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“Now, what was that you were saying about being two steps ahead?” The devil smirks to himself, full of confidence as he swings his feet back down to the ground, leisurely making his way away from the throne, and toward the demon whose been playing his jailor for the past few weeks. Not many people can claim to have so thoroughly pissed off the rightful lord of Hell, but this bastard, this demon has really taken the cake.
Lucifer may even hate him more than Michael.
When he gets close enough to, he takes a heavy swing at the demon, feeling vindicated by the satisfying connection the back of his fist makes with the shorter man’s jaw. He rolls his shoulders, starting to glow, shining in his full glory as he prepares to smite the shit out of this impudent whelp. His wings stretch out and raise proudly, poised high and intimidatingly like a serpent about to strike. “Buh-byeee, Crowley…”
“That’s not what I said.” For someone about to die, Crowley’s voice doesn’t sound all too worried. The demon starts to pick himself off the ground, but doesn’t bother to stand up before rolling his eyes at the archangel above him, and making a simple ‘down’ gesture with his hand, almost like turning off a switch.
A second later, Lucifer realises why the demon seems so unconcerned by his imminent death. With the gesture from the Scottish demon, Lucifer ceases to glow, and he feels like a weight has been placed over his grace, keeping him from using it. His wings recede without his permission, and he turns, reaching behind his back to try to see what happened to them. “Uh, what the…”
Lucifer whips back around to face the demon, confusion written all over his face as he watches Crowley stand back up, straighten out his suit, and approach him with a cocky smile on his lips. “I’m glad you’ve had a little taste of freedom.” He continues to approach Lucifer, carrying an air of dominance and boredom with him. Truly, a King’s demeanour. “What I said was, I’m always ten steps ahead. I said you cross me, I cross you. You hit me,” Crowley snaps his fingers, which is all the warning Lucifer gets before pain splits his side, causing him to shout, and grip the burning area, “I hit you back twice as hard.” Crowley repeats the action, and this time it’s Lucifer’s other side, on his shoulder, forcing him to face Crowley again. He grits his teeth, watching the demon with a mixture of hatred, and shock, and pain. “You make me your dog, I’ll make you my slave.” Again, and this one sends Lucifer to the ground with another grunt of pain. Crowley stands over the gasping, pained, fallen archangel, and dusts off his hands, straightens out his Testardi suit, then walks around him to retake his throne.
As he seats himself, the King smiles, pleased to see his latest and greatest acquisition suffering by his hand, hunched over, practically bowing to him. “That chain around your neck… was nothing. A stylish accessory. This vessel, that’s your true prison.” As he explains, Lucifer turns his head to watch him, eyes wide, uncomprehending. How… how did this happen to him? Him? Lucifer, the Adversary, Rightful Lord of Hell, Father of Sin itself? “It’s warded with runes and spellwork from the cage, carved into every molecule. In there… I. Own. You.”
Lucifer continues to breathe shallowly, still recovering from the onslaught of pain Crowley had afflicted upon him. He groans a little in protest, but doesn’t speak.
The king sighs to himself, leaning forward in his throne. “I’m just getting started. So… I’m gonna put you back in your hole, and then I’m gonna find your spawn, and I’m gonna rip him apart while you watch. And then,” Crowley stands back up, approaching the archangel as he manages to lift himself back up onto his knees. “I’m still just getting started.” With a satisfying thud, the King’s fist connects with Lucifer’s cheek, sending him flying backwards across the throne room.
And as he promised, the demon isn’t done. He follows his captive’s sprawled body, reaching Lucifer just as the blonde tries to get up again, a slightly wild look in his eyes. Lucifer makes to scramble backwards, but Crowley catches ahold of his hair, drawing another pained gasp from the man as he yanks upward, forcing Lucifer to get back to his feet, or lose a handful of his short, spiky hair.
Lucifer chooses the former, that same look of not-quite fear and not-quite comprehension on his face. He’s in denial, and Crowley finds it delicious. He smirks again, using his grip on the devil’s hair to shove him towards the exit to the throne room. “Walk, slave. And don’t try anything funny. Unless, that is, you’d like to find out what other tricks I’ve up my sleeve.” He’s gloating, and really, he has every right to. How many people can say they truly own the devil?
Just one.
Just him.
Lucifer complies with the order, if only because he’s still in shock from the sudden pain, and sudden loss of his just regained freedom… and the last thing he wants is more. He stumbles forward from the shove, then regains his footing, glancing back at the all-too smug demon before continuing forward.
Crowley is the epitome of a true alpha, and it sets Lucifer’s nerves on edge, to know how thoroughly the other has asserted his control over him. In both attitude and scent, Crowley exudes dominance, and Lucifer has to fight not to let it affect him.
He’s an archangel, he won’t be influenced by this… by this miserable, twisted excuse for a soul. Crowley may have him by the short and curlies, but he in no way owns Lucifer. Finally, the devil speaks up, gritting his teeth and facing the demon as Crowley comes up to his side. “You can’t do this.”
“Oh?” The cocky reply is immediate, a pleased smirk lighting up the demon’s face. “I believe I already have. Sorry… not sorry, love.”
“You won’t get away with it. You’ll never own me, Crowley.” As soon as he finishes speaking, another snap pulls a pained shout from Lucifer, and he hugs his midriff, futilely attempting to quell the pain.
“You’ll call me Master, and nothing less, slave.” The demon waits for Lucifer to catch his breath, disinterestedly brushing dust from the sleeve of his expensive Testardi. “And who’s going to stop me? Who’s going to intervene? Not you, certainly. Not your Father, He made it abundantly clear what His stance is when He left you to Amara’s whims. Come now, Luci, Sam and Metatron had to mount your rescue. You were naïve to think He still cared.” He shakes his head with faux disappointment. “Where was I? Oh yes, definitely not Michael, and not any of your family, for that matter. They’d all just as soon see you dead. And the Winchesters? They’d probably pat me on the back. They tried to convince me I’m a good guy, today, can you imagine?” He scoffs, shoving Lucifer forward again. “Face it, no one cares about you anymore. You’re old news, Lucifer. You’ve cut ties with and spit on the kindness everyone who ever loved you, and nobody else would lift a finger to help Satan. You’re mine now, and nothing’s going to change that.”
The devil coughs, then wrinkles his nose, glaring at the demon. “My son.”
“He’ll be dead within the week.”
“Dagon.”
“Her too. In any case, she’s more interested in your baby-momma, not you.”
Lucifer sets his jaw, simply glaring daggers at the King of Hell.
Crowley responds with a smirk curving his lips, “You’re done, pet. You’re mine.”
“Fat chance.”
The demon just shakes his head, giving a put-upon little sigh as he snaps again, Sending Lucifer to the floor with a single hit, this time. He pushes Lucifer over with his loafer, and then walks around to stand in line with Lucifer’s shoulders. With the same foot, he rolls Lucifer over so he’s looking up at him, and, stepping on the devil’s shoulder, bends down to loom over his prey with a predatory grin. He tweaks the pain-dazed devil’s nose. “I’d say my chances are pretty good, pet.” He steps back, making an irritated gesture for Lucifer to rise. “Now, up. And watch that mouth of yours. It’s a long hallway, I’d hate to have to drag you down it.”
It takes him a little longer this time to regain his wits, but, using the wall for support, Lucifer gets himself back to his feet, one hand on the wall, the other wrapped around his midriff. Fuck, that hurt. It’s like all his pain receptors have been cranked up to 11, and he’s been hit by a train. Multiple times.
The only things that came close to this were his heats in the cage… days of unending pain, fire eating away at him from the inside, with no way to satisfy himself. At least those were few and far between, and he knew when to expect them. This pain was sudden, unexpected, and hit him all at once.
He breathes shallowly, struggling to catch breath he shouldn’t need. But like Crowley suggested, he doesn’t open his mouth to speak again, the only noises coming from him being his quiet gasps of pain as he follows the King down the long hallway, still using the wall to keep his balance. He considers trying to run, but what would be the point? He wouldn’t make it very far, that much he’s certain of. And then Crowley may just decide to drag him the rest of the way. As much as Lucifer hates following the demon down the corridor, at least he’s still maintaining a modicum of his dignity. There’s no dignity in being dragged by the scruff of your shirt. (Assuming Crowley doesn’t just forgo the shirt for his leg, or arm.)
He’s silent for almost the rest of the way, moving as slowly as he can without making Crowley think he’s stalling. It kind of helps that he’s currently not in the best of shape, but not really.
Crowley has said before that he has no virtues, and if he ever did, Patience was never one of them, so it’s not long before he tires of the devil’s pace. “Chop chop. I’ve places to be, people to kill, hellhounds’ heads to mount on my wall. I know what you’re doing, and it isn’t going to work. Don’t delay the inevitable, pet, that’s just sad.”
It was a long shot anyways; Lucifer thinks as he picks up the pace a little. His brow is furrowed in thought as he walks, desperately trying to think his way out of this. He needs out of his vessel, but he doesn’t know if he even can leave it, and he’d rather not try while Crowley’s watching, for fear of invoking his wrath again.
His efforts don’t go unnoticed, as he realises when Crowley’s voice calls back to him. “Ten steps ahead, pet. Remember that. Think away, but don’t hurt yourself.” His accented voice rings back with all the confidence of a victorious king. “Or do, I don’t particularly care. It makes my job easier.”
Lucifer can see the door now, the one he thought he’d left behind for good, not two hours ago. He stops in the hallway, and Crowley stops with him, arching a brow and walking back to where he is. “Cold feet, hm? Come now, you’ve been so good, don’t make me persuade you to go the rest of the way.” He raises a hand, readying his fingers to snap them.
