VIP Lounge - Nobody likes to share I Vox x Alastor x Lucifer x Y/N
Word Count: ~ 3.7k
CW: Marking/claiming behavior, Explicit sexual content, dominance, dynamics Power, imbalance themes, sexual touching, physical control, Hair pulling Biting Throat, choking imagery, Intense erotic tension
ᯤ 𖤐 𓆩✧𓆪 ᯤ 𖤐 𓆩✧𓆪
ᯤ 𖤐 𓆩✧𓆪 ᯤ 𖤐 𓆩✧𓆪
POV: Y/N
The bouncer won’t let me in.
Not because he doesn’t know me—but because he knows there are three men sitting inside, none of whom wants the others to get up first when I walk in. He waits. I wait. We both know the game.
After four seconds, he opens the door.
The VIP lounge at Purgatorio smells of cigar smoke, warm light, and the kind of nights you either don’t remember at all or remember all too well. I know this room. I know the couch at the far end, the light that makes skin look different than it is, the heavy silence when the door closes and no one is listening outside anymore. Every corner—for reasons I won’t voice and from nights I can’t forget, no matter how hard I try.
Vox notices me first.
He always notices everything first. That’s not a compliment. It’s a warning.
The media overlord leans back, one arm draped over the backrest—relaxed, as if he were the only one here who owns the evening. His gaze scans me from head to toe. First the checking glance—has anyone touched you, has anyone looked at you—then, when the answer is no, comes the other one. The one I know. The one who tells me he knows exactly what’s under this dress because he’s seen it himself. Often enough that he isn’t imagining it. Vox knows every curve, every reaction, every spot where I stop staying calm. The Media Overlord knows me by heart; he’s taken the trouble.
The corner of his mouth twitches upward.
I know exactly what you look like when you’re not wearing anything. You belong here. With me. Come~
Lucifer is the one who stands up.
Two steps, and his hand is on my waist—blindly, by rote, warmth through the fabric—and he leads me to the couch as if it were the most natural movement in the world. Then he turns my face toward him, two fingers under my chin, and kisses me. Not hesitantly. Not briefly. With the calm thoroughness of someone who knows how this works—how I work—and who wants to remind everyone else in the room of that right now.
Our tongues briefly entwine. Lucifer marks me.
I was here. Don’t forget that.
“You’re late,” the King whispers. His voice has that depth he only brings out when he wants me to feel it physically.
My pulse quickens.
“Ten minutes,” I murmur.
“I know.” He looks at me—that warm, dangerous smile he has when he knows exactly what he’s doing—and leans back. His hand travels up my thigh, higher. It didn’t stop until Lucifer squeezed between my thighs and rested quite close to my center.
Vox’s arm wraps around my shoulders.
Slowly. Deliberately. His fingers find the spot below my ear, the same spot, always the same—because he knows what happens when he varies the pressure there, and because for him, knowledge is synonymous with application. His thumb moves. Very gently. I can feel it all the way up to my shoulders.
Goosebumps spread over me and I felt warm.
“Nice,” he says to Lucifer, without looking at me, “that you thanked her so warmly for her punctuality.”
The Overlord’s smile is sharp and dangerous.
“She was late,” says Lucifer.
“I know.” Vox turns his head toward me. That look—close, direct. The look he has when the camera is off and he no longer bothers to hide it. “For that,” he murmurs softly, “she’ll have time to apologize later.”
My stomach tightens with excitement.
“I thought you didn’t mind.” Lucifer leans back. A statement. He smiles at Vox like someone who hasn’t forgotten that he’s the King of Hell and not some underling of some Overlord. “After all, you didn’t reserve her.”
“Yes, I did,” Vox says curtly.
“Interesting.” Lucifer’s thumb traces a small circle on my thigh. “I don’t recall a conversation about that.” Now the fallen angel smiles sharply.
“You don’t need to know everything,” Vox said, taking a sip of his drink.
“No,” Lucifer admits, and the smile grows sharper, “but I know enough.”
“Did you order?” I ask, surprised that my voice is still working.
“For you.” Vox slides a glass across the table without looking up. Just what I needed. The right drink—he knows me in a way that sometimes makes me angry, because there’s nothing I could show him that he hasn’t already seen.
