“… I won’t have you lumping me in with the others.”
Sometimes you forget how mean he can be. You shouldn’t, right now, while he’s standing in front of you in demon form like he wants to scare you. But he can be so sweet, to you and to his brothers.
“I will not belong to you. You will belong to me.”
He looks menacing and predatory and entirely pleased with himself.
You kind of want to laugh.
“So, do you understand what you’re asking? Do you agree to my terms?”
You look into his eyes, smile, and cross your fingers behind your back. “Yes.”
“Then it’s settled,” he says, and you feel the now-familiar burn of a seal on your palm, beneath the skin. “As of this moment, MC, you are mine.”
He doesn’t answer, but changes his gaze as if to ask what it is.
“Go sit down on that couch for me?”
He doesn’t respond right away, looking at you quizzically, and you don’t let him. You draw on the shiny new pact connecting you two and let it creep into your voice. “Now.”
It’s clear Lucifer feels the pull of it immediately, and he makes sure his last action before he complies is to glare at you. You do laugh, this time.
“Testing the parameters, I see,” he says dryly, as you come around the furniture after him.
“No,” you say back simply. “I already know mine. You’re the one,” as you speak, you straddle his legs and settle in his lap, “who seems to have a lack of understanding how this works.”
“Is that right,” he answers, but it comes out breathy, and he’s flushed pink from how close you two are.
You hold his face in one hand, and you see him almost lean into it. “You’re so fucking cute,” you praise quietly, and you notice his hands all but twitching at his sides. “Aw, baby. You can touch me.”
He doesn’t need an order for that, his hands coming to your waist like they’re meant to always be there. “And what is it I don’t understand?”
Your other hand comes up to run through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in.
You nip at his ear, lean in and whisper, “You’re pathetic.”
He stiffens, and when you come back to look at his face he looks irritated.
“Is this what you’re trying to do? Make me angry?”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” you command, and then soften. “And of course not. You must know that you are. All high and mighty like the rules are different for you. ‘I will not belong to you.’ Did that make you feel better? Feel like you were in control?”
You tilt his head up and lean in close to his face. “Kiss me.” It’s an order, but it doesn’t need to be.
He breathes your name sweetly when you pull away, and you pet his hair in lieu of immediately kissing him again. He soaks it up, this time, leaning into the touch as best he can, though you’re not sure he’s even aware he’s doing it.
“You’re so precious,” you praise, because you can’t help it. “What is it, baby? What do you want?”
“Are you testing me, MC?” He asks, as sternly as he can muster.
“Maybe a little,” you admit, then, “Tell me what you want.”
You think it’s that he has to tell that makes Lucifer blush again, pretty red against his pale skin. He hesitates, looking at you, eyelids drooping and pupils dilated, but eventually he murmurs “Kiss me some more.”
It catches you off, because he could have said anything, because he’s this embarrassed to ask for this much. It’s so innocent, so… virginal.
“Lucifer,” you manage before obliging his adorable request. “Sweetheart. Such a sweetheart.”
He kisses back eagerly, enthusiastic and inexperienced, clumsy, and when you press your tongue into his mouth he moans and pulls you in closer.
You move back, slowly, lingering just-one-more kisses before you’re able, and when he opens his eyes he’s looking at you.
“Shh, beautiful,” you say. “I’m just gonna switch us around. I wanna touch you more.” You hold him by the hips and manage to sit down and slide him into your lap in one movement.
He looks surprised, and you giggle and push your hands up under his shirt to touch his waist.
You rub little circles with your thumbs just above the hipbone and he relaxes, leans down for you, then waits.
Good boy, you think privately, and kiss him like he wants.
You let one hand drift down the outside of his thigh, then push back up the inside. He gasps before you even do anything, just that you’re close to touching him. When you do, just pressing your hand against the front of his slacks (that have done precious little to conceal his hard-on), he doesn’t make a sound; when you look back up at his face you see his teeth digging into his lower lip so hard it must be painful.
You take your other hand to his face, holding his jaw, and you slip your thumb into the curve beneath his lip and pull softly until you free it. The blood rushing back turns it dark red and you groan and kiss him again.
“Are you that worried about making noise?” You ask quietly, practically into his mouth since you can’t bring yourself to stop kissing him. “I didn’t know you were so shy. You must be loud.”