Lucifer’s hand darts out, holding Crowley’s hand still, but the action is obviously meant as more of a ‘wait’, than any kind of attack. “Just… one question.” At Crowley’s curious nod, they both drop their hands. Lucifer hates asking questions, because it means admitting that he doesn’t know something. “Why? Why go to all this trouble? You could have sent me back to the cage, and I saw Michael’s lance in the throne room. You could have killed me, so why all this? Why lock me up, trick me into thinking those chains were keeping me powerless…? What game are you playing?”
The demon scoffs, looking the archangel over. “That’s a lot more than one question, kitty-cat. But, it’s a fair query. Yes, I could have killed you. I could have let you go back to rotting in the cage… but it’s not enough. You have chased, trapped, and humiliated me one too many times, Lucifer. And if us Macleods are good at anything, it’s getting even.” His mouth twitches into a fearsome smile, as he reaches up to possessively card a hand through the blonde’s hair. “I loathe you. And I want to watch you suffer. I want to tear you down, piece by piece, and when I’m done, I want you to thank me, because you deserve it.” His blood-chilling smile turns into something a little jauntier, and it’s as if what he’d previously said was just as ordinary as discussing the weather. “Now, go in there, be a good little archangel, and maybe if I’m still in a good mood, I’ll hold off on the torture ‘til I get back.”
Again, Lucifer considers making a run for it. And again, he decides that’s not a good idea. He vaguely wonders if this is some kind of nightmare, and if so, when did he fall asleep? But he doesn’t have time to wonder about unlikely things right now (no, he’s just really that unlucky). With a heavy heart and a dejected noise halfway between a groan and a sigh, he walks the rest of the way to the dreaded room.
It’s changed since he was here last, and his eyes widen a little as he briefly plays spot-the-difference. For one, the chair is gone. Rather than the uncomfortable, metal thing he’d been chained to before, his chains were now simply connected directly to the center of the floor. The dust residue from the two demons he smote is gone, as well.
The human pony head harness was left where Lucifer discarded it, and the rest of the harness’ pieces were hung up on the left wall. Crowley catches him looking at it a little apprehensively, and lets out a dark chuckle. “Maybe later, pet. Now,” he grips one of Lucifer’s arms roughly, dragging him to the centre of the room, “kneel.”
Lucifer bristles at the order, raising his chin. As if he’ll ever willingly kneel to this—
Crowley snaps, and his knees give out as immense pain runs through his legs. It’s all he can do to catch himself from falling flat on his face as he drops to the ground, fighting down a shout of pain. He groans, a little bit dazed.
While he’s focusing on recovering, Crowley manages to get his collar on, and the chain connecting it to the floor is much too short for him to sit up fully. He jerks upwards, and hisses as he’s stopped, unable to lift himself up any further.
As he’s struggling with that, the King roughly takes each of his wrists, pulling them behind his body and cuffing them. But that’s not the end of it, because when he’s got the archangel all trussed up, he pulls his arms uncomfortably far back, forcing Lucifer’s body to follow until the chain attached to his neck is pulled taught. There’s a hook in the floor behind Lucifer, and Crowley loops one of the links of the chain shackling his wrists over it.
It forces Lucifer into a horribly compromising, humiliating position. His arms keep him pulled back too far to let him rest fully on the ground, and his leash keeps him from sitting up any further. And on his knees… He’s halfway between kneeling and bowing at Crowley’s feet.
Crowley smiles triumphantly, standing over the practically snarling fallen archangel. “How fitting. A slave should learn to bow to his king, no?”
Lucifer can’t form words as heat touches his cheeks, and he’s not sure whether it’s from anger or embarrassment.
“Cat got your tongue? That’s alright, I prefer it when you’re not mouthing off, pet.” The demon is smiling like the cat that ate the canary, and he turns his gaze towards the head harness still lying on the floor. “Now… let it not be said I’m an unfair master. You were very good, walking all the way here for me.” He picks the harness up… and simply hangs it on the wall with the rest of the parts. “Keep it up, love, and we won’t have to use this lovely little accessory of mine.”
On his way out, he ruffles the blonde’s hair condescendingly.
Lucifer can only glare, watching his captor leave with a gaze full of hatred.
“Ta, pet.” Crowley walks through the door with a cheerful little wave of his fingers. “I’ll be back for you in a bit.”
The door shuts with a sense of finality, the slam of metal on stone ringing around the room.
“Ooh, someone’s been a naughty angel, hasn’t he?”
Lucifer cringes as Crowley re-enters the room, but doesn’t move from where he’s lying on the floor. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t. Crowley really is ten steps ahead of him…
“I see you’ve found out about those chains, hm?” The voice is horribly amused, and though Lucifer can’t see him, he knows the bastard is smirking at him.
“Stylish accessory, my ass.” Lucifer grumbles out, causing the demon to chuckle whole-heartedly.
“Come now, I can’t tell you all of my tricks, can I? What would be the fun in that?”
Crowley would be angry that Lucifer managed to kick the chain link loose from the hook on the floor, but his current position was just… far too amusing for him to be pissed off. He hadn’t thought the spell would ever really come to use… It was just an afterthought, really, but he finds himself really glad that he did cast it.
Sticky chains. The way he’d set them up, they wouldn’t touch each other. But when Lucifer got his hands relatively free, and tried to pull his legs through his arms and get his wrists in front of him… the chain came around and knocked into the one attached to his collar.
And it got stuck.
Lucifer, thinking it was just caught, or tangled somehow, tried to pull it free, only succeeding in further getting the chains stuck together.
Crowley isn’t quite sure how he managed it, but the chain is wrapped around his ankle, and the area around his neck is a complete mess of chains, with his wrists trapped close to his neck, making him look almost like he’s praying.
He’s lying on his back, and the chain connecting his neck to the ground isn’t allowing him any room to move from that position, at all.
Crowley takes a few more moments to chuckle at the archangel’s misfortune, while Lucifer just scowls at the ceiling.
Eventually, the demon has his fill of the amusing situation, and decides to release the spell on the chain with a wave of his hand. “remissionis.”
There’s a clattering of metal-on-metal as the chains fall free of the enchantment keeping them magically glued together. Lucifer tries to sit up, forgetting that his ‘leash’ is too short, and is brought to a halt with a colourful string of curses.
Crowley chuckles again, walking out of the room again and coming back with a chair in tow. He just leaves it in the corner, offering no explanation. “Your response to misfortune is… terribly endearing, pet.”
The devil seemingly gives up, just lying on the ground again, his head tilted such that he can see Crowley. His voice is dull, deadpan as he answers. “I try, m’lord.”
“As you should.” The demon knows Lucifer’s being sarcastic, but his response is dead-serious, all traces of humour gone. “Now, if I unchain you, will you be good for me?” He makes his way over to Lucifer, looking down at the frustrated archangel.
“Maybe.” Lucifer shoots him a cocky grin. “Define ‘good’.”
Crowley hums, unimpressed. “You instil me with confidence. Regardless, I need you to get up, so…” He snaps his fingers, and the chain connected to Lucifer’s collar detaches from the floor. “Up you get, and you know what happens if you try anything.”
Finally, he’s able to sit up fully. Lucifer stretches his arms above his head as he gets up, not wanting to lay on the cold, stone floor for a second longer. He does dawdle on his knees for half a moment though, before he complies curiously. What does Crowley want with him now?
He’s a head taller than the Scottish man, and he takes a little satisfaction from that fact as he looks down on Crowley.
The demon doesn’t look phased in the slightest by Lucifer now being above him, and somehow, he still seems to give the impression that he’s looking down on Lucifer. “Atta boy…” He reaches for the collar, twisting it around so the chain hangs in front of him. Lucifer doesn’t move, doesn’t even dare to breathe as he watches, still morbidly curious as to Crowley’s intentions. Are they going somewhere else? Is he going to torture him? Is he taking the collar off?
Honestly, Lucifer knows the only thing he can expect from the demon, is that he won’t be able to predict it.
Crowley straightens out the chain, for all the world looking like he’s smoothing out a tie for a friend. But then, quick as a flash, his hand is wrapped around the chain, and he yanks Lucifer back down to his level.
Before Lucifer knows what’s happening, their lips are pressed together, and there’s a strong, appealing scent muddling his senses…
Lucifer moans a little pathetically, unable to help himself as his body reacts, and he melts into the kiss, Crowley coaxing his lips apart with no resistance…
And then Lucifer’s brain catches up with his body, and he comes back to his senses, putting his still-cuffed hands on Crowley’s chest and pushing away, breathing hard. Crowley lets him, letting go of the chain-leash and watching Lucifer stumble back a few steps, cheeks flushed and completely off-balance.
The amused smile is back, and Lucifer wants to curse at him, call him every dirty name under the sun, but he can’t get his thoughts in order fast enough.
Crowley speaks up before Lucifer can get his wits about him. “So it’s true, then. I did a little digging, heard a few delicious little rumours… but I had to see for myself.” He licks his lips, looking all too pleased with himself. “Big... Bad… Lucifer… Is just a poor, pretty little omega with no Alpha to call his own? How tragic.” As he speaks, the King advances towards Lucifer, who, realising he’s been found out, backpedals toward the opposite end of the room.
“Stay… stay away from me.” Lucifer swallows, not liking the way Crowley’s looking at him one bit. His back hits the wall, and he’s far too out of sorts to think to try another escape route.
Crowley doesn’t heed his words, prowling towards the archangel until he’s right in front of Lucifer, and he puts a hand on the wall right next to the blonde’s head. “Ah-uh-uh-uh-uh… slaves don’t tell their masters what to do, pet.” His gaze makes Lucifer feel very small, and he hates the feeling. He clings to that hate, determined not to let the scent of an aroused Alpha get to him. “But fear is good. You should be afraid of me. As I said… I’m just getting started.”
Lucifer is half-expecting the demon to rip his clothes off and… fuck him right there, but as always, Crowley doesn’t do what Lucifer expects. The demon draws back, giving Lucifer room to breathe again. He grabs the chain—the leash—and tugs Lucifer along with him back to the centre of the room. “Kneel.”