I lean forward and take a sip. As I set my glass down, I gently fluttered my eyelashes and caught sight of the third man in the room.
Alastor.
He’s sitting the way he always sits—slightly to the side, one leg crossed over the other, the glass held loosely in his hand. He looks at me. . He looks at me like someone who knows exactly what lies beneath this surface, because he uncovered it himself. From a different perspective. Nights we never talk about. The silence afterward, which carried more weight.
“Alastor,” I whispered.
A calculated pause.
“You’ve smudged your lipstick,” he says, and smiles.
I see my reflection in the glass. Not a blemish. No lipstick. The Radio Overlord is lying to my face and enjoying it. The worst part is, I know what that mouth feels like when it isn’t playing games. On every inch of my body. On my wet center.
Vox’s glass hits the table with a sound that echoes through the entire room.
“Stop that,” Vox snapped at Alastor.
“Hmm?” The Radio Demon raises an eyebrow, genuinely amused.
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” growls the other Overlord beside me.
The tension in the room is making it unbearable for me. They’re all like wolves fighting over a female.
“I’m having a conversation.” Alastor tilts his head to one side. “Or am I not even allowed to do that anymore without asking your permission?”
Vox remains silent. Lucifer looks at the other two men with interest. Apparently, he’s itching for it too.
“If it’s too much for you, I’ll kidnap you~” the King murmurs in my ear. As he does, his tongue glides over my earlobe and I blush instantly.
Alastor sets down his glass. Stands up. Unhurriedly, and he comes to me—around the couch—to me, not to the others—and stops in front of me. Looks down at me. Reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from my face; his knuckles are warm against my cheek, and then—before I can breathe—he leans down.
“You look exhausted,” whispers the Radio Demon. Almost tenderly. Almost—as if this were a language he doesn’t speak fluently, but has understood. Then, a little quieter, just for me: “From these people here, or in general?”
Before I answer, he leans down and kisses me. Different from Lucifer. Cooler. More precise. Like someone who knows exactly which spot he’s hitting and who takes the time to find it—one hand on my jaw, his thumb at the corner of my mouth—and as he sits up, he leaves his hand there for a moment longer.
Looking straight into Vox’s eyes.
I was here, too. I’m always here. Don’t forget that.
Lucifer takes a sip and says nothing. His hand tightens around my thighs.
Vox stands up.
He does it slowly, which is worse than if he’d done it quickly. He sets his glass down. Two men who both know they owe each other nothing, and who are both bothered by it, standing eye to eye.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” says Vox.
“Of course.” Alastor turns his head toward him. “So do you.” His grin widens.
Vox pulls me toward him.
Not gently. Not roughly. With the precision of someone who knows exactly how much pressure to apply and where. His hand on the back of my neck, the other on my waist. His lips touch mine, making me forget what I was just thinking. The stern Overlord kisses me so gently. Something you wouldn’t expect from him. Vox holds me gently, but firmly. As if I could vanish at any moment and he never wants to let me go. He has the time.
Our lips parted. Dreamily, I look up at the Media Overlord.
Our gazes locked. Without looking up, he spoke to the others.
“She’s staying tonight.”
“With whom,” says Lucifer, very calmly, “is up to her.” I could hear his smirk.
“Of course.” Vox’s thumb strokes my carotid artery once. Slowly. Deliberately. As if that were an answer to something. “That’s why I’m asking her.”
The Overlord looks at me with that look he gets when he knows he’s won, yet still does me the courtesy of making it seem like it was my decision.
Alastor is leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. He glares at me and says to no one in particular:
“Interesting. Three men, one woman, and none of us has good taste.”
“You’re here too,” Lucifer chuckled.
“Exactly,” the radio demon rolled his eyes.
I’m sitting again between the King of Hell, who once again places his hand menacingly close to my midsection; a radio demon who looks at me as if I were a problem he wants to solve—and a media Overlord who pulls me against his chest.
And the terrible thing is—none of them are lying.
Not about what they want. Not about what was. Not about what’s going to happen tonight, no matter which one of them wins.
They always take turns winning. That’s the deal.
I pick up my glass. Empty it. Set it down.
“I need another one.”
