Chapter Text
"Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?"
-Shakespeare, Henry IV
--
You weren’t even really surprised when the devil appeared in your room.
You hardly looked away from the show you were watching, despite the sweat on your neck and the pounding of your heart. Your pride wouldn’t allow it.
“Satan,” you acknowledged.
“Hello, darling,” he drawled, flicking his wrist to turn off the television and sliding towards you on the bed.
“What are you doing in my room?”
“What does a couple usually do in a room at night?”
“We aren’t a couple.”
He faked a hurt expression and you rolled out of bed, turning your back on Lucifer to go for the mini-fridge. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. If you could kill him, he’d be dead. Being at that impasse, you might as well offer him a beer.
He accepted.
“You’ve tried the kidnap-and-torture routine with me before,” you reminded, “Do we really have to go through all that again?”
“I have no intention of torturing you,” he said. You noticed the screaming omission of the word “kidnap.”
“Right, well, I’m not interested in spending my Wednesday night chilling with Satan, and I’m sure you have important evil schemes to work on, so please feel free to go.”
Instead of leaving, he spread his arms across the headboard and crossed his legs. “Nah,” he said, popping the bottle cap off with his teeth.
“Is this about those demons in Iowa? Because that totally wasn’t me.”
He raised both eyebrows. “And that’s not suspicious at all. No, it’s not about the demons.”
You plopped on the corner of the bed farthest from him and gestured, then what?
“You know, I haven’t walked the Earth since the Fall?”
“I thought that was kind of the point of the Cage.”
“I’d hardly seen living humans since the era of Adam and Eve, and now there’s billions of you. You went a little overboard when Dad said ‘go and be fruitful.’ Now his utopia is just overcome with all of your…respirating.”
He smiled, but apparently you didn’t get the joke.
“Your vessel’s looking better,” you commented, cocking your head, “Did you have to kill someone for that?”
“Several someones.” This time, his smile dripped such sin that it was hard to mistake the source of his joy. “It won’t last, though.” At that, he frowned again. “Alas.”
“Ah, yes, my heart aches for you. Tragic, that you’re faced with a slight roadblock in murdering my entire species.”
“We all have our crosses to bear.”
His deadpan, straight-faced response was nearly a challenge: who would crack first?
“Comparing yourself to Jesus? Really?” you finally choked, and then you were both laughing hysterically.
You could admit that you were a little fucked up, but laughs were too few and far between in this life. Your expected lifespan was short enough already that joking around and enjoying yourself often came before basic survival instincts. Basic survival instincts including not being attracted to Lucifer’s vessel, which was suddenly and conspicuously absent of wounds and lesions.
“Alright, alright, I have a terrible confession to make,” he said once you were both breathing again.
What could Lucifer confess that he found bad? This would be one for the records. You awaited his words with excitement, until finally he declared:
“I don’t want to kill you.”
You choked on your beer.
This was no mere liquid-out-the-nose embarrassment; no, this was oh-fuck-I’m-going-to-die panic as you tried to cough the alcohol out of your windpipe. The more you coughed the more it stung, and the more it stung the harder it was to cough, and the harder it was to cough was the longer you went without air. You ran to sputter into the sink, mildly disappointed in losing half a craft beer to one of Lucy’s jokes.
Indeed, when you turned around, he rolled his entire head along with his eyes, and drew out the three syllables: “Nevermind.”
“Yeah, thought so.” Your voice creaked. He handed over his own beer, which you swigged.
“Saved by the devil,” he said with a small smile.
“Touched by an angel.”
He snorted. “Yes, first Jesus and now a Lifetime rerun.”
“You know, if you have nothing else going for you, at least you get pop culture references.”
“I have been blamed for MTV.”
You shared another laugh, and settled a little more comfortably on the bed, this time.
“Do you know how angels are born?” his face was suddenly devoid of all jokes.
“No, actually. When a mommy angel and a daddy angel really love each other?”
“We don’t do anything as crass as…mating. God formed us individually. We’re each made to his divine specifications, answerable to only one parent. When he stopped making angels to focus on animals…that stung. And humans, who were not only the farthest thing from divine, but could deny Dad’s very existence? And he did nothing to prove them wrong? Infuriating.”
“Oh.” You really had no idea how to respond to that.
“We are a finite species. Some tried to solve this by taking human vessels, creating the nephilim. I couldn’t stomach the thought of touching a human, much less creating a bastard chimera and defiling my father’s work. Then I was locked in the Cage. Left to rot, only corrupted human souls as company.”