Remembering what happened last time he disobeyed the order, Lucifer follows the command this time. He carefully gets to his knees, his eyes never leaving Crowley, gaze wary. “I don’t understand… you’re going to chain me up again?”
Smiling to himself, Crowley kneels down on one knee, yanking Lucifer down in order to reattach the leash to the floor. “Of course. This all just got a lot easier for me. You’re an omega, so eventually, you’ll go into heat. And when you do… well, I’m an alpha. Do the math.” He unclasps one of the shackles, pulling Lucifer’s arms back behind him. The angel doesn’t resist, knowing it won’t do him any good anyways.
“You think a heat can break me?”
“I know it will.”
The devil scoffs, the worry in his chest loosening up a tiny bit. “Keep dreaming, Crowley. I’ve never needed an alpha before, and I don’t need one now.”
That response is met with more amused chuckling as Crowley re-secures Lucifer’s wrist shackles, even tighter this time. “You’ve been completely alone thus far. I wonder, what happens to an Omega who’s been deprived of satisfaction for, oh… billions of years, when he finally has an Alpha nearby?”
Lucifer remains stubbornly silent, in part because he doesn’t know.
Another chain appears in Crowley’s hands, and he loops it under Lucifer’s legs, then secures both ends to the same spot in the ground where Lucifer’s leash connects to. Its purpose is clear; to prevent him from getting his hands free again by kicking at the hook.
Not only that, but the metal bites into the back of his knees, and he knows it’s going to ache after a little while. Once again, he’s chained to the floor, forced into a position between kneeling and bowing. Crowley dusts of his hands, standing back up. “Much better. Good luck getting out of that, pet.” He smiles at his handiwork, then makes his way over to the wall, retrieving the human pony head harness. “Anyways, I think, you’ll fight it. And you’re welcome to try, it’s always amusing to watch your type struggle against it. You’ll fight valiantly, oh so valiantly. But like they all do, eventually you’ll give into your true nature, and like they all do, you’ll beg me to undo you, to end the pain. And whatever I ask in return, you’ll do it. They always do. All I have to do… is wait. Maybe it won’t be this heat, but there’s always the next one, and the next…” He drops back down to Lucifer’s level, unclasping the harness so that he can slip it over Lucifer’s head. “And be it in a few weeks, or a few centuries… you’ll break. We’ve all the time in the world, you and I, and for this, I’ll gladly learn a little patience.”
His jaw is forced open, and the bit is shoved roughly between his teeth again, preventing any further responses from the Archangel.
“Now, if that kiss was any indication, you’re due for one anytime now.” Crowley gets up, eyeing the archangel, then giving a satisfied nod before turning to leave. “See you soon, Lucifer.”
Again, the lingering sound of the door shutting on him leaves Lucifer with a sense of dread and finality, and he can do nothing but hang his head in frustration, hating his shitty run of luck lately.
And… Crowley’s right. His heat is coming; he can feel it. He hasn’t had one since before the apocalypse… and he’s due for another very soon.
Heat claws at Lucifer's gut, burning him up, eating at him from the inside. Sweat beads down his neck, and his breath comes in laboured gasps. He forgot how much this sucks.
He heard some kind of commotion outside shortly after it started, but no one got into the room until Crowley arrived, a delighted, predatory smile twisting his lips.
Lucifer could smell him. Oh fuck could he smell him. His body fought against his will, his first instinct being to beg for relief. He struggled against his chains briefly, but Lucifer won out against his unfortunate biology, and he keeps himself silent, simply glaring daggers at the alpha standing over him. This is all wrong, so very wrong.
Crowley squats to almost his level, and it becomes very clear, very suddenly to Lucifer, that the demon is growing hard from this situation. The king reaches for the harness over his head, unclasping it and tugging the thing off, and then he gently touches the Fallen Angel’s flushed face, cupping his chin in his hand. “Well, that didn’t take very long at all.” Lucifer growls and jerks his chin out of Cowley’s hand, not caring that he’s hurting his neck against the collar in the process. “Mm, still so feisty. Rare, for someone like you. No matter, you’ll come around eventually.”
Lucifer’s in too much pain, and his head is swimming, overloaded with too many stimuli for the devil to form a proper response. He snarls, continuing to focus all of his hatred into glaring at the demon.
Clicking his tongue in amusement, Crowley stands back up, walking a little bit away and pulling over the chair he had brought in almost two weeks earlier. He seats himself, legs parted as he palms his crotch, watching the struggling archangel. “That’s it, love. Fight it, torture yourself. I’ll be right here, when you inevitably give in to your nature.”
“Fuck… off.” Lucifer manages to bite out, wishing more than anything that his hands were free, so he could just… curl up and hug himself. It hurts, so, so much. And the alpha nearby only makes it all worse, making all his senses go nuts in the presence of a possible mate. At least when he was just alone, in the cage, there wasn’t all this… artificial desire.
He had no chance of relief there, so it was easier to manage his heats. There was no temptation to just… give in… because what would he even give in to? And at least there, he could curl up in the coldest corner and hug himself until it was over.
Now, there’s a perfectly eligible alpha, just… right there, and it would be so easy to…
No.
Lucifer struggles against himself, hating what he is, and that he’s like this. He didn’t ask to be this way, so why is it being used to punish him?
It’s not fair.
One day in, and part of him already wishes Crowley would just lose his self-control and fuck him, so Lucifer can get his relief without having to willingly give up his dignity. But he knows Crowley won’t afford him even that. He knows that his future only holds more pain and humiliation.
A particularly bad wave courses through him, and Lucifer has to moan, loud and long, his abdominals clenching up in response. He instinctively tries to curl himself inward, but his shoulders just burn from their awkward position, twisted uncomfortably behind him like they have been for so many days he’s lost count, preventing him from doing anything but remain in this humiliating half-bowing position.
This is a battle of wills now. Lucifer can see how badly Crowley wants him. The demon’s pupils are blown wide, and he’s stroking himself, attempting to alleviate some of the pressure on his aching and fully hard length. He wasn’t shy about pulling it out while he watched the omega struggle and pant, and he’s come more than once since he first entered the room. Distantly, Lucifer notes that he’s huge, over average in both width and length. He tries not to look too much, because looking makes him wonder how it would feel, and that’s not a path he wants to go down, as vulnerable as he is right now.
Lucifer is getting dangerously close to his pain threshold, the burning and ache of his arms and back combining with the fire coursing through his midsection and lower half. His knees, too, are long since numb, and tingling painfully from being in the same position for hours, days on end. The floor offers him no cushioning, and the shackles around his wrists and neck cut into the skin of his vessel, his prison. His grace is restrained, and it too, aches, longs to be free. His wings long to spread out to their full length, to beat the air and allow him some outlet for all the pain he’s suffering.
He’s dug his fingers into the heels of his hands so harshly that he’s left little white crescent-shaped indentions in his hand. If his nails weren’t so blunt, he’d probably have made himself bleed by now. He’s… struggling. It isn’t easy, fighting your biology. He needs an alpha to mate with him. His body screams for it, even while he refuses to give in to the desire.
It may be worse this time, simply because his vessel… Nick was an omega too. Was, because he’s dead now, the soul, as well the setting, have moved on. Neither of them went into heat during the apocalypse, because Lucifer kept the human from doing so. Now, that’s no longer an issue. And Lucifer, being an immortal being of great age, doesn’t go into heat but once every several hundred years. The mating cycle of archangels is… slow.
And mating between the angels was forbidden anyways. Lucifer, to this day, doesn’t know why God even gave them such a thing. It’s only ever been an inconvenience.
Part of him wants to curse God for putting him in this situation, but deep down, he knows this isn’t his Father’s fault. Lucifer dug this grave for himself, and now he’s finally being made to lie in it. One can’t live such a rotten existence and expect there to be no consequences.
He groans again, weaker this time, shutting his eyes tightly as he struggles to maintain his self-control. Just a few more days, he thinks to himself, just a couple more days, and it’ll be over.
It was longer than a few days.
“I’ve seen some Omegas fight against their heats for quite long before… but six days, Lucifer? Colour me impressed.”
“… fuck you.”
“Are you asking?”
Lucifer groans tiredly, keeping his eyes shut.
“Why make yourself suffer, pet?” Crowley walks over to the still-chained archangel, kneeling down and running cool fingers through his damp hair. “You can’t be comfortable like that.” He smiles as Lucifer doesn’t even try to shake his hand away, just letting him pet the angel’s soft, blonde hair. “I could make you feel so good. All you have to do… is…” He leans in, his breath brushing Lucifer’s ear as he whispers to the blonde. “… ask.”
Lucifer shivers, and he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t the most seductive offer he’d ever received. For six days, he’s been stuck in the same torturous, humiliating position, his blood pumping through his body like liquid fire. And for almost two weeks before that, he’s been chained up like this. Six days, in heat and still unsatisfied. It’s the longest that one of his heats has ever lasted, and he doesn’t know how, or why… but he just knows it’s Crowley’s doing somehow.
Crowley, who hasn’t left the room, and hasn’t so much as touched him since he walked in six days ago. Not ‘til now, and that hand in his hair is just… so nice, so pleasant… Lucifer can’t muster up the strength to push him away.
(The king of Hell knows, even if Lucifer doesn’t, that his presence is indeed lengthening Lucifer’s heat. Not indefinitely… but enough, hopefully. With no one nearby before, Lucifer’s heats were relatively short. Two, three days at most. Normally they’re longer for most Omegas, lasting for about a week. But if an Alpha is constantly present, and they still haven’t mated, which is a rare enough situation, the heat may last even longer. Two weeks, sometimes. Crowley should know, he’s tortured enough Omegas that way, denying them what they so clearly need, what they beg him for. Lucifer hasn’t experienced one so long before now, and little does he know, he’s still got a long way to go if he intends to wait it out.)