You break away to look at him, and he’s so embarrassed he won’t meet your eyes. “Lucifer. Look at me.”
He complies, because he has to, and you can see him struggling with the lack of control. It’s such genuine emotion it feels mean to call it cute, but… it is. He wants control. He wants you more.
You smile at him, then look down to deal with the fastening of slacks that were not made to open around an erection. He makes these little hiccup-y noises around all the light touches that you’re mostly not doing on purpose, but it’s cute, you’re not complaining.
His undershorts are silk, which surprises you not at all, and when you start to rub the material over his cock, he whines before biting his lip again.
“You really are, aren’t you? Loud,” you say, and he looks down. You pull him in for kisses, “No, no, baby, I like it.”
“It - I -” He swallows, steels himself. “You’ve degraded me this much. Allow me some dignity.” Degraded him. From kisses. Barely touching him. He’s so dramatic.
“Oh, sure, because I’m holding you entirely against your will,” you answer sarcastically. You thumb his slit through the silk and he gasps to punctuate your point. “I knew you were proud, Lucifer, but I didn’t think you were a liar.”
He has the decency to look ashamed, anyway. “I didn’t mean -”
You nod, kiss him, run your fingers through his hair. “I know. I know. It’s a lot all at once. You can keep quiet if you want to. Besides,” you smirk, “you wouldn’t want your baby brothers upstairs to hear how pathetic you are.”
He burns red all the way down his neck, and you swear you feel movement under your hand.
“Fuck, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You say, soft and in awe.
He doesn’t answer so you wait, start jerking him off loosely through his shorts, and he breaks and whimpers and nods his head shyly.
You make some desperate sound yourself and pull him into a long kiss. “You’re perfect,” you tell him. “Beautiful and slutty and perfect.”
As you kiss you idly handle him a little tighter, faster, and his hips wiggle in your lap when you tease his tip, so you’re doing a lot of that. Sometimes he gets frustrated, pushes through your hand himself, but he’s letting you do most of it, trusting you to make him feel good.
“MC,” he says, but it sounds like a moan, so you just smile and keep kissing him, touching him. “MC,” he tries more urgently, breaks off the kiss and takes your wrist. “MC. Stop.”
You do, of course, then touch his face, rub his cheek. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, looks away, covering his face with a hand. “Not - just. I. A moment.”
You’re lost for half a second before you get it, and you grin slowly. “Baby,” you start, feeling the heat of his face under your hand. “Baby, are you gonna come?”
He pouts down at you - no better word comes to mind - looking humiliated, sweaty and aching and lips slick with spit. Because he knows he’s too fast but there’s nothing he can do, because his body isn’t used to this.
“Angel,” you breathe, probably the most ironic pet name possible, but it fits. “Fuck, that’s adorable. That’s so hot, angel. Sweetheart.”
You kiss him, once, and then lean into his ear. “Hold it for me. Wait until I tell you yes.”
He’s nodding before he realizes that it was an order.
You touch him again, this time just the tips of your thumb and first two fingers, and already Lucifer is panting and needy and glaring at you, agreement forgotten in light of you taking the choice from him.
“So scary,” you tease, and then move your thumb in a way that makes him whine, and you smile. “There’s my sweetheart. There you are. Kiss me.”
He fights a smile back, but you feel it when he kisses you. His lips part shy and unsure and you’re hit with another rush of that juvenile possessiveness, I’m his first kiss. You tug him down by his hair and shove your tongue into his mouth, and he makes a high-pitched noise that you’re fairly certain translates to ‘please, yes.’
When you pull back he pouts at you what you’re sure is intentionally - pushes his lower lip out, bats his eyelashes, and you wonder how long he’s wanted this. Eldest of seven, student council vice president, babysitter of the Demon Lord - he has so much responsibility. Such an image to maintain. And he makes it look so easy.
A very long time, you’d wager.
“Do you understand, now?” You ask him softly, and he gives you a look that distinctly says he does not. You laugh.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” you patronize. “I can spell it out for you.”
“Oh, I’d appreciate it,” he replies flatly, and you wonder if you’re being too mean. He’s still reveling in every point of contact with you, though, from his thighs to his cock and up to where you’re petting his hair, so you think you’re good.
