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wearyeyebrow · 1 year

Text

Candid

Another task, another spreadsheet, another picture taken without his consent - Lucifer is wound tight. As the evening drones on he can't help but glance at the clock anticipating a night alone with you, preferably spent on his knees. NSFW. Tags under the cut.

Tags: Established relationship, Sub Lucifer, Dom MC, 2nd person perspective, they/them MC, AFAB MC, Transman Lucifer, edging, multiple orgasms, tribadism, oral sex, d/s dynamics, hurt/comfort, scene negotiation, porn with plot - do let me know if I've forgotten anything significant.

The student council room is quiet in the late afternoon and a great place to study. You’re sprawled out on a giant oak table cursing Solomon's illegible handwriting when footsteps echo down the corridor. You recognize the crisp click of Lucifer’s stride alongside Lord Diavolo’s heavier footfall, their voices too far away to pick up. You try not to eavesdrop, really, but they stop just outside the door left ajar.

Diavolo’s voice booms. “So the deadline snuck up on me - I’ve just been so busy with staff interviews. It’s a budgeting matter and you’re good with numbers so bringing it to your attention felt like the best place to start.”

Lucifer is quiet while scanning the papers in his hand, shuffling a few back and forth. Diavolo is childlike next to him, shifting from foot to foot.

“It’s doable but I’ll need to get started tonight if we’re going to get this in on time. The entire thing needs to be reworked…” he trails off and furrows his brow, holding the paper away from his face. You’re fondly reminded of how often he neglects to wear his glasses.

“Thank goodness! I knew I could leave it up to you.”

Lucifer only hums in acknowledgement, still squinting. The afternoon sun catches against the door and he’s set alight, beautifully framed in the archway. It’s easy to spare a drop of envy for one of God’s greatest creations, but his two-ton frown keeps most people at arm's length.

You blink at an unexpected flash, watching as Lucifer flinches at the sound of a shutter. He twists to glare at the guilty party.

“Lord Diavolo, I request you delete that immediately.”

“But it’s so rare I get a candid photo of you - it came out so well too, see - you look beautiful!”

Diavolo tries to hold up his phone but Lucifer looks just past it. “Delete it.”

“Come on Lucifer, it’s just one-"

“I’ll delete it for you if necessary.”

“But Lucifer-”

Suddenly, a third voice joins them. When or how Barbatos got there, you aren't sure, and you've long stopped asking.

“My Lord - pardon the intrusion, but your next meeting starts in ten minutes.”

“Is it that time already? Well, we’ll just have to table this conversation!”

“Lord Diav-”

“Thank you, Lucifer, for auditing the extracurricular budget, I appreciate your hard work! I’ll see you tomorrow.” Diavolo pockets his phone and takes off with Barbatos close behind.

Lucifer’s jaw is set in stone as he watches them go. Their animated chatter echoes down the hallway until they turn a corner and disappear. He clears his throat and turns to address the room.

“Good afternoon.”

You snort. “You know, I bet I could accidentally delete Lord Diavolo’s entire photo gallery and he'd be none the wiser.”

"You needn't intervene on my behalf.”

“Of course I don't need to, but…” you sigh, “Do let me know, the offer’s always on the table.” You motion for him to sit and he does, closing the door behind him. He taps the documents in his hand on the tabletop, straightening the edges. Everything is in order until he thumbs through them again.

“What’s Diavolo put you up to this time?”

He doesn't look up. “I'm sure you heard enough to piece it together."

"Mm. When's it due?"

"Next Saturday."

"Don't you have a bunch of other shit to work on?"

Lucifer sighs. "It can't be helped. I'll manage." The setting sun catches against the metal rim of the window and he squints, massaging his temples.

Asking if he wants help is another way to say you don't think he can do it. His sin twists any offer of assistance into something to be ashamed of, and you know this. He also knows you know this.

You sigh, a little exasperated. "I realize that I'm talking to a brick wall here-”

“And yet you persist.”

“May I still come by tonight?”

“I…” he pauses, bowing his head in the fading afternoon sun, “I will hardly be at my best."

“I know.”

His eyes flicker to yours, softening at your gentle expression. He brushes his fingertips against your hand. "...I’ll be in my room by eleven."