Not receiving an answer, Crowley pulls back, taking his cool, rough hand from Lucifer’s damp, hot hair. The devil can’t help himself; he whimpers a little bit, eyes opening to give Crowley a pathetic, longing look.
“Mm… Changing your mind, love?” Crowley can see that showing the devil a tiny bit of compassion is helping his case, so the hand is returned, and he continues. “Come now, it’s easy. Just tell me what you need, Lucifer, and it can be yours. Just ask. That’s all.” The accented voice is deceptively kind, low, smooth, seductive.
The fallen Archangel struggles with himself, weighing his options. On the one hand, if he gives in, he gives up his dignity. On the other… Is dignity and pride really worth all… this? Is it worth it, to be chained up, tormented, made to wait through a heat that’s already lasted far too long, and shows no signs of ending?
The blonde chews his lip for a moment, brow furrowed as he tries to convince himself that it is worth it. He shakes his head a little, trying to clear it. “It… It hurts…”
Crowley smiles, knowing he’s got the upper hand now. “I know, love. I know it hurts. Do you want me to make it better?”
Lucifer looks up at the demon, and with his mind as foggy as it is, the satisfied smirk looks like a sympathetic, kind smile. “I…” Indecision crosses his features, until he feels Crowley’s fingers card through his hair again, and all thought of resistance is gone. “Yes. Please.”
“Please… what?” Crowley doesn’t move to unchain the archangel, grinning as he watches Lucifer come undone, just like he knew he would.
The blonde’s breaths are coming quicker now, and he hates himself as he gives in, lets go, just to make the pain go away. “Please, Crowley. Please make me feel good. Make it stop.”
“Tsk. Crowley?” The king clicks his tongue, shaking his head a little in disapproval.
Lucifer whimpers, expression pained as he corrects himself. Smarmy bastard. “M… Master. Please.”
“Much better.” And finally, Crowley gets up, pulling his key from his pocket and unlocking Lucifer’s wrists.
The devil’s arms are numb, burning and uncooperative, and as he’s released from the chains, he doesn’t manage to catch himself, just falling right onto his face with a groan. It’s still better than that awful, painful position though, and he tries to get his arms under him, hugging his midsection as he rolls onto his side. Crowley turns the chain around his knees to dust, and disconnects the leash from the floor, but doesn’t unlock Lucifer’s collar.
Crowley gives Lucifer a moment to recover, stretching his legs out and trying to regain feeling in his limbs. “Get up when you can, pet.”
Lucifer spends a good little while hugging himself, waiting for the blood flow to return to his arms and legs. It hurts like hell, all the numbness fading away and leaving just the sharp pins-and-needles feeling. But he’s free now, or mostly free, anyways. He can move.
Crowley waits, with an impressive amount of patience. When the archangel makes to stand on stiff legs, the demon helps him up, and lets his hands linger on the blonde’s waist. He locks eyes with the archangel, and part of him just wants to toss the man with his deep, icy blue eyes back on the ground, and mate with him right then and there.
It’s not just the pheromones in the air, no. Crowley has found the Angel’s vessel attractive for quite some time. He’s so strong, and so delightfully expressive. There’s a reason he made this vessel Lucifer’s final resting place… He went to great lengths to find it, and to make it suitable for the powerful archangel. If he’s going to pick a body for his eternal servant… He’d prefer it be one that’s easy to look at.
But, no. Not here. This is the room Lucifer associates with pain, torture. Crowley wants to make him pliant, obedient, submissive. He wants to show the angel that when he promises relief, he keeps his word. He can hardly do that in a place that puts Lucifer on edge.
Smiling a little to himself, and knowing that the archangel will hate it… He scoops the taller man up, carrying him bridal style out of the room.
Caught off guard, as it seems he always is by Crowley, Lucifer’s eyes widen a bit as his feet leave the ground, and he grips the nearest thing… which happens to be Crowley.
“Watch the Armani, pet.” Crowley purrs, watching first surprise, and then indignant dislike cross the blonde’s face.
He lets go of Crowley’s suit, crossing his arms and making it harder for Crowley to carry him. “I can walk.”
The king jostles him, causing Lucifer to instinctively wrap his arms around the demon’s neck, so as not to fall on his face again. “You can hardly stand, and I’m running out of patience. This is faster.” He cocks a brow at the archangel, who has decided it’s wiser to just keep holding onto him. “Your master is doing you a favour, is that how you thank me?”
Lucifer stays silent, looking away from him.
“I could drag you there. That would be just as quick.”
“No—” A brief flash of fear crosses Lucifer’s face, and Crowley is gratified to see it there. “I mean…” He takes a deep breath, obviously steeling himself to say something he definitely doesn’t want to say. “I’m sorry… Master. I spoke out of turn. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
“Mm. Better. Maybe next time you’ll mean it, too.” Crowley’s eyes flash with irritation, clearly not pleased with the forced response… but he keeps carrying the angel. He shifts Lucifer in his arms, until he can speak directly into the blonde’s ear, hot breath tickling fair skin as he whispers angrily. “Don’t bother pretending with me, pet. If you’re just going to tell me what I want to hear until you get what you want, we’ll turn right back around and I’ll leave you back in that room, understood?”
The omega stiffens in his arms, and Crowley can practically hear his heart speed up a little. “I… I mean it. I… just please, don’t leave me back in there…”
That answer is a little more satisfying, as Crowley can hear the genuine stress in his voice. Lucifer’s had a taste of freedom now, a break from the endless pain, and now that he has, the last thing he wants is to go back.
He thought he knew pain before… but as he’s been doing an awful lot lately, Crowley showed him that he was wrong. The past… he doesn’t even know how many days… have been horrible. And it’s only been made worse by the knowledge that Crowley is right.
No one is coming to save him this time.
The only one who—in any way—gives a shit about him, is Crowley. And with that thought, Lucifer unconsciously holds the demon a little tighter. Maybe he should just… give in. And maybe if he behaves, he can endear himself to Crowley. Maybe the torment, the chains, all of it, will stop. Maybe if he’s good enough, Crowley will treat him well.
He’s proven himself to be—more or less—fair so far… maybe that can be furthered?
Lucifer’s train of thought is interrupted by lips on his. His body reacts, and the heat inside him lessens a fraction as his eyes slip shut, and he lets Crowley dominate his mouth.
They’re just in the middle of the hallway, their destination as yet unrevealed to Lucifer, but Crowley couldn’t wait. Lucifer just smells so… so enticing, and to have the angel in his arms, holding onto him so tightly… his self-control is starting to slip.
Lucifer tastes as good as he smells, and Crowley can’t get enough, especially since Lucifer isn’t fighting him at all on it, tilting his head just right, parting his lips, lapping submissively at the demon’s exploring tongue; he’s being a perfect Omega, fitting against Crowley almost effortlessly, being the other half, the yin to Crowley’s yang. He wants it just as bad as Crowley does, even if they have different motivations.
Crowley shoves the blonde against the nearest wall, and Lucifer adjusts accordingly, wrapping his aching legs around the shorter man, and moaning as his back hits the stone, and the King attacks his mouth once more.
The moans coming from Lucifer are delicious, and Crowley has to fight to reign himself in, clearing the haze of desire from his mind. It’s hard, with such a willing and attractive partner pressed against him.
It’s the slamming of a door down the hallway that pulls them both out of it, just long enough for Crowley to regain his senses and pull back, dropping Lucifer back onto his feet. The archangel whines insistently from the back of his throat, frustrated by the almost-relief, only for the demon to pull back again.
The king chuckles softly at the noise, looking over the flushed, mussed-up angel. “Soon, pet.” He looks around the hall, and kicks himself a little for losing count. All the damn doors look the same. (Of course they do, it’s Hell, it’s supposed to be confusing.)
With a sigh, he slips an arm around Lucifer’s waist, and just teleports them both to the room he wants. Walking there is more dramatic, sure, but the aesthetic is definitely not worth the wait anymore.
There’s a bed in the centre, because Crowley’s a hopeless romantic, and if he’s going to mate with the man he intends to keep at his side for the rest of forever, he might as well do it right. The bed is far from the only thing in the room, though. The ceiling is mirrored, because Crowley wants Lucifer to watch himself be taken, wants him to see how helpless and submissive he’s going to be.
The room only contains one other piece of furniture, if you can call it that. It’s a chair Crowley found quite some time ago, though he hasn’t had a chance to use it yet. Mounted vertically a little bit off-centre on the chair’s seat is a polished metal rod, about three centimetres in diameter, and twenty centimetres in length. Crowley leaves what that particular instrument is for to Lucifer’s imagination. And along the walls, on various hooks and shelves, are all kinds of toys. Crowley doubts they’ll use many of them today, but… perhaps they’ll get more inventive next time. There will be a next time, he’s confident of this fact.
Lucifer hasn’t moved since they appeared in the room, stiff under Crowley’s arm on his waist. His eyes dart around the room apprehensively, taking in the various items surrounding him, and then finally turns his head to look at Crowley with cautious curiosity. He’d be more worried by all this… but he doubts all this was set up specifically for him (he’d be wrong), and he can’t find it in him to care all that much when his body is still burning with his heat.
The demon is amused by how agreeable Lucifer has become since his threat, since the kiss, but more so than amused, he’s aroused, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer to screw the angel’s brains out.
It actually, probably helped Lucifer’s situation, waiting so long. Crowley has a lot of self-control, and while it’s easier for him to hold himself back than it is for Lucifer… Six days is a long time to wait for something so truly enticing as the Devil, God’s most beautiful creation, struggling through a heat. “Bed,” he orders gruffly, pushing Lucifer in that direction.
Even if Crowley hadn’t sounded so impatient and commanding, Lucifer would have readily obeyed. The bed certainly seemed better than that chair-like contraption in the corner, and it definitely looked more comfortable than a wall, or the floor. After kicking off his shoes and socks, he climbs onto it, coming to a rest on his side, with a hand on his aching midsection. He still looks apprehensive, unsure of himself, but also curious, and a little bit… eager? Yes, that’s it. Those icy blue, gorgeous eyes of his shine with anticipation, and Crowley assumes it must be the little taste he got in the hallway that makes him want this so much more than he did before.
