Lucifer is royally pissed – emphasis on the royal.
Being chained in some dark, dirty pit of hell is no place for an Archangel. And yet here he is, padlocked in. He can feel the material of the chains suppressing his grace down in his chest, and try as he might it does no good to fight. And obviously he’s not stupid to try to break the chains.
So when Crowley eventually comes back he’s in a very bad mood indeed. Even his wings are bound to his back so he can’t even show his displeasure there. He says nothing in response to Crowley’s taunts; the only thing keeping him grounded is the thought of murder. God, what he wouldn’t give to kill right about now.
“Are you listening to me, pet?” Crowley’s palm makes contact with his face – just hard enough to sting, just hard enough to get his attention. He makes a vague sort of growling sound, glaring up at the demon, blue eyes flashing with anger.
“Not really, no,” He retorts. “Maybe say something interesting and I will.”
“Watch your mouth.” Crowley yanks on the chain connected to his collar, driving the breath from his throat. They’re face to face now, and Lucifer is trying very, very hard not to do something incredibly stupid. And then Crowley kisses him, roughly, and he inhales sharply, hands and wings both jerking against their chains.
“Interesting enough for you?” Crowley growls softly once he’s pulled back; Lucifer lets out a long breath.
Crowley yanks on the leash again, pulling him onto the floor on his hands and knees. He winces at the grit that finds his soft palms, but doesn’t let it stop him from raising his eyes to glare at the dark-robed demon.
“I wouldn’t push your luck.”
Lucifer resists the urge to smirk; his wings are fluttering restlessly, and he shifts his weight back onto his heels, head tilting.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” He says, mock-innocently. “Me? Break the rules? You must have the wrong Archangel.”
Crowley slaps him again, a little harder, and he hisses, grinning triumphantly. His grace is curling and uncurling in his chest, aching to be let free, and if he can just.. just wiggle..
The unzip of Crowley’s pants catches his attention first, though, and all the blood in his body rushes to his face. Crowley notices, too, and can’t help the smirk that crosses his face at the change in the angel. He crouches in front of Lucifer, who lets out a shaky breath.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Crowley muses, watching the desperation that flares briefly in Lucifer’s eyes. “After all.. you’re you..”
“I..” Lucifer takes a deep breath – in, out, lips parted a little, scanning Crowley’s face for any indication of truth or lie. “Of.. of course we shouldn’t.”
“And?” Crowley’s eyebrows raise; carefully he touches Lucifer’s face and is pleased to find the Archangel doesn’t move.
“Use your words, pet,” Crowley murmurs, moving his hand up and stroking through the angel’s blond hair. “Speak.”
“I..” Lucifer’s eyes close and he grits his teeth. The desperation in his grace isn’t from wanting to be free – he’s going into heat, damnit. He’s trembling a little, chewing his lower lip. Crowley smirks.
“Cat got your tongue, boy? Maybe you want some help with that.”
Crowley kisses him again, pushing him against the chair he’d been sitting in only minutes previously. He can’t help the strangled whine that escapes when Crowley palms him through his jeans; his hips roll idly upwards, struggling to keep his calm demeanor.
“How about,” Crowley breathes, kissing down his jaw, his neck, leaving little bruises on the pale skin of his vessel. “You suck me off, and we’ll see what happens from there, hm?”
Lucifer nods dazedly, although when Crowley stands his head begins to clear a little. This is sick – beneath him. The roles should be reversed here, damn. And yet when it comes out Lucifer feels the release in his abdomen, the flow of blood snapping from his face to his groin. He makes a low whining sound, tugging at his chains.
“Maybe in a little, kitten. Prove you’re going to be good for me.”
Lucifer can’t think straight, he needs it so bad. Being in the Cage had repressed his heat for the centuries he’d been there and now it’s hitting him like a ton of bricks. His mouth opens obediently, letting Crowley’s cock slip in, and he gags when it hits the back of his throat. He lets his tongue slide against it; it falls easily into the fork in the tip of his tongue.
“Good,” Crowley growls softly. “Now suck, Luci.”
Crowley’s gotta admit – Lucifer is attractive, especially like this – on his knees, fully clothed but so obviously achingly hard, sucking on a dick; his lips pink and swollen, blue eyes blown wide and hooded as he gazes pleadingly up at Crowley. He hollows his cheeks in the right places, runs his tongue over every inch of Crowley’s cock, gags when he can’t take anymore and takes more anyway. Crowley runs his fingers through Lucifer’s short blond hair, murmuring soft praise for how good he’s behaving, and each praise earns another whine, another whimper from the angel.
“Please,” is the first word out of Lucifer’s mouth when Crowley pulls back. He’s pink in the face, squirming in his chains, so hard and desperate and rutting into the air. He’s not touching himself, not yet anyway, but Crowley’s pretty sure if he lets it continue he will be. So the demon kneels, kisses and marks all over his neck again, briefly, distracting him to undo the chains keeping him bound. They fall in loose piles around him, and his wings stretch and then he winds his arms around Crowley’s neck and keens lowly in a sound of pure need.
“What do you say, kitten,” Crowley breathes against his skin, one hand slipping up under his shirt to feel the cool skin of his back. “Talk to me, love.”
“Need you,” Lucifer gasps back. “In heat – I need – I want it I need it..”
“Need what? You have to use your words.”
“Need to be fucked.” Lucifer’s hips jerk upward again and the angel moans shakily. “Oh, please, please, fuck me..”