Lucifer admonishes himself for almost nodding off again. So many numbers, so many Excel spreadsheets. He cracks his neck and continues typing, trying to make something of money the school doesn’t have.

His body is exhausted but his mind is wide awake, thoughts racing in the background, droning and cacophonous, itching and alive. He's moved to his bedroom for the evening and taken his work with him - his office is accessible, his bedroom is not. He’s kept his gloves on to avoid picking at his cuticles but he can’t help drumming them on the table, annoying himself with the sound.

He breathes a sigh of relief the second he hears a knock at his door and unlocks it with a wave of his hand, deactivating a few dozen curses.

You poke your head inside and see him at his desk, looking exactly as he did that afternoon.

"Hey.” Your voice is soft in the late hour, "How are you holding up?"

He manages a sardonic smile.

"Figures. Worse than you thought?"

"I’m surprised Excel isn’t a domestic export.”

“But it's supposed to be so much easier than doing it by hand.”

“Yes,” he drawls, “Easier. I just love redoing my work when it crashes - I love everything about it.”

You lean against the doorframe. “I dunno, you say that you love it, but your tone makes it sound like an anathema to all that is good in this world.”

His shoulders loosen a little when he laughs, lips curling into a slight smile. “How was your evening?"

"Not bad." You keep talking and wander over to his desk. "It was Satan's turn to cook dinner so the food was great, and Levi joined us too - oh! Mammon got a present from Luke in the mail."

"What was the occasion?"

"To hear Mammon tell it, he saved Luke from great peril," you chuckle, "Of course, that’s not how Luke puts it. Mammon managed to get his hands on some Ursa Major Honey for Luke’s entry in the Devilsfood contest. Only the witches know how. Beel may have eaten most of his gift, though…"

"Mm, typical on all fronts." His tone is incredibly fond.

"We missed you at dinner."

"Since it was Satan's turn to cook, I doubt that."

You snort, "I saved you a plate. It's in the fridge when you want it… or until Beel eats it, I guess."

"Thank you." He sighs and sits back in his chair. “I... I’ve missed you. Solomon’s kept you busy and I’ve had so much to do - I hope you'll tell me if you ever feel neglected."

"Not neglected, just worried. When's the last time you slept properly, sweetheart?"

His face warms and he clears his throat. "I'd rather not worry you further."

"Humor me."

"...Five days, give or take."

"Lucifer…" You maneuver around to the front of his desk and lean on the edge. "I know you don't need as much sleep as I do, but you can still get sick, and your headaches won't get any better."

"Sometimes sleep is a necessary sacrifice."

"I'm well aware, doesn't mean I have to like it."

He only hums, distracted by your hand on his arm, straightening the creases of his shirt.

"I'll be forthright," you murmur, "I know how I’d like this night to go. You up for it?”

"...I was hoping you'd ask."

"You sure?" There's your hand again, this time in his hair, nails just grazing his scalp, sending pleasant tingles down his back. You're close enough now that he can smell the subtle scent of your shampoo, familiar and inviting. It sets him at ease.

"Please, stay."

“Then, leave your work for the evening. What do you say?”

His desk lamp casts a warm, orange glow over the bedroom, casting heavy, almost architectural shadow. Your features are augmented, posed in sharp relief against the muted colors of his bedroom. Merely a few seconds have passed since you asked him a question, but he already feels like he’s taken too long to answer.

“...I shall put my things away.”

You hum and give him a moment to straighten his desk, lingering just outside of his personal space. Even in the privacy of his bedroom Lucifer is impeccably dressed. You follow the crease of his pant leg down to his polished loafers. He makes every move with purpose and each thing has its place. It's only the slight tremble of his hands that gives away his fatigue.

You think back on that afternoon. After Diavolo had left, you’d seen Lucifer in your mind’s eye - the hard line of his clenched jaw softened into an expression of relief, into an expression you covet.

You breathe out slowly, trying to hide your anticipation, and walk across the floor to his bed. The covers are smooth and unwrinkled, perfectly pleated as he feels they should be. You grab one of his pillows and make sure he's watching when you place it at your feet.

He feels the weight of your stare but looking at everything still left to do makes his head hurt. He has so much to do tomorrow and so much he should have done yesterday.

Your voice cuts through the fog. “Lucifer - come here.”