And well, he’s lying there so nicely, ready and waiting for Crowley to hold up his end of the deal. Lucifer’s obedience, for relief from his suffering. And Crowley intends to keep his word, as he always has.
The demon kicks off his loafers, following Lucifer onto the bed, and climbing on top of the man. Lucifer turns as he does so, propping himself up on his elbows as he looks up at Crowley with that lovely mixture of apprehension and anticipation.
Crowley can’t help himself. Lucifer’s lips are still slick and swollen from their last kiss, and he wants more. The devil—as he has the previous two times—submits instantly, practically melting under Crowley, asking for more. His eyes slip closed, and Crowley uses his position to push Lucifer fully onto his back, smiling a little into the kiss as Lucifer looks for somewhere to put his hands, and ends up cautiously wrapping his arms around Crowley’s neck.
Crowley rewards him with a grinding of their hips together, and they moan into each other’s mouths. Crowley keeps himself propped up with one arm, and slips his other hand into Lucifer’s hair, gripping a handful of it and yanking his head back so Crowley can gain access to his throat and collarbone, what skin he can reach underneath the collar.
Lucifer grips the back of Crowley’s coat, every touch making his nerves light up like a live wire. This… this is nothing like it was with what’s-her-name. His vessel was the alpha then, and while he could tell she was thoroughly enjoying it, Lucifer was inexperienced, and very much out of his depth. But he had a cover to keep, a role to play, so he played it to the best of his ability. President Rooney’s memories helped him figure it out as he went, at least.
But this… this is so much better. All the pain, and the waiting… and this, by comparison, is glorious. Each touch, each kiss, each mark Crowley leaves on his skin ebbs the pain a little more, and transforms it into pure pleasure.
He can feel Crowley’s length straining through his trousers, hard again, as he has been for most of the past six days. Part of him wants to flip their positions, and tear that obnoxious Armani suit right off, but the part of him that’s very much in charge right now says to wait, to let Crowley tell him to first.
He whines a little as Crowley grinds their hips together again, and tugs at the back of the suit, trying to tell the demon what he wants without outright demanding it.
Crowley, of course, has no intention of doing anything Lucifer wants without hearing the other beg for it first. He chuckles a little against the omega’s delightfully warm skin. “Don’t ruin my suit. You want something, pet?”
Lucifer huffs. Yes, he wants something, you bastard. “Clothes.” They’ve done hardly more than kiss, and he’s already breathless.
“You want my clothes?” The demon teases him, grinding down again, almost punishingly hard. It’s not fair that he’s still perfectly composed, while Lucifer can hardly think straight.
Another whine leaves his throat as Lucifer shakes his head. “Clothes, off… Please?”
“Please…?”
This is ridiculous, Lucifer thinks. He huffs irritably, bucking under Crowley a little, trying to get some more friction. “Please, Master.”
“There you go, love.” The demon leaves another bite on Lucifer’s skin, feeling gratified when he hears the gasp from the blonde, a mixture of pleasure and pain. “Don’t make me remind you again.”
“Well?” There’s another tug at the back of his suit. What did he just tell him? “May I…? Master?” The last word is said questioningly, either because Lucifer doesn’t know how he feels about saying it, or because he’s very focused on having his request answered.
“Patience is a virtue, you know.” Crowley can’t decide if he’s more amused or annoyed, pulling away from the blonde’s neck so he can see his flushed face.
He gets a huff of laughter in response, a sassy remark seeming to leave the Archangel’s lips by reflex. “You say that… as if either of us gives a shit about virtues.” A second late, he remembers to add, “Master.”
Crowley, in all his ventures with torture and sex (many times taken together), has never met an omega that acted like Lucifer. For an omega, he’s very much an extrovert. If he wasn’t seeing the more submissive side of the angel now, he’d never believe he is what he is. He originally thought the archangel was an Alpha, until he got close enough to smell that he wasn’t. And then he toyed with the idea that Angels have no settings, until he met little Samandriel, who was very much an Omega. He thought perhaps Lucifer might be an overly-ambitious Beta, until he did a little digging, heard a few whispers that most would be afraid to share aloud.
If he hadn’t tasted it for himself, if he wasn’t seeing it with his own two eyes, he never would have believed it. Lucifer is by far the most strong-willed Omega he’s ever come across. Six days, he lasted in heat. Crowley himself wouldn’t have been able to hold out much longer, if Lucifer had resisted his nature any further. The king might’ve had to leave the room; he was so close to the end of his tolerance.
Crowley likes to be in control, which is pretty much a given for any Alpha, but to a degree unlike most, Crowley is ambitious. He wants to earn it, he wants his control to be hard-earned, and Lucifer, at every point in their history, has presented him with that. His safety, his crown, his freedom, and now, his dominance over the man. Part of him hopes he never truly breaks the angel down, because that spark of rebellion, that little flame of independence, that turns Crowley on more than any other part of the being.
Lucifer is still waiting for an answer, not daring to speak again while Crowley watches him, seeming to size him up for a second. “… No. Wait until I say.”
Frustration and disapproval cross Lucifer’s face, and Crowley can tell he’s considering disobeying the order anyways. The king distracts him from that line of thought, grinding against him again as he leans down to kiss under Lucifer’s jaw, stopping by the blonde’s ear to whisper, “behave, pet. I know what I’m doing… Now, kiss me.”
On command, Lucifer turns his head, and Crowley can feel the pleased shiver that runs through Lucifer at the desirable order. The hand returns to Lucifer’s hair, petting through the corn silk-fine, cotton-soft strands.
The kiss is a little slower, meant to set the pace. Crowley wants to give this impressive being what he wants… but he wants to draw it out. He wants to show Lucifer exactly how well Crowley can satisfy him. And the best way to do that, is to make sure Lucifer experiences every little thing.
Crowley takes his time, memorising the map of Lucifer’s mouth, finding the archangel’s sweet spot and teasing it, letting Lucifer experiment with what he can do, showing his appreciation for each little, tentative suck on, every lick to the underside of his tongue, to his lips. It’s strange, feeling a forked tongue against his. Strange, but definitely not bad.
Eventually, Crowley pulls back, still kissing Lucifer, pulling the angel up by the chain on his collar, and seating him on Crowley’s lap. Lucifer keeps his arms around Crowley, much more confident now, and now minding the expensive fabric, palms flat against it. Crowley breaks the kiss, pushing Lucifer’s green button-down off his shoulders. “Now. Take it off for me, love.”
No time is wasted, Lucifer tossing the garment aside like it offends him. A smile tugs at Crowley’s lips. “Your shirt. Slowly.”
With a little huff of impatience, Lucifer does as he’s asked, crossing his arms to grab the opposite sides of the bottom edge of his shirt, and taking his time pulling the thing over his head. Crowley waits, and times it so that just before Lucifer gets it past his eyes, Crowley catches the blonde’s lips with his own, surprising and pleasing the other being. The king hears the shirt rustle softly as it too, hits the ground, and feels as Lucifer takes Crowley’s hands from his straddling thighs and guides them to his hips. Uppity little angel.
Crowley doesn’t mind too terribly much though, keeping one hand there, letting it drift down and tease the edge of Lucifer’s jeans. The other, however, reprimands Lucifer for trying to control him by reaching up to pinch one of his nipples.
Lucifer gasps into the kiss, pulling away and biting his lip with a downright precious look of betrayal.
With a little laugh, Crowley soothes over the reddening flesh with a thumb, massaging and teasing it gently. “I’ll touch you when I feel like it, pet, and not before.” He keeps massaging Lucifer’s nipple, feeling it grow hard under his touch. He kisses away the slight frown on Lucifer’s features, then pushes the man back down, giving the untouched nipple some attention with his lips, nipping at and then soothing it with his tongue. Lucifer gasps and whines again and again, practically writhing under the attention. Crowley comes up, catching the blonde’s ear between his teeth before whispering to him. “Be still. Move, and you’ll regret it.”
It’s a cruel order, given how over-sensitive Lucifer is right now. But the archangel listens, giving a slightly fearful, but mostly aroused nod, gripping the sheets to help him keep still. Crowley waits, wanting a verbal response.
It doesn’t take the archangel long to realise what Crowley wants, and he finally obliges, his voice heavy with lust. “No moving. Got it.” He swallows, licking his lips, which still taste of the alpha currently tormenting him in the best way possible. “As you wish… My King.” The last words are breathed out, rushed like Lucifer is ashamed, or nervous to say them, but Crowley can tell that this time, the epithet is more genuine.
Well, it’s as Crowley asked. ‘No less’, he said.
Honestly, he likes that term better than Master. Crowley hides his smile with a kiss, tugging Lucifer’s lower lip with his teeth as he pulls away. Lucifer is still underneath him, his body straining not to move.
Crowley takes his time, moving from Lucifer’s jaw, to his neck, passing over the cold metal of the collar. He trails kisses and nips along Lucifer’s collarbone, and the angel continues to remain still as stone. His nipples too, are given more attention, and as Crowley sucks at one, rolls them between his fingers and teeth, he can feel Lucifer’s muscles tensing and relaxing in response, and he can hear the magnificent noises as they roll off Lucifer’s lips. Next is Lucifer’s midsection, his vessel’s somewhat lacking abdominal muscles (better, actually, since the 20-day-long forced upper body workout), and as Crowley licks a line down to Lucifer’s navel, he can feel the omega struggling to keep the muscles clenched under the touch of his lips, and the hands dragging down his sides.
Finally, Crowley makes it to the edge of Lucifer’s jeans, and by this point, he’s become just as impatient as the angel beneath him. His fingers undo and discard the belt; the button and zipper however, he pulls open with his teeth.