You pull his hair back sharply and he shudders, gives you that beautiful needy look. God, he’s perfect. “Brat,” you accuse, and he smirks a little, like he’s gonna make you say that a lot more.
You roll your eyes and kiss him but scold “Listen” before you continue.
From his hair, your hand drifts down to the side of his face, and your thumb strokes over his cheek. “I don’t care how you say it works,” you start, “Or about your ego and how you protect it. This?” You take your hands off of him completely, press your thumb into your palm where the seal is, and watch his eyes flash red. “Means I own you.”
Lucifer grins, all teeth, like he’s threatening you again. “Fuck you.”
You laugh because you don’t expect it, but it doesn’t scare you. It’s his instincts, you think. When something feels like a threat. “One day,” you promise. “On my bed. And I’ll take my time. Tease you till you beg me for it, edge you till you hate me.”
His eyes go soft and liquid again, and his breathing stutters. “MC.”
He kisses you, and you smile against his lips and hum as you come away. “That’s better.”
You slide your hands into his hair and lift one thigh off the couch a little as he comes back towards you, and when you push up against his cock he gasps and looks at you for guidance. You give him none, just petting him and smiling smugly, so eventually he comes in for kisses and tries to ignore it.
It’s no use, of course, now that you’ve peeled back all his pride to get this sweet, obedient, hedonistic little thing, and within minutes he’s rutting against your leg and whimpering into your mouth.
He breaks away and looks at you, and you’ve never seen anything so pitiful. It takes him several tries to stop moving, and he’s breathless, giving you big soft eyes and scarlet cheeks that beg you to believe he’s not really this degenerate.
“Use your words, baby,” you say, enjoying this far too much.
And then you think you’re dying, because the first word out of Lucifer’s mouth is “Please.”
You wait, and you get whining and “I need - please, please. Please.”
“Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.”
He knows you’re fucking with him. He’s letting you. He wants it.
It’s his sweetest, most patient, most innocent voice, like if you deny him he’ll ask pretty please with sugar on top?
“I wish you could see yourself,” you whisper, running over his lower lip with your thumb. You push against the seam of his mouth and he lets you in, looks straight at you and sucks. He’s perfect, you think for what must be the thousandth time. “Do you know how beautiful you are? And you only get prettier when you’re slutty like this.”
He whines around your thumb, gives you big doe eyes, and you slide it out of his mouth and ask redundantly, “You wanna come for me, angel?”
He nods his head eagerly; you kiss him, and he returns that eagerly, too.
You take one of his own tricks, give him the dangerous smile. “Lucifer, who do you belong to?”
He smirks back, because he hears the echo, but then goes all sweet and demure again, your pretty boy, and he looks at you all needy and says “You own me.”
He was getting back at you, a little bit, but he means it.
You’re petting him and praising him and you say “Sweetheart,” and he looks at you like it’s his name.
“If you can get yourself off on me, you can come.”
He pouts prettily at you and you can’t deny it makes you weak, but before you can scold him or otherwise, he’s humping your leg again; he tries to stay shy and gentle about it, but just like before, it doesn’t last, and he’s loud and shameless before long, rubbing against you and keening into your mouth.
When you notice his hips stuttering is when you pull back; you want to talk him through it. “That’s it, baby,” you praise. “Good. Precious. You’re so precious, Lucifer.”
He’s doing the big sweet eyes again, and now that you’ve worn him down to begging it’s like he can’t stop himself, please, MC, please touch me, I need it, need you to make me come.
“You can’t even do this yourself, can you?” You ask with a feigned longsuffering sigh, then shake your head. “Really, angel, it’s a good thing you’re mine,” you say as you give, and you wrap your hand around his cock - still over the undershorts, because you have to tease a little.
“I know you say you hate compliments, but people give you them because they’re true, you know,” you tell him, “But I don’t really think you hate them, anyway. I think you love it when people tell you how gorgeous you are.”
He can’t answer, barely even tries, so you hold his chin so he’s looking at you and go on, “You know what people would say if they saw you like this, right? More than just that you’re beautiful. They’d call you sexy and slutty and needy and such a good bitch. And you’d love it.”
You thought he was past the point of it, but he looks embarrassed again, shakes his head - but his dick’s twitching in your hand. “Don’t lie to me,” you whisper-sing. “So vain, angel. So filthy. At least you’re pretty enough for it.”