Not a muscle twitches in the room. Not even the bartender at the counter turns around. The air is so thick with unspoken promises. So saturated that I can taste them on my tongue.
Vox’s thumb glides along my carotid artery—as if he weren’t just feeling my pulse, but shaping it, turning it into something darker, hungrier. His breath brushes my collarbone, hot and precise. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, my body automatically leaning toward him.
“You don’t need a glass,” Vox whispered in my ear. The corner of his mouth curls as if he’s just solved an equation whose result is me.
Lucifer leans forward. His hand—which just a moment ago rested on my hip like a warning, two fingers’ width above the hem of my dress, where the skin is most sensitive—moves higher. With the calculated slowness of a man who knows I’ll count every inch of his touch.
The King’s lips find my ear. Then the spot below it, where the jaw softens and the neck begins—that telltale spot that always twitches when someone touches it. His breath is a whisper that pours into my spine like liquid lead:
“Stay with me.” Not a plea. That’s the most dangerous thing about him: He sounds as if he’s giving me a choice. As if I could say no. As if I hadn’t already fallen for him.
Vox jerks my head toward him. Two fingers under my chin—right where a single pressure point could make me moan or fall silent. He’s practiced this. On me. Until he knew just how much force it takes to make me obey without hurting me. His kiss is different from before. A promise, a declaration of love.
His tongue pushes between my lips, hard and demanding, while his other hand slides down from my neck, over my collarbone, until his fingers close around my breast—not roughly, not gently, but with that relentless precision, as if he were marking me. I feel Lucifer’s hand freeze on my thigh.
The two men are fighting over their territory. Lucifer’s hand pulls my thigh toward him.
His fingers dig into my flesh, just for a second, before they stay beneath my dress, where the air is hotter and my skin craves touch. I make a sound—not a moan, not a gasp, something more primal that rises straight from my gut and crashes against Vox’s mouth. He smiles. That dark, satisfied curve of his lips, as if I’ve just proven to him what he’s always known:
That I belong to him. That I belong to them. That I will never stop burning between their hands.
Vox breaks the kiss. His gaze is dark, sharp as a splinter under the skin. It draws me in. Then he turns his head, slowly, like a predator keeping its prey in sight as it moves toward the next obstacle.
“You’re playing.” Lucifer shrugs. “We’re all playing.” His voice is honey. “That was always the deal.”
“The deal—” Vox stammered.
“Has no hierarchy.” The devil tilts his head to the side, as if tasting wine—or me. “You were there when we set that down. Right here.” His finger taps the couch, exactly where I lay beneath him months ago, where his teeth left marks on my shoulders that took weeks to heal. “Don’t you remember?”
I remember. God, I remember.
Alastor clears his throat. We all freeze. Even the air seems to hold its breath.
The radio demon detaches himself from the wall. He’s standing behind the couch now, looking down at us—at me, trapped between two men whose hands occupy me like enemy territories.
“I think,” he says, his fingers touching my shoulder, “you’re forgetting someone.”
“You’ve been keeping to yourself.” Vox’s voice is a knife scraping against stone.
“I’ve been watching.” Alastor’s lips brush my neck without warning. His tongue traces the spot below my ear—exactly where his teeth had been months ago, when I worshipped him, hated him, when he took me without asking. My body remembers. My hips twitch as if I’m already begging for more.
Then Alastor sits down behind me. Squeezes himself between the backrest and my aroused body.
“Alastor.” Vox’s tone is a warning that ends in a promise.
“Mhm.” Alastor ignores him. His hand slides under my arm, pulling me backward, against his chest, while his lips trace a trail of kisses from my ear to the base of my neck. Every inch is deliberate. Every breath he takes is a command. I can feel Lucifer watching—how his eyes darken, how his fingers twitch on my thigh as if he’s weighing whether to intervene or wait.
Then the King laughs. A sound so deep and dirty that I feel it between my legs. His hand moves higher until his knuckles press against the damp fabric of my underwear. “You are impossible.” His voice is a match being lit against my spine.