He lifts his eyes to see Lucifer with his head thrown back, his hands fisted tightly in the sheets to either side of him, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly with the strain of remaining still. Crowley makes fast work of the jeans, lifting Lucifer’s legs and tugging them off, tossing them to the ground. Lucifer’s boxer-briefs though, he takes his time with. He can see the angel’s cock clearly outlined, straining against the elastic fabric. He teases the insides of Lucifer’s thighs, earning long, low groans from the man.
Another moment of teasing, and the angel can hardly take it anymore, whining, pleading from the headboard. “Master…” He draws out the word, hoping that Crowley just picks up on what he wants, what he needs.
Reward and punishment, Crowley thinks smugly to himself. It truly is the best way to teach, the best way to train a headstrong slave, a stubborn pet. He rewards Lucifer, tearing the undergarment with his teeth, tossing the ripped cloth aside with a smirk at his angel’s responding gasp. Lucifer’s erect cock is nothing too special, but Crowley doesn’t particularly care about that. This flesh prison is merely a vessel, and quite literally, it’s the being inside that’s the extraordinary part. He draws up, teasing the underside of Lucifer’s length with his thumb.
Crowley very much has an oral fixation, but at least for this time, he’s going to draw the line at sucking Lucifer off. The angel won’t last very long if he does that, and Crowley still very much wants to draw this out.
He briefly considers bringing Lucifer right to the edge, teasing around his dick until he’s about to come, and then keeping him there with a cock ring… but Crowley doesn’t want to be quite that cruel just yet. This is Lucifer’s first time with him, he wants to give a good impression, show Lucifer what he’d be missing if he misbehaves, leave the angel wanting more. He won’t achieve that by restraining the angel.
Lucifer’s tried to hide how much it bothers him, not being one to ever show weakness, but he can tell the archangel really doesn’t like being trapped, or chained. The collar is fine, as far as Crowley can tell. It doesn’t physically restrain him so long as it’s not attached to anything; the collar is just demeaning, and Crowley’s found, Lucifer can live with things meant to be demeaning. In fact, Lucifer has a way of owning the collar, holding himself in such a way that the collar doesn’t make him look owned, no. Just as everywhere Crowley sits is a throne, everything Lucifer wears is a crown.
But the shackles, the chains, Lucifer despises them. Even now, Crowley can feel the archangel’s wings fighting against the runes binding them to Lucifer’s back in the ethereal plane, struggling for freedom.
Freedom, which Lucifer has had far too little of in his long life, so naturally, he abhors anything that restricts it. Which, right now, is Crowley. The demon pauses in his thoughts for a moment, wondering to himself. That old adage… If you love something, let it go. If it loves you, it’ll come back.
Maybe, maybe to earn Lucifer’s trust, his obedience, what he has to do isn’t restrict the being. Maybe what he has to do is give Lucifer freedom. Limits, of course, but freedom, so long as he follows a few rules.
Lucifer knows now that Crowley can stop him if need be… so why does Crowley need to worry so much about where Lucifer goes, what he does? Keeping him in a room only makes him seem afraid, worried that if he lets Lucifer do as he pleases, he might find a way out of that prison of his. If Crowley lets him go wherever, he seems more confident, secure in the knowledge that Lucifer can’t do anything he can’t stop.
All his life, Lucifer’s been controlled, locked away, held back. Everyone around him has been too afraid to let him loose. Crowley is in a position to do exactly the opposite. He’s not a threat to the King, so why treat him like one, right?
But, now’s not the time to consider such things. Crowley files the thought away, to be toyed with at a later date.
A hand that’s fairly rough for a king, calloused by hard work and days spent torturing his enemies, reaches up to grab the chain ‘round Lucifer’s neck again, tugging the naked angel up for another kiss, as it’s been far too long since Crowley has tasted those delicious lips of his.
The flavour hasn’t gotten old, and Crowley has found from previous experience that it never does, so long as the omega remains involved and captivated by him. For all his sass and impatience, Lucifer is greatly enjoying Crowley’s ministrations. As soon as he was pulled back up, Lucifer wasted no time in straddling the king’s lap again, groaning as his exposed and sensitive length brushes against the fabric of the demon’s tailored suit.
Still using the chain to keep Lucifer where he wants him, Crowley grinds up against Lucifer, swallowing the desperate moan that produces, and using the distraction to reach a hand around Lucifer’s waist, dipping his rough fingers between the cheeks of Lucifer’s wonderfully tight ass.
The angel bucks a little, stimulated on both sides, and not sure how to cope with that. He loses coordination with his lips, and Crowley almost has to lead it on his own for a moment, until Lucifer regains control of himself. The angel says something that’s muffled against Crowley’s lips, so the demon pulls back briefly, giving Lucifer an amused twitch of his brow. “Liked that, huh? What was that, love?”
The other doesn’t respond immediately, panting for a few seconds as he clears his thoughts, his eyes fighting to go back into focus. “I said… that’s cheating. I mean, respectfully. M’lord.”
Crowley’s eyes twinkle with knowing amusement. “I’m a demon, love. I never play fair. Anyways…” He finds Lucifer’s entrance, and pushes a finger inside. As he expected, it’s already slick with self-lubrication, as Omegas are wont to do when properly aroused, even when they aren’t in heat. Lucifer bites his lip with something between a yelp and a whimper, his eyes shutting and his head falling to rest on Crowley’s shoulder, his fingers gripping the fabric of Crowley’s suit so tightly. Crowley finishes his thought in a husky whisper, his beard tickling the shell of Lucifer’s ear. “… I’m King, it’s not cheating if I make the rules.”
Lucifer groans with arousal upon hearing that, his thighs and ass clenching around Crowley. He presses his forehead against Crowley’s shoulder, tensing up in response to all the stimulation, obviously not able to think about much else for the moment.
Well, who knew sticking fingers up his ass shut him up? Crowley grins at his discovery, letting Lucifer use his shoulder for support as he adds another finger, and another, stretching the virgin hole and chuckling to himself at the stream of unintelligible noises coming from the normally proud, fearsome archangel.
As Lucifer becomes more accustomed to the feeling, he starts attempting to return the favour, not happy to be merely receiving. He wants to make Crowley moan his name too, and so he presses his lips to Crowley’s neck, nuzzling and gently kissing the other man. Tentatively at first, until the other encourages him with a muttered “Good angel, that’s it,” and Lucifer gets more ambitious, kissing, nuzzling, licking his way across Crowley’s skin, but not biting. It’s unspoken, but Lucifer understands he’s not to mark Crowley’s skin, or cause him any amount of pain, sexual intentions or no.
Finally, it’s Lucifer that initiates another kiss, eyes locking with Crowley’s in askance before going for it anyways, taking what it is he wants. Crowley doesn’t mind, doesn’t mind at all, glad that Lucifer is coming back for more on his own. Hell’s King is addicted to the taste of his pet Archangel, and the opposite must be true as well.
The devil thrusts back further onto his fingers with each inward push of his fingers, needing more, moaning his need against Crowley’s lips more insistently with each passing second.
Crowley finds his prostate then, dragging the rough pads of his fingers against the easily-missed bump embedded in the walls of Lucifer’s anal cavity.
Lucifer practically screams then, his fingers digging harshly into Crowley’s back as Lucifer bucks wildly under his grip. The archangel pulls back from the kiss, burying his face in Crowley’s neck as he pants quickly, coming down from the sudden high.
“W-what…?”
In lieu of holding Lucifer still by his leash, Crowley reaches his hand up to the blonde’s soft hair again, stroking the back of it lovingly as the archangel recuperates. “That, my dear Lucifer, is where I’m going to repeatedly smash into you while I fuck your pretty little, tight ass.”
He can feel the other swallowing against his throat, and the shiver that runs down his spine, Crowley’s fingers still impaled two-knuckles deep in said ‘pretty little, tight ass’. It’s a good shiver, the kind that tells Crowley that Lucifer is wholly aroused by the statement.
A little belatedly, Crowley realised Lucifer came. His heat is still going strong though, his body needing to be more than satisfied, needing to be claimed. For good measure, and to make sure he had the spot down-pat, Crowley brushes his fingers against Lucifer’s prostate again, earning another strangled-off scream-whimper from the devil.
Lucifer pulls one of his hands from Crowley’s back, stuffing his palm into his mouth to muffle the embarrassing noise.
Crowley takes his fingers from Lucifer’s ass, debating on how he wants to continue.
Already, he’s decided he’s going to make Lucifer come again. Maybe more than twice. He’ll have Lucifer come on command for him, with his name on his lips, yes.
Slowly, he pulls Lucifer from his shoulder, a harsh hand gripping his hair to do so. He doesn’t actually care, but Lucifer doesn’t have to know that. Lucifer whimpers, sensing anger in the demon’s movements. “Did I say you could come?”
Shaking his head fervently, Lucifer’s eyes widen with a bit of fear. He didn’t know he was supposed to hold that back… and honestly, he didn’t even know if he could have. “I—”
The archangel’s hair is gripped more tightly, shutting him up before he can speak. “You spoiled my suit. What did I say about the Amani?”
“Mind it.” The devil looks down, cringing at the mess on both their fronts. Crowley pulls his hair again, punishingly, and Lucifer hurriedly adds, “M-master. I didn’t mean to!” The poor thing looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Crowley almost feels bad. But, he did ruin Crowley’s favourite Armani suit. He’ll have to learn that it’s not okay somehow.
With a feigned huff of disgust, Crowley pushes Lucifer off of him, eyeing his suit somewhat mournfully. His eyes land back on the naked archangel, who’s practically shuddering now, from unsteadiness after his orgasm, the abuse to his hair, and a touch of fear. Letting a dark smirk cross his features, Crowley straightens up, looking down on the sprawled angel. “Clean it. With your tongue.” Revenge is sweet, Crowley thinks, as recognition and regret flash in Lucifer’s soulful eyes.