He quickly places his pen in its holder, almost knocking over the inkwell, before crossing the room to meet you at the foot of his bed.

He kneels of his own volition. Your pleased smile makes his heart pound.

“I didn’t even have to ask.” You muse fondly

“How…” he swallows, “How would you like me?”

You brush your thumb against his cheek. His eyelids flutter shut and he turns toward your open palm. “I think… just like this. This is where I want you tonight, on your knees.” His face heats up but he manages to meet your half-lidded gaze.

“I’ve noticed, you know?” You say, studying his face, tilting his jaw in your hand, “You’ve had a lot of things forced on you lately. I’ve offered my help yet you refuse it. Why?

He tenses. “I am merely reaping the consequences of my own actions. I refuse to burden you with my responsibilities.”

Your brow furrows. “Okay but, what about those pictures? He knows they make you uncomfortable and I don’t like that he takes them anyway.” Your hand is soft against his cheek. “I won’t take action if you don’t want me to, I promise. I just want to understand, Lucifer. Saying you don’t know why is also acceptable.”

Lucifer eases into the comforting weight of his position beneath you. His posture sags, just slightly, and the sharpness of his brow softens. There's a faint tint of red to his cheeks. He tentatively leans forward, not meeting your eyes.

“I… I am not fond of them, but… they’re just pictures. I shouldn’t be so bothered. The less bothered I am, the less often my picture will be taken.”

“Why shouldn’t you be bothered?”

“It’s an innocuous thing. Something as small as getting one's picture taken isn’t worth getting upset over.”

“I disagree. You’re bothered by them, and it isn’t difficult to respect that by not taking your picture.”

“There are better things you could spend your time on.” He tries again, weakly, hoping it doesn’t stick.

“That’s up to me, isn’t it? Don’t I get to decide what to spend my time on?”

“Yes, of course.”

“If I can't stop him then I want to get rid of them for you.”

“I…” He looks down at his hands, “I will think about it.”

“I’ll ask you again tomorrow morning, then. I promise I’ll drop it after that.” He nods and sinks further, wanting nowhere else to be. "Don’t worry, I won't let anyone else see you like this.”

"Never?" He’s keen for one last bit of reassurance.

"Never."

You lean down to kiss him. It's lingering, gentle, and sweet. He follows when you pull back, so you kiss him again, greedy this time, to sait him, but it's not enough, never enough, and you tell him so between kisses.

"Please..." he breathes, when you finally part.

"Please what, darling?" A shudder runs through him.

"May I service you, may I please you, in a way that only I can?"

"And how do you want to do that?"

"I..." he swallows thickly, “I want to do whatever you ask of me."

Your gentle laugh cements him on his knees. "How could I ever say no to that?" The affection in your voice makes him dizzy. A hand slips down his jaw to direct his attention. "If at any point you object to what I ask, you will tell me - that's your first order of the night."

He nods in agreement. As with any magic, intention matters, and you want him on his knees willingly. The pact remains inactive; each time he follows an order is done of his own free will.

"Your second order..." you thumb his lower lip, "You look so good on your knees.. I want your mouth between my legs."

He swallows. "It would be my pleasure."

"Stoplight system like usual."

“Understood.”

You lean down to kiss him again. It’s heady and languid, desire bubbling just beneath your skin. When you pull back he is a picture of perfect obedience, kneeling with his hands in his lap.

You languidly place a leg over his shoulder and he kisses your knee, inner thigh, before grabbing the edge of your shorts. He doesn’t go any further, instead catching your eye. You hold him in anticipation, sizing him up, waiting for him to ask.

Finally he swallows. “...May I?”

You smile and lift your hips so he can slide them off, leaving you bare before him. He takes the time to fold them before leaning forward and kissing up your thighs, shifting forward so he can wrap his arms around your hips.

His eyes flicker upward when he takes a long, slow lick, savoring the way your breath hitches. He yearns for your approval.

“Mmm… that’s it,” You breathe, lost in a hazy moment of affection and power. Lucifer kneels before you because he wants to be here, because he chooses to be here.

He groans low in his throat and sinks his fingers into the meat of your hips, holding onto every little noise you make, tasting the salty, musky tang of your arousal. The scant stubble of his cheek rubs against the smooth texture of your inner thigh. He yearns for the way your whole body chases his mouth and rocks against his face, folds sticky and wet, groaning when you tug on his hair.

