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Lucifer stood back watching as Alastor slogged his way out of the bubbly red mud. He spat out a mouthful of the stuff, shaking his arms and head in a futile attempt to clear it away. Finally, he scraped enough from his eyes to at least be able to see through his matted eyelashes and the very first thing he did with his bleary, newly restored vision was glare at Lucifer.
Then he turned on his heel and began the slow, soppy walk towards the city. Alastor was strong and he was powerful, but his skill set was not of the cleaning variety.
Lucifer, on the other hand, could clean him off easily, but one thing he’d learned early on in their relationship was using his powers on Alastor without permission was a fast track to furniture getting thrown at his head or worse, a week kicked out of their bedroom without even a sofa to sleep on because it’d already been destroyed when Alastor hurled it at him.
“Hey, babe.” Lucifer flew up behind him, folding his wings away as he landed. “Do you want me to—”
“I am not speaking to you.” Alastor kept trudging along the road to Pentagram City. Mud was falling in goopy clots from his clothes and hair and… well, his everything, leaving a visible trail that anyone seeking a slightly used radio demon could follow.
”Aw, come on,” Lucifer wheedled, “it was an accident!”
It wasn’t Lucifer’s fault, how could it be his fault? When he’d learned that a Hellbeast had been birthed from the unknown wastes in the outskirts of Pride, he’d already been making a plan to deal with it when it occurred to him that Alastor might like to tag along. Hellbeasts only rose every few hundred years, after all, it was a rare occasion and once they began their slow path towards the city to wreak destruction, there was always plenty of interest in its progress. Viewing parties often came out to watch its slow, slow, so fucking slow, did he mention it was slow, march towards Pentagram City to destroy and consume.
Not that it ever got there, nah, Lucifer always dealt with it before it even got close enough to smack down one of the shacks on the outskirts. Even if he hadn’t been fond of Sinners back then, he did like to keep the city intact, he kept all his stuff here.
Their Hellborn version of a kaiju was a regular cottage industry for tourism in the weeks before its attempted attack, and that was before Sinstagram existed, with its thousand pages devoted to the Beast’s progress and ‘U Can Do Eet’ memes flooded every corner of the internet. Once it was getting a little too close for comfort —Lucifer figured the countdown clock page hitting ‘one day to horrifying death 🥳’ was a good place— Lucifer would send it back to the wastes it came from where it would dissolve into nothingness before reforming in a few centuries to take another crack at it.
Personally, Lucifer didn’t see the interest; once you’ve seen a Hellbeast a few times, the show didn’t impress much. But Alastor had never seen it and he’d been into the idea, y’all; a chance for a first row seat to watch Lucifer fighting an enormous, wretched creature from the void was turning cranks in that tall boi that neither of them guessed even existed and there was potential there, fuck, yes there was, Lucifer was never underestimating the kinky depths an excited Alastor would sink to again and that was after Lucifer only asked him to come along.
So yeah, okay, maybe his excitement at the idea infected Lucifer a little, along with his own imagination of their private celebration afterward. Maybe he’d been showing off a little. Maybe he could have taken care of it sooner and he shouldn’t have been showboating flying loops around the thing as it lumbered through the wasteland. He absolutely should have made sure to keep the bastard away from the butte he’d set Alastor on for a private viewing.
Alastor should have been far enough away for the good seats without being in any danger. Shoulda, coulda, woulda, wasn’t, how was Lucifer supposed to know the damn thing had tentacles this time around? Or that it’d be close enough smack Alastor with one and send him flying into one of the bubbling mud pits that were scattered out here in the wastelands?
He’d zapped the fucker away the second Alastor was knocked into the pit but even so, by the time he got over there, Alastor was already crawling out. From the single vicious glare sent his way, Alastor was not impressed with his fighting technique and Lucifer was already mourning the congratulatory hero sex he’d been anticipating upon their return.
He wondered glumly if he should return the lingerie and new leather gear he’d bought for the occasion or just keep it tucked away for another gift-giving scenario. May as well hide it and keep hope alive because from the look of things, it might be a month before he even got back into their bed, much less branched out into the exotic.
The heat was already starting to bake the edges of the mud and Alastor was quickly starting to look like an oversized gingerbread man out for a stroll after a long day at the bakery.
Lucifer fell into step beside him. Maybe after he cooked a little longer Alastor would give in. Besides, he had a little blame here and that thought was probably the one that gave Lucifer’s mouth permission to go from digging himself into a hole to excavating his own grave.
“You know,” Lucifer said, foolishly allowing his mouth free rein, because that always worked out so well for him in the past, “you always told me you were good at dodging.”
Alastor stopped so abruptly it shook another wave of mud to the ground. His neck creaked audibly as he turned to look at Lucifer along with a fresh shower of goop, this time with a new seasoning of drying mud flaking off.
The ticking dials in his eyes made Lucifer shrink away. Not out of fear, Alastor couldn’t hurt him if he wanted to (and he probably did) but the damage to his sex life was growing by the second. At this rate he was going to have to come up with a craft project for their new toys because they weren’t getting used for their intended purpose anytime soon.
Then abruptly all that was done. His eyes were there normal crimson and the tree branch of antlers that was sprouting from his head receded to its normal twig levels.
“I do say that, don’t I,” Alastor said, his tone as sticky as the mud. “I suppose I should take the chance to better myself, and you as well.”
It was clearly a warning and Lucifer’s luck was just the sort that made him oblivious to it, he never did see the red light before he ran it. Right up until Alastor lunged at him almost too quickly to see, tackling him to the ground and wrapping both his soppy, filthy arms around Lucifer and his gleaming white coat.
“Pah! Ugh…Alastor!!” Lucifer spluttered. Rocks dug into his back and from the front muddy hair and ears smeared across his face as Alastor rubbed against him like an affectionate Labrador after chasing a duck through a pond.
“What wrong?” Alastor panted, squirming against him like a fish, he was as good at metaphorical shape shifting as Lucifer was at the reality. “Don’t you crave my physical affection?”
Sure he did, he just preferred a less goopy version of it. All that wriggling was great at smearing mud between them but it was having another predictable effect as well.
“I do!” Lucifer said roughly and he took advantage of his greater strength to gain the upper hand. Literally. He flipped them both over, shoving Alastor’s knees apart to settle between them and pinning his wrists to the ground. The mud made him slippery but Lucifer kept hold as Alastor swore and struggled, and that was a delight all its own. Until Alastor surrendered and went limp beneath him, panting and grinning. His eyes were bright and wild, snapping with crimson sparks and standing out from the mud mask of his face. Both of them were filthy, the mud itching as it dried, and fuck, if Lucifer didn’t want him so fucking much right now. The way Alastor’s grin widened, Lucifer was not hiding that fact very well.
“Oh, dear,” he crooned, rocking his hips upward and Lucifer gasped, “it seems the Hellbeast is still ready to ravage the city, isn’t it.”
Lucifer settled more weight on him, pinning him closer to the ground as he leaned in to murmur against Alastor’s mouth, “Maybe you can help take it down this time.”
His kiss tasted of mud, of greenness, of Alastor and that soft, static laden moan was caught between their lips.
Oh, yeah, hero sex was still on, baby, and Lucifer was more than happy to share the glory.
-fin