He doesn’t argue though, because fair’s fair, and this is significantly less disgusting than licking clean the floor of Hell’s throne room, if nearly equally humiliating. He cautiously moves forward, and when Crowley makes no move to stop him, Lucifer kneels, hunching over in front of Crowley to lick his own semen from Crowley’s suit.
After the first few, very slow, tentative licks, Lucifer decides it’s going to be a lot easier if he speeds up the process, and doesn’t think about it too much.
He makes quick work of the suit, and while Crowley knows he’ll still need to take it into the dry cleaner’s, or just clean it magically, for now it’s passable. “Good enough.” The order to stop is gruff, with feigned, barely-concealed anger. In truth, Crowley is giddy. Lucifer has almost done a one-eighty, going from stubbornly resisting him at every turn, to obeying him without complaint. He scowls, though, watching as Lucifer grows more and more anxious. “Now clean yourself up. Use the sheet.” He carelessly waves a hand, not wanting to waste any more time on his little obedience test. The devil obeys, glad he doesn’t have to give himself a tongue bath.
With a snap, the sheets underneath them are free of mess again.
Lucifer is still shivering slightly, partially from the chill of being naked and without anyone to share body heat, and partially from being overstimulated, taken over the edge, and then still left without his heat satisfied.
He grips his own arm, rubbing it in a mixture of apprehension and desire for warmth, waiting for Crowley to decide the next course of action. He doesn’t have to wait long, the demon hooking two fingers under the rim of his collar and pulling him down, his chest to the bed. Holding him there with one hand, Crowley uses the other to unzip himself, push his trousers and boxers down past his hips unceremoniously, and start stroking his achingly hard cock. He lets go of Lucifer’s neck, confident the blonde won’t move without his say-so. Lucifer is eyeing his erection, a look that’s half-worry, and half-want painting his features.
Presenting Lucifer with the fingers he previously had embedded in the archangel’s ass, his lips twitch with amusement. “Suck, pet.”
The Morningstar knows full well where those fingers just were, but he doesn’t hesitate, wary of further pissing off the demon currently holding his heat over his head like a dog with a bone. He wraps his hand around Crowley’s wrist, first licking the underside of the fingers, and then encompassing the digits into the wet heat of his mouth. He sucks, as he did on Crowley’s tongue, pulling a grunt of approval from the king, who continues to stroke himself with his other hand.
Emboldened by the smallest sign of encouragement, Lucifer tries again with a little more enthusiasm, pulling off and taking each finger past his lips in turn. His forked tongue strokes under and around each digit, massaging each one, and thoroughly slicking them with saliva.
When Crowley is satisfied, he takes his hand back, and spreads his still-mostly-clothed legs, holding his proud and generously-proportioned cock in the now spit-slicked hand, and slipping his other hand into Lucifer’s hair again, heavy, guiding him downward, but not painful like before. “Now, put that pretty mouth of yours to work until I say otherwise. The slicker you make it, the easier it’ll be to fuck you.”
With another shiver of anticipation, Lucifer’s eyes dart up to Crowley’s face, relieved to see the anger of before gone now. He nods briefly, muttering a soft “As you wish,” before he gets to work, smart enough not to try taking the whole thing down in one go. He runs his tongue along the underside, Crowley’s hand tightening reflexively in his hair as he does so. He does that a few times, getting Crowley’s length nice and slick before he stops at the base, taking Crowley’s balls into his mouth and humming. Crowley grips his hair then, pulling Lucifer closer with a sharp intake of breath. Payback, he assumes, for giving him no warning before hitting the man’s prostate. Pleasant payback though, so he doesn’t punish Lucifer for it.
While he’s being held tightly to the demon’s crotch, Lucifer doesn’t stop, lapping at the underside of Crowley’s testicles, with all the finesse and enthusiasm of a virgin. What Lucifer lacks in experience, he more than makes up for in ingenuity and willingness. When Crowley finally loosens his grip, Lucifer wastes no time in swallowing down the tip of Crowley’s cock, earning a string of profanity from the King, who struggles to hold off on his orgasm.
Lucifer chokes down as much as he can take, comes up for air, and tries again, and again. Crowley ‘helps’, speeding Lucifer up and eventually almost keeping the Archangel bobbing entirely on his own, while Lucifer just tries to control his gag reflex. Crowley changes his mind again, deciding that Lucifer is definitely asking for it, anyways.
And, it’s not like he’ll have any trouble getting hard again. Not with Lucifer catering to his whims like he is.
Lucifer is taking him down fairly far every time; he’s not getting it all the way down his throat, but Crowley doesn’t expect him to be able to, especially not when it’s probably his first time sucking cock. But then again, he’s an archangel. He doesn’t even need to breathe, so why not? “Relax yourself. As much as you can.”
Wide blue eyes dart back up, questioning. He doesn’t fight the command though, relaxing as many of his muscles as he consciously can.
Crowley slows the pace slightly, but starts pulling Lucifer down farther. He feels the other’s muscles spasm around his cock each time, Lucifer coming up making gagging sounds, and struggling to stay relaxed, making a valiant effort.
He’s about two-thirds of the way in when Lucifer frantically taps his thigh, a full-body shudder running through him. Crowley pulls him up immediately, worry crossing his features as Lucifer jerks off of him, turning to the side and dry-heaving. His body convulses a few times, his white-knuckled fingers gripping the sheets as his body tries to expel something, but comes up empty-handed.
When it’s over, he all but collapses, whimpering softly.
Feeling a little guilty despite himself, Crowley tentatively reaches a hand over to the hurting Omega, gently carding a hand through his hair. Lucifer flinches at the touch, and Crowley withdraws.
“S-sorry.” Surprisingly, the apology comes from Lucifer.
“No, love. That was my bad. I misjudged.” The demon admits that he’s at fault, but doesn’t apologise. This time, when he pets the blonde’s soft hair, the archangel stays still, shooting him a look of surprise at the unexpected admission. Crowley strokes the side of his flushed, over-exerted face. “Need a moment?”
Lucifer leans into the touch. “… Just a moment…” The devil decides then, that Crowley isn’t all he seems to be. So far Lucifer’s seen him be nothing but controlling, dominant in a ‘my way, or the highway’ sense. But now, when Lucifer expected him to be angry, expected him to force Lucifer to try again, he wasn’t. He was still in control, of course, Lucifer had no doubt about that. But… He wasn’t abusing his sway over Lucifer, not like others had before him. He recognised the other’s limits, his boundaries, and respected them. A little, teasing smile tugs at Lucifer’s lips. “Then, I want to try again…” he purrs, “my King.”
Where has this being been all his life? Crowley gets chills as Lucifer looks at him with eyes that reflect Lucifer’s true age and power, roving over the demon like he’d devour him as soon as suck him off. The King returns the look with a cocky little grin, relaxing back, legs spread for the so-called mighty archangel. “Well, in that case. Whenever you’re ready, pet.”
He doesn’t have long to wait. Lucifer catches his breath again, then returns to between Crowley’s legs, taking the head of the demon’s erection between his lips, and pushing Crowley onto his back in the process. The king allows it, but still has one hand on Lucifer’s head, asserting his control. Lucifer sets the pace, picking up almost where he left off, just a little slower than Crowley had him moving. He hums gently, listening to the gratifyingly desperate noises the alpha makes as he takes him down each time, getting the other back for his manhandling earlier.
Two-thirds down, and Lucifer keeps his pace, taking him down a little deeper each time. But when he swallows down about three-fourths of the other’s length, he suddenly breaks pattern, sucks hard as he comes off, gulps down air, and then takes Crowley all the way down, without warning. Right to the base, his throat continuing to spasm around Crowley, obviously struggling, but he holds himself there, burying his nose in the demon’s pubic hairs.
Hell’s king’s eyes roll upwards, and his mirrored ceiling serves a different purpose than he originally intended as he gets the most glorious view of Lucifer, all bare skin and smooth curves, on hands and knees, with Crowley fully sheathed down his throat. And Crowley, still more or less fully clothed, his face properly flushed now, properly debauched by the angel currently swallowing his dick down like it’s his sole duty to do so.
Crowley comes, right there, right down Lucifer’s throat, and the Archangel swallows down every last drop of it, the most satisfied, devilish smile gracing his face as he pulls off for the last time, his forked tongue flicking over the still-oozing tip, and then licking his lips.
No thought goes into Crowley’s next action as he practically tackles the smug Archangel, pinning Lucifer underneath himself and attacking that smug smile with his lips, once again receiving no resistance as he kisses Lucifer deeply. He dominates the blonde, reminding him who the alpha is, and moaning at the taste of himself mixed with the devil’s unique flavour, more intense now than it ever was before. Lucifer has found his balance, how he fits against Crowley, and he gladly lets Crowley take his mouth, submitting to him not because he has no choice but to, but because he enjoys it. Because Crowley sees him as a treasure worth conquering, and Lucifer sees Crowley as an equal now, a being worth submitting to.
By making Crowley come on his terms, Lucifer proved that he affects the demon equally as much as the demon affects him, and in doing so, regained his confidence. He moans as Crowley hits his sweet spot again, then pats the demon’s shoulder, requesting a chance to speak.
The demon obliges after another second, pulling away just enough so that their lips aren’t technically touching, though they’d probably brush against one another if they spoke. “I know, love.” Lucifer doesn’t even have to say what he wants, but Crowley wants to hear it anyways. “Tell me what you need.”
Lucifer’s lips twitch a little in bemusement, knowing exactly why Crowley bothers asking. He pecks the demon’s lips, then whispers huskily into the Scotsman’s ear. “Fuck me nine ways to hell, my King.”