Crowley croons, soft, letting his hand drift down and rub Lucifer through the jeans to take some of the pressure off. Lucifer moans again, pulling closer to Crowley’s body, the heat running through him incessantly.
“Please.” Lucifer’s actually begging now, thrusting helplessly against Crowley’s palm. “Please, please, Master, please..”
Crowley smirks a little, and he undoes the bottom on Lucifer’s jeans, to which Lucifer makes a relieved whine. He can see the stain spreading across the front of Lucifer’s underwear. Lucifer swallows hard, tugging needily on Crowley’s coat.
“Patience, love,” Crowley soothes. “Let’s get you out of these clothes first, yeah?”
“Kay,” Lucifer breathes, immediately beginning to fumble with his jacket and shrugging it off. His shirt is next; but when he moves to squirm out of his jeans Crowley pauses him. For the time being he can’t really care that Crowley looks smug as hell; he wants it now, needs it, it’s not fair.
“Tell you what, Luce. Get your clothes off, bend over, and get prepped. I’ll be right back.”
Lucifer nods, although he can’t resist the helpless sort of whine that escapes his throat when Crowley pulls away. Still; when Crowley crosses the room and leaves Lucifer’s obedient to a fault, managing to get out of his jeans and underwear. Then, carefully, he leans over with his chest against the seat of his chair, and he slicks a finger with his tongue before reaching around and pressing at his entrance. He bites down on a hiss as it sinks in; carefully, slowly he moves the digit, trying to get used to having something in him. He’s never done it before; but hell, it feels good.
He eases in a second, a third, and after a moment of working he begins to scissor. He lets his head drop to his arm on the chair, panting softly, his hips rocking helplessly. He wants – he needs Crowley to come back, right now, or he may just fucking die.
As if on cue, the demon murmurs, “Good,” against his neck, and his hips jerk and he gasps, arching his back, letting his wings rub against Crowley’s clothes. Crowley’s pressing down on him; the Englishman reaches between his legs, gently beginning to stroke him. He whines, closing his eyes. He can feel Crowley against him, hard as stone, but he knows Crowley’s gonna drag it out.
“Please,” He breathes out. “Please. Fuck me.”
“Stop touching yourself, then, and hold still.”
Lucifer gingerly removes his fingers, folding his arms on the seat of the chair. He hears the pop of the lube bottle and shivers, wings ruffling desperately. Then Crowley’s pressing close to him, teasing, not entering at once, and he whines helplessly.
“Crowley,” He pleads, pushing his hips. “Crowley, please.”
Without a response Crowley pushes in, and Lucifer makes a strangled sort of moan, nails digging into the palms of his hands. Crowley croons against his shoulder, leaving little kisses and hickies. He’s fucking full, he almost feels sick with it, but every part of him is burning and he needs this so badly.
“Gonna move now, okay?” Crowley murmurs, voice husky, and he nods. He can feel the rubbing as Crowley pulls back, and yelps at the rough thrust back in, and yet his hips rock back of their own accord. Crowley picks up a steady pace, slow and easy, holding Lucifer’s waist to get more leverage.
Lucifer’s all breathy whines and whimpers now, face buried in his elbows as he moves in time to Crowley’s thrusts. His wings fold and unfold periodically, trying to find some sort of steadiness, and there’s goosebumps all over his body. Every now and again Crowley runs a finger down his spine, tracing the bases of his wings but not touching, despite Lucifer’s helpless, vague huff of protest.
Finally – thank God – Crowley picks up the pace, pushing in harder and moving faster. Lucifer’s high on bliss, it feels so fucking good to his insides, and his grace curls itself practically into knots with pleasure. Crowley’s murmuring all sorts of nothings against his neck, telling all the things they’d do if they had the time and the space, and stroking him with one hand, and he sort of feels like he might explode at any given moment.
Then Crowley finds his sweet spot and he gasps, pushing back, and he feels Crowley smirk against his shoulder momentarily before the demon immediately aims for it with every thrust. Lucifer’s getting louder by now, wings flapping vaguely, just for a sense of security. Crowley’s fingers stroke over the downy feathers, inching closer to the base, and each touch drags a louder moan from the Archangel.
“Can’t, I can’t,” Lucifer whines. “Master, please, please, I need’ta..”
“Need to what, kitten?” Crowley purrs softly, tugging on one pierced ear with his teeth. “We’ve been over this.. use your words, pet.”
“Need’t’cum, please. Let me cum. Please.”
“That’s right.” Crowley’s free hand moves to Lucifer’s cock, stroking slow and rough, and it only takes a few more thrusts to push Lucifer over; he moans, vague, strangled, as he releases on the floor, and his grace wraps itself a few times around his heart and he’s suffocating in the pleasure, seeing stars so bright he thinks he may go blind.
When he’s relaxed Crowley pulls out and stands, letting him rest a moment before stroking through his hair and murmuring, “Finish me with your mouth, lovely.” And Lucifer does so obediently, turning slowly and raising on his knees to suck obediently, watching Crowley through half-lidded blue eyes. He lets his tongue slide over the tip; Crowley groans softly, pulling back to finish on his face. They’re both panting, but Lucifer licks his lips and rubs his face with his hands.
“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Crowley teases, and Lucifer lets out a huff, cleaning his hands with his tongue.
“I.. suppose..” He’s pink as he retrieves his underwear from where he’d tossed it haphazardly. “But don’t expect it to be common. I was just.. in heat, is all.”
“Mhm.” Crowley watches with amusement as Lucifer gathers his clothes. “Of course.”