Vox growls. His hand runs through my hair, pulling—not roughly, not gently, but with that perfect blend of pain and promise that always leaves me speechless. He pulls me away from Lucifer, toward him. His kiss is no longer a kiss. It is a conquest. His tongue presses against mine, his teeth scrape across my lower lip until I bleed—or until I think I’m bleeding, until I want to bleed, because that’s the only way to extinguish this burning, unbearable tension inside me.
Lucifer’s hand moves. His fingers slide under the fabric, find me—hot, wet, ready—and I break against Vox’s mouth, a sharp, helpless gasp that he swallows as if it were his own.
“Stop.” Vox’s voice is a lash.
“No.” Lucifer massages my clitoris. Again and again I moan against Vox’s lips “She won’t stop.”
That’s true. That’s the problem. That’s the game.
Alastor’s lips touch my ear. His breath is ice. “Tell us what you want.”
Three pairs of eyes bore into me. Three men waiting. With that deadly calm of predators who know that sooner or later the prey will flinch.
Vox runs his thumb over my lower lip. Slowly. As if testing how far he can go before I break. “Well?” His voice is poison in my veins. “What would you like?”
Lucifer bites my temple. Not hard. Just enough to make me shiver. His tongue licks the spot as his fingers slide deeper.
Alastor breathes against my neck. His hand on my waist pulls me tighter against him until I feel his hard body behind me, until I know he’s suffering just as much as I am. His lips touch my skin—no kiss, no bite, just that fleeting promise of more. “Make up your mind, darling.” His voice is a whisper that pierces my ribs like a dagger. “Before we do it for you.”
I take a breath.
Then I grab Vox’s hand—the one still holding my chin—and twist it. Not to push it away. To hold it tight. To show him that I know the rules. That I’m in control of the game.
The Media Overlord lets me. That alone is dangerous enough.
I lean back—against Alastor’s chest, which catches me as if he knew I was going to fall. My voice is calm. Burning. “If this turns into a foursome tonight…” I let the sentence hang in the air until I feel the tension in the room crackling like a cable about to snap. “…then on my terms.”
Silence.
Lucifer lifts his head. His smile is more genuine than anything I’ve ever seen from him—sharp, bloody, triumphant. “Of course.”
Alastor waits. Then: “Negotiable.” His fingers tug at my hair, just slightly, but unmistakably. A reminder.
I turn to Vox. His gaze is an abyss. He studies me as if deciding whether to save me or destroy me. Then he murmurs, “Your terms.”
I let go of his hand. Lean back. Alastor’s arms close around me like a cage of silk and steel. His lips find my neck, bite down—exactly where he owns me. Lucifer leans forward, his eyes glowing, his hand wandering higher until his fingers touch me where I’m most sensitive.
And Vox—Vox looks at me. A moment. As if he’s taking note of something. As if he’s deciding how far he can go. Then he leans forward.
His hand grabs my wrist, pulls me toward him, lets himself fall to the floor with me until I’m kneeling over him. I can feel how hard he is, how hot, how impatient. His other hand slides under my dress, finds me—wet, twitching, ready—and his thumb presses against me, circles, until I moan. My pelvis presses against his hand until I forget that there are others—
“Start convincing me,” I gasp.
Lucifer laughs. “Oh, baby.” His voice is husky. Hungry. “We will.”
Alastor’s hands wrap around my hips, pulling me back until I’m sitting between them—Vox in front of me, Lucifer beside me, Alastor behind me. Three pairs of hands. Three mouths. Three gazes that tear me apart as if I were the last piece of prey in a starving pack.
Vox bites my lower lip. Pulls. Until I taste how metallic my own blood is. “Then let’s get started.” His voice is a command that eats its way straight into my bones.
And then— touches. Hands. Teeth. No more rules.
Vox’s hand shoots up, grabs my hair, and pulls—silencing me. His mouth crashes onto mine, his tongue thrusts inside, hard, demanding, as if he’s marking me. At the same time, he rips my dress down until one of my breasts is exposed. His other hand closes around it, squeezing the nipple between his thumb and index finger to drive me wild.
“You want to be convinced?” His voice is a growl against my lips. “Then watch.”
His fingers slide between my legs, find the wet fabric of my underwear, press against it. I moan into his mouth, my back arches, and I feel Lucifer’s eyes darken, his hand slowly stroking his own thigh. As if he’s holding back—or getting ready.