"You're so good with your tongue, fuck-" You can't hold his gaze, too lost in how it feels, throbbing while he leverages his entire body for your pleasure. He flicks his tongue just right, sliding it back and forth, only stopping to breathe, using his calloused fingers in the interim, tiny tight circles, watching how your head tilts back.

"Can't get enough of you Luci." your praise blooms in his chest and floods his body. He shudders, little sounds escaping his every exhale.

You’re already close to the edge, but an image of him burns in your mind’s eye.

“L-lucifer - stop.” His tight grasp on your hips is immediately gentle and tentative. He stills himself and settles back onto his heels, shoulders heaving, lips shiny.

“What’s wrong?” There's a plaintive edge to his voice, a delicious contrast with the mask of power he usually wears. It's difficult to ignore the ache between your legs.

You wrap a stray tendril of hair behind his ear. “Not yet… I want - I’ve been imagining this all day, you on your knees - I want to see it, wanna see you sweetheart. Touch yourself while you please me.”

He tenses. His mind starts to conjure an ineffable mess of images and sensations. He can't stand the way his muscles twist, the way his skin is mottled and stretched - a punishment of his own making. He deserved it after the fall. He should be better than this. He should have been better. His mind always questions what you'll think of him, what others will think of him. It's the antithesis of pride, shame on full display, yet he wants your eyes on him, he wants to believe in how you see him. He tries to rationalize. It doesn't matter, you've seen him before, you know him. Yet something in him screams and claws, wound tight, tight, tight.

His silence makes you pause, makes you wonder whether you should check on him, but then he breathes out slowly.

“Where would you like me to start?”

You consider him for a moment. “Take your vest off and unbutton your shirt. You may leave it on as long as it’s unbuttoned.”

His mouth is dry. He doesn’t make a show of removing his clothing but he does so dutifully and completely, staying on his knees at your feet. He folds his vest and sets it just out of reach, leaving his red button up hanging loosely from his shoulders. His face is flushed a delicate pink that travels all the way down to his chest.

“What-” he clears his throat, “What would you have me do next?”

“Take your trousers off. Remove your briefs too - and your socks.” His hands hover awkwardly over his waistband. His reluctance is obvious.

You lean forward and kiss his temple before placing a gentle hand on his neck. Your voice is soft and warm in his ear. "Do you remember my first order? What’s your color?”

“...Yellow.”

"Good job. Do you want to leave them on?”

“I…" he exhales with great difficulty, shoulders tense, "I am not sure, I apologize.”

"Mm, what if you took off your briefs and then put your trousers back on?”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would I-”

“Would it make you feel better?” He doesn’t say anything and you can feel his cheek burn against your own. “Would it, Lucifer?”

He sighs, and the annoyance in his voice is tinged with something like relief. “Very well.”

You make a sound of agreement and then kiss his neck before drawing back to your full height.

“Briefs off, then. Put your trousers back on but leave your fly open and belt off.”

You give him privacy by turning around and adjusting the pillows behind you, waiting until you hear him still.

You’re met with the sight of his pink, flushed cheeks. The heavy meat of his chest is partly hidden by his open shirt. You follows the delicate trail of hair leading from his navel to the dark curls between his legs, just visible in his open trousers.

“Look at you -” you breathe, “ Fuck - you look good.”

He’s caught between pride and shame. He’s dizzy, his heart is hammering in his chest, and he wants to tell you exactly what you’re doing to him. The throbbing between his legs is almost unbearable. He wants to beg. He wants to touch you, he wants your hands on him, but he can’t, he can’t. Everything is too tight, too tense, his mind is too fast-

“Please - “ he whispers, before he can stop himself, “Tell me what to do. Give me an order.”

"What do you want, Lucifer? How do you want to feel good?”

"It does not matter what I want.”

Your gaze softens as you consider him, leaning down to kiss his temple. You speak low in his ear. "It always matters what you want. Answer me.” You kiss his neck and he whines a desperate little "oh-" shuddering as he inhales, delicate and wanting, before resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“I…” he licks his lips, “I want you to use me as you see fit.”