His shoulders draw up and forward toward his ears and he tries to hide his face in one of them. “No one else in this realm would - would dare speak to me that way.”
How cute. “They would if you told them they could,” you say coolly. “I could order you to say what you want out loud. Oh, that’d be precious. ‘Praise me. Be mean to me. Touch me. Fuck me.’”
He shudders and and practically glows red when you mock him, and you thank whatever being is relevant for giving you this adorable kinky demon. “You wouldn’t let other people touch me,” he breathes.
“Not if you said no,” you answer, sliding your hand down his back, “but if you wanted it,” you grab his ass and squeeze, and he jumps, “I’d let the whole student council have a turn with you. Of course, they’d have to ask my permission. Because you’re mine.”
Just like that he melts into you again; he smiles lasciviously and wets his lips like he’s trying to look like a slut. “I’m yours,” he echoes, and you sigh and kiss him for a long moment.
“You’re too good at that,” you tell him, and you don’t know when you grabbed his collar but your hands have the right idea, working open his buttons as you kiss.
“If I’m so good, then you should reward me,” he reasons with you, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
You raise an eyebrow at him and pinch his nipples, then pull, and Lucifer gasps and then keens, loud and so, so needy, and when you twist before you let go he bites his fist and makes a muffled noise around it.
“Sensitive everywhere,” you observe, but it comes out like praise. “I told you how I want you to come, baby.”
He whines, tries his pretty pout for you again, and outright complains when all else fails. “You’re evil. You knew I’d - I’d beg for you. You’re evil.”
“You’re a demon,” you counter, but you don’t deny it.
You grin, and he’s not angry enough to deny you kisses. “Mm, precious,” you say. “You were about to come after I had my hand on you for five seconds, I think you’ll be fine.”
He looks away like he’s embarrassed again, but there’s irritation there, too. You press down a giggle and hold his face.
“Lucifer. Sweetheart.” He kisses you back, but that’s as much as you get. “I’ll still touch you. Just not here,” you run your thumb on the wet spot on the front of his undershorts, right over the head of his cock, and he inhales sharply and then glares at you. You almost roll your eyes. “That leaves me,” you mumble, and then mouth at his jawline, “with a lot,” you kiss down the side of his neck, “of other choices.” You bite down at the crook of his shoulder then soothe it with your tongue; he gasps, then sighs.
To further illustrate your point, you get both hands under him and pinch, and he tenses up and falls back.
“I can’t wait to fuck you,” you say softly in his ear, and Lucifer whines low from the back of his throat.
“MC, please,” he begs, and he’s already so good at it, this little whimper under his voice and wide, sweet fuck-me eyes, playing with his lower lip with his thumb.
You push your thigh up into his crotch. “I told you what to do, angel,” you repeat gently.
He pouts at you again and you laugh and kiss him, hands sliding up to the small of his back, and even now he tries to start slow before you’ve got your tongue in his mouth and he’s riding your leg like his life depends on it.
He pulls away first and he’s already flushing like he’s going to come, and he starts babbling at you adorably, “I’m - please - I want - gonna - baby, please.”
You smile in self-satisfaction; when you reach to touch him he says no because he’s smart but then whimpers and bucks up in pure desire.
The pact connecting you to him already feels stronger than before; you lean into his ear, call that connection into your voice again, and say gently, “Come, Lucifer. Come for me.”
Within seconds, his body obeys. His eyes nearly close, his mouth falls open, and his grip on your shoulders goes vise-like; as he trembles, his heavy breathing crescendos into sobbing with pleasure.
He all but falls on top of you, after, but catches himself on the couch behind you, leaving him inches from your face; he smiles lazily at you and you’re treated to long, messy kisses.
“You amaze me,” he tells you, “I have never - I’m not, usually, ah,”
“Speechless?” You supply jokingly.
Your goofy smile drops back to arousal instantly with the honesty and intensity of that one word. “Fuck.”
Lucifer starts to slide off your lap; you raise an eyebrow at him and he just smiles. He comes off and steps back, then kneels between your legs.
Your breath catches. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”
He looks back up at you from where he’s unfastening your fly and smiles sweetly. “Serving you. I do belong to you, after all.”