“Vox.” Alastor’s voice is cold. “Sharing was the deal.”
Vox breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, his gaze burning into me. Without letting go of me, he turns me—not away from him, but to the side, so that I’m now sitting between him and Lucifer, my back pressed against Vox’s chest, while Lucifer kneels in front of me.
“Then share it.” Vox’s voice is a command. His hand slides under my dress, finds me again, his fingers gliding through my wetness, circling my clit—not enough to make me come, but enough to make me whimper.
Lucifer smiles. I’m going to ruin you, and you’re going to worship me for it.
His hands rest on my knees, pushing my dress further up until it’s bunched around my hips. Then he leans forward, his breath brushing against my damp underwear.
“So wet.” His voice is a whisper that pours into me like poison. “And we haven’t even started yet.”
His tongue runs over the fabric, slow, agonizing. I flinch, my hands clawing at Vox’s thighs, but he holds me tight, his fingers continuing to work on my clit.
Then Lucifer rips the fabric aside.
His tongue finds me—hot, nimble, relentless. He licks me from bottom to top, his thumb pressing against my entrance, circling, testing how far open I already am for them. I moan, my head falls back against Vox’s shoulder, and I feel how hard he is, how his breath burns against my neck.
“Do you like that, darling?” Lucifer lifts his head, his lips glistening. “Or should I stop?”
“Don’t stop.” My voice is a plea.
The King laughs, darkly, contentedly. Then his mouth dives deep between my legs again, his tongue thrusting into me while his fingers stretch me, prepare me—
“Lucifer.” Alastor’s voice is a warning.
I sense Alastor before I see him. His presence is like a shadow falling over me. Then his fingers touch my back, wandering downward until they glide over my buttocks. His other hand grabs my chin, turns my head toward him, and his kiss is different—not like Vox’s fiery dominance or Lucifer’s playful cruelty, but calculating, relentless, like a contract I must sign.
“You set conditions.” His voice is ice. “Remind me.”
I gasp as Lucifer bites—not hard, but enough to make me flinch. Vox’s fingers press harder against my clit, demanding an answer.
“I—I want everything.” My voice cracks. “But slowly.”
Alastor smiles. It’s the smile of someone who knows exactly what he’s going to get.
“Then slowly.” His hand slides between my buttocks, a finger pressing against my tight entrance. “But we’re starting now.”
I feel something cold and slippery dripping between my cheeks. Lube? His own saliva? Then his finger pushes in slowly, millimeter by millimeter, while Lucifer keeps licking, while Vox kneads my breast, twisting my nipple until I want to scream.
“That’s good.” Alastor’s voice is a whisper in my ear. “You’re taking us all.”
I can’t breathe anymore. Lucifer’s tongue works inside me, fast, merciless, while his fingers stretch me. Vox’s rubs my clit in perfect circles, while his other hand abuses my breast. Alastor’s finger is inside me from behind, slow, relentless, and his free hand has wrapped around my throat to keep me still, to force me to endure every sensation.
“I’m coming—” The words tear from me, a helpless, broken confession.
“No.” Vox’s voice overwhelms me. His hand disappears from my clit, leaving me trembling, empty, desperate.
“Not yet.” Lucifer lifts his head, his lips glistening. “You come when we say so.”
Alastor pulls his finger out, slowly, and I moan—not with pleasure, but with frustration.
“On your knees.” Alastor’s command is irresistible.
I obey. My legs tremble as I drop to my knees in front of the couch, my dress hiked up, my underwear torn, my skin burning from their touches.
Three pairs of eyes are staring down at me. Three hard bodies, waiting. Three men who know I belong to them.
“Now.” Vox’s voice is a verdict. “Show us how thirsty you are.”
ᯤ 𖤐 𓆩✧𓆪 ᯤ 𖤐 𓆩✧𓆪
Autor's Note:
Hey Guy's as a little sorry from my side, I tried something new. All the hotties packed together. Had a little to much from the Kingston Universaty (Team Jaxon!)
(Wanna have the full smut part ?)
More Vox ? 📺🦈
Overview Page
More Alastor ?
Overwiev Page 🎙️
More Lucifer ?
Overview Page! 🐤