You couldn’t exactly say you were sorry, but you were definitely curious.
“This man, Nick,” Lucifer gestured up and down his body, “Is my first vessel in millions of years. Pure angels don’t have the same biological needs that humans do. We don’t have to eat or shit or fuck. That’s technically true when we’re in a vessel, as well, but that doesn’t mean the body doesn’t have its urges.”
You fought down the realization bubbling to the surface of your mind, because that was just too ridiculous. No way.
Being you, the thought flew out your mouth anyways. “Are you telling me you’re horny?”
Lucifer made a face at you, but didn’t deny it.
“Holy shit, you seriously showed up at my hotel room in the middle of the night to tell me you’re horny?”
“Humanity’s flair for language continuously amazes me.”
“But… wait. Does that mean you’re a virgin?”
“That’s the human word for it, yes.”
Your nervous laughter sparked and wouldn’t stop. Yet another bad habit. But what else could you do? Lucifer himself was chaste and apparently asking you to defile him? Would nothing ever be normal again? Freaking apocalypse.
He glared. “I’m about to chain you up and spank you.”
“Oh, you kinky son of a bitch. Normally virgins start with the more vanilla stuff.” You tried really hard not to giggle, because getting murdered was not on your to-do list, but it proved impossible. Then, you realized that you’d lost your virginity before the freaking Devil, and if only the pinch-faced lady at church had known that—
“Are you done yet?” he snapped.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just hard to believe. I mean, I guess it makes sense. You hate us and all. But you’re the one people talk about when they’re calling sex a sin.”
“Darlin’, people nowadays don’t understand much about sin,” he drawled, “Sin is wishing ill on Dad’s creations. Sin is the intention to cause harm, or to put oneself above others. They say my sin was pride. Lust was more Lilith’s gig.”
“They say? What do you say?”
“I wanted to protect my family. I didn’t want Dad distracted by his shiny new toys; I wanted Heaven back the way it was, when we were enough.”
You winced microscopically. It was a feeling you could empathize with, even if your own hurt feelings hadn’t led to attempted genocide.
“Now I want other things.” His voice dropped, became a quiet, rough whisper. You met his eyes and were captured by their dark intensity. When you didn’t respond, he leaned towards you. His eyes alternated between your own and your lips. Cupping your face, he inched closer, his breath heavy and his eyes full of questions.
His mouth was warm. Softer and wetter than you would’ve imagined. The slightest touch of his lips left you breathless. The hint of his tongue forced out a keening moan, which seemed to please him. All at once he pulled you closer, until you were straddling him, until he was devouring you. Already his heat and hardness featured prominently against your thigh.
You weren’t thinking clearly enough to do anything but obey when he growled, “Close your eyes.”
A moment of vertigo, and you were somewhere else. A cream-colored bed hidden among trees. For a moment you pulled away from Lucifer in amazement. Though overgrown, the place was beautiful. Unrecognizable flowers sprouted up between an intricate lattice of roots and grass. You rose from the hidden alcove to see more, finding yourself surrounded by birds, a stream, and more plants. Trees and flowers and shrubs and grass. Ferns and cedars and moss. Songs from a source you couldn’t find, and a perfect, filtered sunlight caressing you.
“Where are we?”
“Eden.”
You finally turned back to the archangel. “Seriously?”
He shrugged. “I do all my best sinning here.”
“Luce?”
“Yes?”
“Are those your wings?” You gestured behind him to his shadow, which overtook much more ground than it ought to. He grumbled something in annoyance, and his shadow righted itself.
“This place is somewhere between Heaven and Earth. It’s harder to contain my true form.”
“Don’t.”
He gaped. It was an adorable look on him.
“Don’t hide them. I’d like to see them. If that’s okay.”
Good lord, was the devil actually blushing?
Nonetheless, he flung his shirt off, closed his eyes, and unfurled his wings.
In direct light they might’ve blinded you. In this dappled little glade, they shone like a sun setting over the ocean. His long flight feathers looked tarnished—even tattered in some places—but he was no less beautiful for it. More than any Renaissance artist could have imagined.
His eyes were still shut tight when you reached to touch his face, mirroring his actions from earlier.
“This is far more vulnerable than you humans consider nudity to be.”
“I’m honored,” you said, reaching to trace along the pattern of feathers. He hissed lightly before snapping his fingers. Suddenly, you were naked and trying to cover yourself.
“We’ve even now.”
“You ass.”
“Isn’t this kind of the point?” he angled you back towards the tree.