You kiss the shell of his ear. "You’re sweet and submissive just for me, aren’t you baby?” He nods, unable to voice it, unable to touch it, but he can acknowledge it and that’s good enough. “I want you back between my legs, but this time I want you to touch yourself while you please me. I want to hear you. What do you say?”

He whimpers. “Yes - I...” He pulls back from your shoulder and shifts down onto his knees between your open legs.

Your hand runs through a few strands of his hair. “Touch yourself for me, gently, slowly. Wanna see you feel it.”

One of his calloused hands disappears into his unbuttoned trousers. He sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s it… slow circles.” You lick your lips and savor his soft keening. “I want to take my time with you tonight.”

He’s already a little breathless.

“Mm…” You start to play with yourself, getting off to the image in front of you. Lucifer on his knees, stroking his clit at your command, a beautiful, willing submissive.

“May I…?” His eyes dart to your folds, wet and glistening, just a few inches away from his mouth.

You ignore him. “How do you feel?”

“G-good, ah - I-” he keeps his eyes on your, groaning when you part your lips. His breath is hot against your.

“What do you want, Lucifer? Be specific.”

“May I please you while I - while I touch myself?” His face burns.

“Good man… go ahead.”

“Thank you.” He breathes. You shift your hips forward to meet his tongue. He groans when they connect, dipping his tongue inside of you, breathing harshly through his nose, mouth open wide, lips wet. He’s rocking his hips into his own hand, legs spread, sinking lower.

“That feel good, baby?” You whisper.

He moans what sounds like an affirmative.

“You’re stunning…” You run a hand through his hair, “So fucking perfect-" your chest constricts at the way he looks at you, up through his lashes, completely adoring. “You make me so… fuck I wanna come. Make me come?”

You can barely see his irises, his perfect hair tousled and thrown to the side. He pulls away, just for a second, just long enough to whisper a desperate please.

“Fffuck - Luci- baby…” You fall onto your back and let the pleasure wash over you. He knows just what you like best and his little noises spur you on.

Your whispered praises and directions flood his mind. He’s dripping onto his own hand, viscous fluid staining the inside of his trousers. He revels in how you writhe above him, in the heady taste and smell of your arousal - all because of him. He throbs and he wants this, he wants to feel your release, to hear more, more. He moans when you grab his hair, needy and wanton, suddenly muffled by your cunt as you starts to fuck his face.

“Keep - right there, right there-!” He does exactly as you’ve instructed, doubling down, licking your clit just right, and finally you tense, muscles tight, before an elastic snap washes over you, throbbing and lingering, a wet sweltering heat. He takes his time, just how you like, gently licking as you come down.

Your chest heaves and you drop your tight grip on his hair, instead running your fingers through it. Soft praises leave your mouth, syrupy sweet, too good for him, but he relishes in it, still touching himself on his knees.

There are a few minutes of blissful calm as you catch your breath, before sitting up to place a hand on his cheek. Your hazy expression meets his own. “So good at making me come, so good on your knees - thank you.” He leans into your hand and his flushed, red lips press into your skin.

“So gorgeous,” you whisper, “Still touching yourself… You need me baby?”

He nods into your leg, now completely doubled over. He shivers at your soft hands on the back of his neck. “When was the last time you made yourself feel good?”

“Weeks at least,” he murmurs, surprising himself with how easily he answers.

“Oh sweetheart…” he throbs at the sincere affection in your voice. “I want you to take some time for yourself, for some stress relief, even when I’m not there. Especially then.”

He starts to shake, now resting his weight against your calf, head bent between your thighs.

“Lucifer… let me look at you.”

He slowly raises his head with purpose. The plaintive, needy look in his eyes makes your heart stutter.

“Come here, Lucifer.” You pull him forward into a kiss, leading until you’re both standing. The blood rushes to his head and he sways a little, but you hold him steady. He shivers when you lean in close and kiss his neck, hands wandering from his shoulders back down to squeeze his ass.

“Mm… I want you on your back.” He does as he’s told, settling where you’ve arranged the pillows. You crawl over him, shadows falling across your body, stunning and ethereal above him.

You kiss his jugular and his breath hitches when you slide your tongue up his neck. He's achingly conscious of the hands on his hips and your breath in his ear.

“You need me?”

“Yes,” He whispers, arms wrapped around your back, feeling your skin flush against his.