It’s Crowley’s turn to groan, lazily rolling his hips down against Lucifer’s; their legs tangled together on top of the blood-red comforter. He’s already hardening again, the passionate kiss, the taste of himself and Lucifer mixed together, and Lucifer’s seductive voice turning him on faster than he thought possible. “Ask, and receive.” He returns in kind, catching Lucifer’s lips again, far from done with the angel’s forked tongue.
How did his greatest enemy become his greatest turn-on? Crowley reaches down between them, gripping both of their cocks and giving them a few quick pulls, encouraging the blood flow to return more quickly.
The great thing about being a supernatural creature, is the almost non-existent refraction period. Crowley’s half-hard before he knows it, and Lucifer’s about that way as well. He doesn’t bother waiting for the rest, having put off fucking the blonde for far too long as it is. He grabs one of Lucifer’s legs, pushing it up and throwing the ankle over his shoulder, kneeling in front of Lucifer’s entrance. The blonde braces himself, eyes watching Crowley steadily, fearlessly as he reaches for the headboard.
It’s a good idea, Crowley thinks as he lines his still-sensitive, half-hard cock up with the puckered ring of muscle that makes up Lucifer’s hole. He should probably wear a condom, just in case a dead vessel can still conceive… but Crowley isn’t the most clear-headed right now, and Lucifer doesn’t know better. (Lucky for them, the warding on Lucifer’s vessel prevents that, not that either of them ever realise it.)
There’s a moment of stillness as they lock eyes, Crowley not-quite touching Lucifer’s entrance, and Lucifer with eyes as old as time, watching his former tormentor with a gaze full of want.
And then it’s broken, Lucifer’s eyes falling suddenly shut as Crowley pushes in all at once, burying himself to the hilt in the angel’s lubricated and well-stretched anus. The archangel releases a cry that’s somewhere between pain and pleasure, which by now, have become one and the same for Lucifer. Crowley breathes heavily, allowing Lucifer to adjust, and pushing his leg back further, clearing the way for him. Fuck, he’s tight. Where his fingers could reach, it isn’t quite so, but there’s plenty after that, and Lucifer’s clenching down on him, and Crowley is having a hard time thinking straight.
He grunts, shifting his hips back a fraction and listening to the sharp intake of breath it draws from the devil.
A second longer, and Crowley is out of patience, having waited as long as he can stand for Lucifer to adjust to his cock. He’s oversensitive; he feels every clench of the man’s muscles. “Bloody ‘ell, Lucifer. Relax, love.”
And that’s all the warning the devil gets before Crowley pulls his hips back and snaps them right back to Lucifer’s ass, fast and without mercy.
Lucifer would have it no other way, one hand holding the headboard, and the other gripping the bedsheets with white knuckles as the last of the pain in his abdomen melts into pleasure, and he feels nothing but bliss, and the rocking of the (very sturdily built, mind you) bed underneath him as Crowley pounds into him, with all the ferocity of an alpha claiming his mate.
Before long, they’re both hard again, Lucifer’s cock bumping against his abdomen with each thrust of Crowley’s hips, and Crowley keeping his promise now, fucking hard into Lucifer hole, and consistently slamming into Lucifer’s prostate, until Lucifer is practically screaming under Crowley, barely keeping his grip on the headboard. Screams of pleasure reverberate around the room, and Lucifer is far too gone to try and hold them back at all. As Crowley hoped he would, he’s staring up at the ceiling, eyes fixated on the reflection of himself, and Crowley slamming mercilessly into him, having a clear view of the demon’s engorged dick disappearing into his small-by-comparison entrance with each thrust, his eyes blown wide with lust.
Crowley is getting close, he can feel it, his thrusts growing more and more erratic as time passes. And Lucifer is too, if the desperate panting between his cries of pleasure is anything to go off of. Crowley reaches a hand down, pumping Lucifer’s cock one, two, three times, then locking eyes with the devil. He slams into Lucifer especially hard, determined to have the blonde’s full attention. “Come for me, pet.”
As soon as the words leave Crowley’s lips, Lucifer is over the edge, one more slam into his prostate doing the trick. Crowley fucks him through his orgasm, Lucifer dissolving into a mess of unintelligible English and Enochian, not that Crowley’s in any state of mind where he could translate it. The only thing Crowley does recognise, is his name.
That one word, uttered in the throes of orgasm by the deadliest creature in Hell or on Earth, his name, is what sends Crowley over the edge too, filling Lucifer up and then some. Lucifer’s name is the only one on his lips, as he feels his cock knot, something he hasn’t done in… a very long time.
The two of them collapse, Crowley on top of Lucifer, a tangle of limbs and spent man. Well, they aren’t separating for a while, he muses, beginning to rearrange their limbs after a moment of inaction.
Lucifer is covered in his own spend again, and not wanting to bother with it, Crowley just snaps him and the bed clean. Electing to stay put, Crowley wraps an arm around the fucked-out archangel’s waist and pulls his back flush to Crowley’s chest. Lucifer doesn’t fight it, mostly limp and entirely pliant under Crowley’s hands. If anything, he tries to turn into Crowley’s chest, before realising that the cock embedded deep in his ass isn’t gonna budge anytime soon. He tiredly raises a questioning brow at the demon behind him, who shrugs helplessly. “This doesn’t… usually happen.”
Half a smirk tugs at Lucifer’s lips, and he gently nuzzles under Crowley’s neck. “You mate with archangels in heat often, do you?”
“Oh, all the time.”
Calling his bullshit, Lucifer elbows Crowley in the side, earning a breathy laugh.
“Temper, love.” Crowley kisses the back of Lucifer’s neck, and the Omega relaxes into it. “And they call you the Adversary.”
“Stuff it, oh terrifying King of Hell.” He coughs. “Softie.”
Many Episodes later, involving many Shenanigans and much Drama.
Dean and Sam have never been more uncomfortable in their lives. Never. Nothing could possibly top this. Crowley… and Lucifer.
The boys exchange a look. They heard rumours, heard Crowley talking to the devil while on the phone with them, but to see it firsthand… it’s surreal. Castiel is equally uncomfortable, if not more so, because it’s not just Satan and the King of Hell acting that way, but Crowley and his brother.
They heard that Crowley had… somehow… reigned Lucifer in, and that Lucifer more or less worked for him now, but this is not what they expected.
Finally, the two powerful beings part, Crowley putting a hand on his mate’s shoulder to tell him enough is enough. “Love, now’s not a good time.” He sounded vaguely irritated, but the irritation was quickly overshadowed by amusement as he caught the looks on the Winchesters’ faces.
“You don’t have time for me?” The devil pouts, yes pouts, looking for all the world like someone just told him his favourite pet had died. He wipes away a non-existent tear. “I see, it’s fine.” The blonde sniffs dramatically, turning his back.
And now, the irritation is back. Crowley’s eyes narrow a fraction at the recalcitrant archangel. He only needs to say one word. “Lucifer.”
The response to his tone is immediate, the archangel dropping the act a little sheepishly. “I’m just lonely, sheesh.”
Crowley’s hand finds his jawline, and the demon forces Lucifer to look at him. “I know, you needy brat,” The insult is said with exasperated fondness, “which is why I haven’t told you to go home. You may stay, but you best behave yourself. You know how I get about business.”
The only response he gets is a nod from an apologetic angel. To make up for his harsh tone, Crowley pulls Lucifer to his side with an arm around his waist, pecking his cheek before turning back to the Winchesters. “As I was saying—”
Hell’s king is interrupted by an astonished Dean. “Wait wait, how’d you do that?”
“Do what?” Crowley arches a brow innocently. “I do many things, I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific.”
The hunter gestures towards Lucifer exasperatedly. “That. He just… listened to you. Do you have some kind of spell on him? How are you making him do what you want?”
Lucifer bristles, looking like he’d very much like to smite Dean for talking about him like he isn’t there. The air crackles for a second, but all Crowley needs to do is run his fingers through Lucifer’s hair a few times to calm him down.
The demon’s eyes flash with a dangerous mixture of amusement and anger as he casts a jaundice glance at Dean. “Make him? Oh Dean, I doubt I could make Lucifer do anything he didn’t want to.”
At that response, a grin of approval crosses Lucifer’s face, and he sticks his forked tongue out at Dean before chiming in with, “Damn straight.” He nuzzles into Crowley’s neck, only stopping when Crowley gently waves him off.
“Hush, love,” Crowley cooes, rubbing the appeased archangel’s hip fondly. “No, he’s very much a free spirit. Luckily for me, what he wants, and what I want, are one and the same for now.” His hand slips under Lucifer’s shirt, and under the waistline of his jeans. The blonde shoots Crowley a look that says ‘go ahead, tiger.’ Crowley rolls his eyes at the sex-addicted excuse for an archangel. “It took us a while to see eye-to-eye—”
“Understatement.” Lucifer snorts, and then immediately sobers up as Crowley shoots him a chastising look.
When he’s satisfied that Lucifer won’t interrupt again, Crowley continues. “It was a little rough getting here, but we’re good for one another. There’s something to be said for a healthy Alpha-Omega Relationship. I like a challenge; he likes being challenging.” The king finishes pointedly, looking at his mate.
The little shit just grins back cheekily, then addresses the Winchesters in a loud whisper, his hand shielding his words ineffectively from Crowley. “Challenging, he calls it.” Before Crowley can get exasperated with him again, he leans down to peck the demon on the lips. “I’m an angel, and you know it.” The demon rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, but doesn’t argue, and Lucifer continues, addressing the Winchesters again. “Nobody’s making anybody do anything, ‘kay? It’s real simple. He treats me like a Queen, and in return, I graciously let him treat me like a Queen.”
Now it’s Crowley’s turn to snort, losing the internal battle with himself, and smacking Lucifer on the bum. “And what an honour it is. Now, can we get back to business? I’m a busy man, with things to do.”
Grinning, because he’s a child and can’t help himself, Lucifer raises his hand. “I’m things!”
Everyone groans. Everyone but Crowley, who shakes his head fondly and shuts up his Angel with another kiss.
Fin.