“How would you know?”
“You’re right. Perhaps you should show me.”
You were backing up in time with his predatory steps, not realizing how far you’d danced until your legs hit the bed.
“This isn’t what I’d imagine from the Devil,” you whispered.
“You forget we’re all about consent, darlin’.” His voice was equally low, but you seemed to feel its vibrations down to your core. “And unlike some of my brothers and sisters, I prefer seduction to coercion.”
With that, his lips reached yours. You melted into him with a groan, twisting around so he would land first. You straddled him again, rutting more furiously, unable to take your time. His roughness, nails and teeth digging sharply, belied the near-shyness with which he explored you. Lucifer seemed to take one body part at a time—first your back, then your hips, up your belly to your breasts—and start with tentative strokes before he could meet your passion with his normal cockiness. The contrast made your head spin.
You finally had to pull back with a gasp, trying to breathe, and his hand fisted in your hair and held you close. His vessel’s heart thundered beneath your hand. You leaned down to nibble at the spot just below his ear.
The sound he made reminded you that the lover in your arms was the furthest thing from human.
You made sure to leave a love-bite on your fallen angel’s neck, and he made sure it didn’t instantly heal.
That truth shocked you suddenly—a part of Lucifer was yours now. That heady power, and his half-crazed eyes, stole the last of your conscious thought. You took his face in both hands, kissed him thoroughly, and maneuvered the two of you into a horizontal position, you on bottom to leave room for his wings.
You made sure to lock his gaze and catch his attention before saying, “Here’s my consent. I need you. Now, please.”
He didn’t make you wait.
No, on the contrary, he slammed to the hilt before your next breath, his head buried against your neck as you both adjusted. Your squirming let him know to move again.
The pace was slow at first, experimental again. He shifted your hips back and forth, trying different angles and pressures. You wrapped your legs around him, scooting down until finally he could rub at that spot on the front of your walls.
Once he saw your expression, all hesitation stopped. He snapped into you, wings flared, mouth tight. You raked your nails down his arm and keened. He faltered, slowing just a bit, and the crest growing in your belly dropped.
Well, that wouldn’t do.
You took his hand and sucked his thumb into your mouth. His surprised gasp made you smile around the digit, and with a few more wet licks you guided his hand down to your joined bodies and showed him what to do with your clit.
After that, well—your joints shook and your mouth tried to form his name but you were pretty sure you were just babbling, and moaning, and maybe screaming, and he alternated the strokes of his cock and those of his thumb, and everything in you tightened and narrowed and—
Your vision went white.
A moment more on that glorious precipice, and you came.
You clawed his hand from between your legs, too much, so much. All sensation and heat. Everything. You could feel everything.
Or so you thought, until he covered your eyes and shouted. The bright light let you know his true form shone out. The heat let you know he joined you in orgasm.
You weren’t sure how long the perfection lasted. When your eyes opened again, Lucifer was on his back beside you, wings tucked away. He seemed to know the second you came to awareness again, because his eyes opened and he turned towards you.
You didn’t speak, merely curled against his body and let your breath slow again.
There were so many things wrong with this situation.
“I’m still going to try to stop you,” you declared, but there wasn’t much strength left to give to your voice.
“I’ll still keep going.”
“We’ll probably kill each other.”
“Assuming no one else gets to it first.”
There wasn’t any malice in the conversation, maybe a tired resignation. You wanted to fight—you wanted to yell that he was the one who’d fought to end his father’s plan, so why just go along with this stupid angelic prophecy? Why do what his brother said they had to? You wanted to make him comprehend the horrors he’d committed. Feel the despair of every victim. You wanted to be cutting his head off while you had the opportunity to see if that worked. And you wanted, deep in your twisting heart you wanted never to have to do that. You wanted to go back before the moment when you’d seen something—for lack of a better word—human in him.
“Why did you come to me?” Your choked accusation held all of that hurt and confusion and anger. Was it just to make it that much harder for you to kill him? A manipulation?
His face was schooled to impassivity when he looked down at you.
“You think loudly.”
“You bastard.”
“You know, I think I do fit the classical definition…”
You hit him. It started with a fist pounding his chest, then escalated, scratching, punching. You’d probably only hurt yourself, but it didn’t matter. He lay quietly, contemplatively. And finally, he responded with the one thing that could really hurt you in that moment.
He reached slowly, silently, and put his hand to your forehead, sending you back to that dingy hotel room. Alone.
You refused to cry. You did not shed a single tear for the devil.