“I love you like this. Love you all the time but…” he’s so wanting and open and vulnerable , “I wanna find out just how wet you are, wanna make you feel incredible. You want that?” His pulse is racing.

He wraps his arms around your back, dragging his blunt nails up your spine. He breathes in deeply, nose pressed into your neck, nodding yes, yes.

You lean to the side and trail your hand down his belly, stopping at his waistband. You wait there for him.

He swallows, voice cracking. “Go ahead."

He lifts his hips and you pull his trousers down, dropping them off the side of the bed. Your hands settle on his thighs while your eyes wander.

He glistens. Sticky, viscous fluid string between his parted legs. His curls are damp and stick to his lips, clit heavy and swollen, flushed red. He’s taken by the way your breath catches, pushing him away from the edge of doubt. You did this to him. He trusted you to do this to him, to make him wet, to make him ache.

You catch his eyes as you straddle him, hovering just over his clit. He reaches for your hips.

“Above your head.” He reluctantly retracts, stretching his arms above to grasp onto the pillows. His chest arches forward, face flushed, and beads of sweat line his forehead. He’s quivering, dripping wet, but he obeys and withstands. The way you look at him makes the room fade into the background and muffles his every passing thought.

You grasp his waist and lower yourself, adjusting until you find it, until you brush his clit with your own just right.

He gasps, eyes squeezing shut, and you groan. His clit is hard, brushing through your folds with every gentle thrust.

“Yes…” he sighs in relief, fists clenching into the fabric above him.

You've been sated by your first orgasm, able to focus on his pleasure. The pace you set is slow, feeling him slick against you.

“I…”

“You want something, Luci?”

His chest is blotchy, mouth dry, panting. “More - I… faster, please-” You continue at a slow, steady pace.

“Missed this sight,” You whisper, lips kiss-bitten and full above him.

He aches to say every passing saccharine word, dripping with pride at how you make him feel, how you look, who you are. He feels a cool hand on his cheek. “I think I’ll let you simmer. How long can you hold off for me, I wonder?”

“As - as long as you desire,” he breathes.

“Then tell me when you’re close.” You speed up, just enough to make his head tilt back into the cushions. His biceps flex as he fights to stay still, to stay exactly as he’s been instructed.

You lean forward and starts fucking him faster, panting and reveling in the way he starts to writhe.

“I’m… ah - I’m getting close-” You hum in acknowledgement and keep going until you hear a familiar rise in the deep pitch of his voice, and feel the way his body tenses.

“There- I-!” You still.

“No-! No, fuck, please- ”

“Not yet baby, not yet,” you pant in his ear, “Hold it back…” and smile at his trembling effort. “Focus on how it feels to be denied what you need so badly.”

You pull back and he groans at the translucent, sticky fluid that stretches between you. You sit on his thighs.

“Look at you… so needy and wet - you want my fingers, sweetheart?”

“Yes, yes please-” his chest heaves as he starts to forget himself.

It's after the third edge that he really starts to beg. He is held in place by your gentle fingers, letting him whine, watching him finally let go. It’s not enough, not enough and then too much, until it only takes a few small circles to get him close, until he's whispering please, please, please under his breath, as you bring him to the edge and back again.

His perfectly pleated sheets are a mess and his legs are spread wide before you. He can’t think and it’s utter bliss. Your soft fingers tease him, pushing the hood of his clit up and over the head, back down again, and again, watching him twitch. He's torn between keeping his eyes shut and looking directly at the erotic sight of your hand jerking him off.

“That feel good? Answer me, Luci.”

“So - so fucking good, so - keep-!” You smile, savoring him like this. “I’m - I’m close, oh there - please there-” he begs, gasping, whining, but you pull back just when you feel him start to tense, leaving him just on the edge without anything to push him over.

“No, no, no I was - I was there, please keep going, please-!” He pitifully tries to hump your hand, wanting anything, any more friction, he was so close, so agonizingly close.

You drag your finger just over the tip of his clit and he sobs.

“What do you want, darling?”

“I want - I want to come, I need - please make me come, please, please-” His eyes are misty, his cheeks are red, and hair is a tousled mess. He can only feel and want and beg, overwhelmed by the feeling of your fingers still stroking his clit, but it's not enough, not enough. He wrenches his head to the side and covers his eyes with his forearm.

