine” Lucifer huffed, that was what they wanted, one more double dose and Alastor would be fine, they could move on from this whole goddamn nightmare of a situation and maybe, with some miracle, they’d be able to just. Exist together at the hotel, go back to their normal. Oh who the fuck was he kidding? This was like dropping a nuke on their normal.

He gripped Alastor’s hips with both hands, pointed tips of his claws leaving subtle indents in his sweat damp fur, well, in for a penny and all that.

The pace he set wasn’t brutal, it wasn’t fast, it was a lazy roll of his hips, like a walk in the park there was no rush, in and out, the obscene sound of sweat slick skin hitting skin and peeling away, slow and drawn out— sensations doubled from not just himself, but his clone sliding alongside him, the pressure of his cock nestled against the identical one of his clone, wrapped up in that sinfully warm, slick cavern of tight pressure that flexed, fluttered and clenched around them with each lazy roll. His clone was right. Close—too close, they’d barely even began when Lucifer felt warmth surround his cock, when he heard felt that second-hand release as his clone groaned deep just on the right side of blissful overstimulation, felt Alastor shudder, clench around them, heard his little warbled mewl as heat flooded him to soothe the pain that’d plagued him— Lucifer himself wasn’t quite so close.

He crowded the demon, curled over him as his clone, with one final lazy thrust disappeared, absorbed back into Lucifer’s being leaving only the traces of his release behind.

One arm still holding onto a bony hip, the other reached around to curl around Alastor’s sensitive length, a little on the softer side, but firming up with every passing second, every short roll of his hips “Lu—” Alastor tried through laboured breaths, through the warble of his own pleasure, the radio filter having long since dropped from his voice leaving only the silky tones he spoke in life, debauched, dipped in lust to make such sinful music for the Devil. “Mmn—I’m… I can’t—nghh!”

“I’ve—I’ve got you, Bambi… let—let go, it’s okay” a single, gentle squeeze was all it took for Alastor to seize beneath him, his release dry, nothing left to give, his cries hoarse, choked around gasps of breath and bleats of static, the candle fire around them once again burning a bright, brilliant green as Alastor’s power erupted from him in aftershock waves, his antlers growing larger, the sharp ends of each tine digging into the pillows, tearing into linens—mesmerising.

He was beautiful.

Lucifer—with only minimal effort, wrapped his arm tight around the demon’s waist and pulled him up into his lap, dragging mattress and pillow stuffing with him in a shower of white fluff as Alastor’s antlers tore through everything they came into contact with, the long hard line of his body laying back heavily against Lucifer’s chest as he sped up his pace, bouncing the groaning, heavily panting demon in his lap until—knot tightened in his gut, heat surged through his body, and with one final press of Alastors hips down, and his own thrust upwards, his own final release blew out every single eerie green candle in the room, wings erupting from his back to curl around both panting, trembling, exhausted bodies in a tight cocoon of warm, sex heated air.

“I’m—I’m never… going drinking… w-with those imbeciles… ever again.” Alastor spoke through laboured breaths, shuddering through the waves of rolling aftershocks. Lucifer just breathed a soft laugh against the curve of Alastor’s shoulder blades before pressing his warm forehead against Alastor’s damp back. Arms curling around the demons torso just to hold him.

The candles relit in that warm orange glow. “P-Probably for… for the best… we have… multiple bars… at—at the hotel. Why… why go out to drink?” A damn fine question in Alastor’s opinion.

“Nnnghhh, I don’t know… ask your—!!” Words cut off by a sharp record scratching squeal as Lucifer dropped backwards, pulling Alastor down with him. Wings still wrapped around them but he needed an easier angle to ease himself out, although he could absolutely have remained exactly where he was for longer, something told him Alastor would eventually cease putting up with it.

“S-Sorry… sorry I—figured you’d want… y’know. Me out of you.” Awkward, stilted—a nuked normal indeed. Alastor merely rolled himself over now free, body tingling, warm and aching—but… not in a bad way. The ache familiar but… in that foggy kind of way, like a distant memory from a life his current body didn’t belong to, the warm buzz in his veins however, unfamiliar.

It wasn’t as though his partners in intercourse were ever all that bothered about his pleasure after all, just chasing their own as fast as they could so they could rush away to wallow in their own shame over what they'd lowered themselves to.

Of course rolling over anywhere in that bed meant landing in something wet but— with a scrunched up nose, he grumbled “It’s fine…” then, while batting away the feathers trying to keep them cocooned, he attempted to sit up, only to wince as his limbs refused to cooperate. “Are we to return to the hotel now, your majesty? I may need assistance if we’re to head directly there.”

“What? Pfft, no.” Alastor blinked, eyes wide and confused. “We’re not going anywhere yet. I told you, Bambi. Aftercare. Healing bubble bath, real food, snacks, you need water, I mean fuck, you look like you’ve just gone several rounds with a hurricane.” Lucifer reached up his hand, ignoring the discomfort bubbling in his chest as Alastor winced back away from him—it was to be expected, he’d just—he shook his head, and gently plucked a piece of mattress filling from one of those antlers. “I promised you care, Alastor… an while I know you’re probably gonna be a little bitch about it, I’m an angel of my word…” he pushed himself up onto one arm, the other hesitating only a moment, before finishing the job of removing the bits of pillow and mattress fluff, wings slowly retracting allowing air to circulate. “If you’ll allow me to... so please allow me to…”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling my ow—”

“Alastor…” Alastor paused, “please, let me do this…? I need to know that you’ve been properly taken care of after this.” He was not about to let Alastor suffer a spiral from what he’d been forced to allow to happen to him, and if he crumbled anyway, well… at least Lucifer would be there to catch him as he fell. 

Alastor huffed a breath through his nose, irritable, Lucifer winced back out of pure instinct “and if I need to be alone? Do my needs not matter?” Lucifer’s shoulders slumped, expression twisting in discomfort, shame… Alastor sighed, his irritation ebbing almost as quickly as it’d risen. Lucifer had done him a kindness. Easily twistable if one were vicious enough but—Alastor suddenly wasn't feeling particularly vicious, he was going to blame the afterglow of relaxation. “You’re lucky I do in fact require a bath. So… fine. You may tend to my needs a little longer. Sire.”

Lucifer’s glowing grin could have blinded him. Honestly, the angel needed to put a warning on that thing.