“That’s it Luci, let go - tell me..." He shivers and jolts at your fingers on his abdomen, tracing up his belly. “You need it, baby?”

“Yes,” he whimpers, “Yes, please, I need - I need it.”

You shift down his body, nails soothing over the tops of his thighs. Just as he removes his forearm you finally lick his clit. He gasps, before whining, high pitched and utterly debauched. He covers his mouth, embarrassment flooding his cheeks, but you rub your thumbs into his thighs.

“Wanna hear more of that,” you whisper, “Wanna make you come, since you asked so nicely, since you’re doing so well for me.”

He tilts his head back when you start licking his oversensitive clit. His thighs tremble.

Finally, finally you wrap your lips around him and suck. His clit is heavy and thick in your mouth, full and swollen.

“Yeesss, yes, yes…”

He sobs your name, feeling himself clench, “- shit-!” You suck hard and it takes all your strength to hold his hips against the bed. He thrashes, white knuckling the sheets. “Oh fuck - yes I’m - there, there, please - please -!”

You keep going, just as promised, sucking and licking, exactly how he needs, for just as long as he needs. His voice gets higher and higher, breathy, tensing, toes cracking until all is still and he freezes, forehead touching the pillows behind him, neck delicately exposed, and he lets go.

“ Yesss … ohhhh fffuck, fuck yes , yes-!” He sobs with deep seated relief, euphoria flushing his body.

You want him to linger in it, to feel tension dissipate as the embers die down and warm his body. He gasps, writhing as his entire body jerks with intermittent aftershocks. You hold him there for as long as you can, sweet caresses of his clit, doing your best not to overstimulate him, to let him down gently.

As his body starts to relax you kiss his inner thighs and nuzzle into his skin, tracing your nails over his legs. His breathing slows as exhaustion matures into a hazy comforting wading pool, until the world spins in slow motion and he's finally still. You slowly slide up his body, taking him in. His half-lidded eyes follow you, face slack, lips curled into a barely there smile, genuine and gentle. The hand on his cheek is met warmly.

“Good job love,” you whisper, “So good for me. You okay?”

He licks his lips and leans up with just enough energy to meet you. You guide him back down and kiss him like he deserves, whispering little affirmations between them. It’s like he’s floating in a space of unreality and he lets himself linger, for just a bit, enjoying the way he can quietly give and receive a softness he’d forgotten he was capable of.

You gently run your hands over his skin and he does the same, tilting when you kiss his neck, sighing when you kiss just under his ear. You lay there for an indeterminate amount of time, until one of you starts to recognize the sound of a clock ticking. You nuzzle against his sweaty skin.

“Wanna get cleaned up? I don’t feel like a shower tonight but I’ll take one if you want.”

“Washcloth is fine,” he murmurs.

“Okay.” You kiss his temple and then reluctantly slide off the bed and head for the bathroom. You pee and clean yourself up a little bit before returning to him with a washcloth in hand.

He’s slowly unfolding another comforter, back in his discarded trousers and unbuttoned shirt.

You come up behind him and kiss his shoulder. “M’sorry, I forgot to put a towel down.” He shrugs, still a little out of it, eyes glazed over.

You let him finish before having him sit in front of you, gently wiping his face clean as he leans into your hand.

“I’ll get changed,” he murmurs, faded and wobbly. You give him his privacy in the bathroom and change into a pair of pajamas left in his room for nights like these. He returns wearing his own and immediately sinks into bed. You roll onto your back, beckoning him, and he settles into your side.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, Lucifer speaks. His voice is muffled against your skin.

“If you do decide to delete those pictures you’ll have to do it twice - once in his phone and once in his backup.”

“Mm. Why don’t I pick Leviathan’s brain - I want it to be permanent.”

“Might as well be if you’re going through the trouble.”

“It isn’t trouble.”

The tension in his body slowly dissipates, yielding the enormity of his weight.

“Then… I’ll let you take care of it."

#lucifer obey me #obey me lucifer #my writing #wearyeyebrow #i know this is older but i never properly posted it damnit #nightbringer really hyped me up #now im just posting all my notes app lucifer conent #and the one long fic ive done for him #anyway #lucifer x mc #sub obey me #sub lucifer #dom mc

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