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Charlie is beginning to realize that something is wrong.
Very, very wrong.
She thought it was just allergies, at first — the Eye of Thoth roses tend to make her sniffle if she spends too much time around them this time of year. Then she wondered if maybe she was getting sick, because despite being immortal, she’s not immune to every illness. The symptoms were mild, but annoying: a low-grade fever, her face flushed when she looked in the mirror of her bathroom; a certain stiffness in her muscles, a strange, intangible sense of being off that usually accompanies either an approaching flu or a panic attack.
But neither a panic attack nor a flu should be making her feel like this. Hot and sticky and horny, her thighs feeling damp, Charlie sits in her office and stares down at the activities list she’s trying to make for the coming few days without really seeing any of it. Logically, she knows that she should probably be finding out what caused this and trying to fix it, because it’s probably, you know, bad. But the logical part of her brain is rapidly losing steam, and right now all she can think of is a quite different set of activities that she wants to be doing, minus clothes and plus…
Well, that’s not important.
Charlie sets her notebook down, digs the heels of her palms into her eyes, and takes a slow, deep breath. “Okay, Charlie. Think.”
She doesn’t have any meetings planned for the rest of the day. Vaggie and Angel Dust are both out, as are most of the other guests; Husk is still here, of course, and Alastor, but it’s the first dry day after a few days of acid rain, and most of the hotel has seemingly decided to take advantage of that. Charlie’s responsibilities are pressing, but not life-or-death; if she can make it to her room, she can sink into a bath and then stay in the safety of her own bed at least until the end of the day, at which point it should be over.
That does, of course, leave the exact nature of what this is a mystery, but Charlie honestly doesn’t think she has it in her to do any rituals right now or go through everything she’s touched to see if someone bound a spell to an object she touched. She’ll have to shut herself in her room and hope and pray that whatever it is, her system can burn through it with a little help from her own two hands and maybe a vibrator.
Charlie’s hips shift and she bites down on her tongue as the motion drags the rapidly-dampening fabric of her underwear against her folds, the space between her thighs feeling like a throbbing, electrified bruise.
…Maybe make that two vibrators.
“Okay,” Charlie says, bringing her hands down to grip the edge of her desk as she swallows firmly. “Okay. Okay! This is fine. You’re fine. Just get up, and get to your room. Easy peasy. Practically nobody’s here. You’ve got this.”
Another jolt of arousal ripples through her as she stands. Was it this hot in here five minutes ago? Charlie swallows again, mouth feeling dry, as she shrugs her blazer off, not even registering where it ends up falling before she’s reaching up to tug at her bowtie, focused only on the door and the hall beyond it that leads to her room. A mere few steps and a corner or two, and she’ll have privacy and safety. She barely has the presence of mind to listen at the door to make sure there’s no sound from beyond, and, when there isn’t, she yanks it open and makes a clumsy beeline for the end of the hall.
It’s just her luck, then, that right as she gets to the corner, so close to relief she can taste it, someone else rounds it.
Charlie’s reflexes aren’t nearly fast enough right now to prevent her from running headfirst into a figure that she instinctively recognizes as Lucifer, losing her balance as she rears back and ending up flat on her ass on the carpeted floor. The shock of it is enough to throw her for such a loop that she barely registers Lucifer kneeling down next to her, already babbling out apologies and inquiries as to whether she’s okay, before he reaches out to put a hand on her upper arm. As soon as his hand lands on her arm, hot even through the layers of fabric separating their skin, it’s like her entire world narrows down to him and only him.
Charlie’s next breath is shuddering, her vision swimming before snapping back into focus around wide, concerned golden eyes and sharp teeth and a neck made to be bitten.
“Charlie? Charlie, sweetie, I am so sorry, I swear I'd walk off a balcony if there weren’t railings—” Lucifer’s fussing is like white noise, his mouth moving but the words seeming unimportant and far away. “I’m so sorry. Are you alright? You didn’t hurt yourself, right?”
Charlie wants to tell him no, wants to be able to open her mouth and assure him she’s okay so she can flee to the safety of her room, but it’s like a yawning pit of desire has sparked inside her, the space between her thighs throbbing as she stares wordlessly up at Lucifer. This is exactly what she was afraid of, because there’s been a realization sitting uncomfortably in her chest for weeks, a realization that her father has a slender throat and a forked tongue and long, pale fiddler’s hands, his fingers always so clever on the piano and the violin. Would they be that clever between her legs?
No, no, no! Charlie feels like she’s being dragged along on a leash — she was already going there, but whatever’s in her system is pulling her along at a breakneck pace. I can’t think about him like that, I can’t let him know—
“Charlie?” Lucifer’s voice has lost the fussy, flustered panic, and now he sounds legitimately worried as he leans in a little closer, raising his hand to her face. “You look a little…”
His palm is hot and dry against her cheek, and the touch makes Charlie shudder, tremors running down her spine like chills from a fever as Lucifer raises his hand to her forehead and hisses through his teeth at what he must feel there.
“You’re burning up, sweetie. Are you sick? Oh, dear, I told you that you shouldn’t work yourself so hard, because this is what happens.” Lucifer clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You need to lie down. I’m going to take you to your room, okay?”
Charlie wants to tell him no — not because she doesn’t want it, just because if she ends up alone in her room with him she might end up doing something she knows she’ll regret. It takes real strength to find her voice, but as Lucifer withdraws his hand, some instinct inside her screaming at the loss of contact, she manages to croak, “I’m— I’m fine, Dad, it’s—”
“You’re obviously not,” Lucifer says, and he looks really worried when he tries to help Charlie up and she ends up clinging to him for support, her legs failing her. “Hey, hey, okay, it’s alright. Come here.”
The smooth, effortless motion of Lucifer moving closer again and swinging her up into his arms doesn’t do anything to help Charlie’s situation, and she has to bite her tongue to avoid moaning. His short, skinny appearance hides surprising strength, something that Charlie tends to forget until she’s actually on the receiving end of that strength. He could hold her down, he could hold her legs open and eat her out until she cries, it would be so satisfying to turn that supernatural strength into a whining, shivering mess—
“Okay, don’t try and get up,” Lucifer says, and Charlie blinks to find herself in her bedroom and Lucifer gently setting her down on top of her blankets. “I’m going to get some water. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
Charlie wants to beg him to stay, but she bites it back, choosing instead to just nod obediently as Lucifer backs away before disappearing into the bathroom and reappearing with a damp washcloth. He’s fussing, undoing her hair from its ponytail so it’s not digging into her head as he wipes over her face with the washcloth, swiping soothing coolness over her skin as it starts to bead with sweat. Lying down hasn’t made that yawning, clawing need any better; in fact, it almost feels worse now, laying back and staring up at him even as he looks at her with nothing but paternal concern.
“Dad,” Charlie says, before she can stop herself, and then she recoils, unable to bear the thought of voicing this out loud. How can she tell him what’s really wrong with her? She doesn’t even know what’s wrong with her! This could be some kind of assassination attempt for all she knows. This could be killing her!
“Yeah, sweetie?” Lucifer asks, when Charlie doesn’t continue, leaning over her and placing his hand on her forehead again.
“Nothing. Nevermind.” Charlie swallows, trying to ignore the part of her that wants to reach up and fist a hand in the front of his vest to drag him down, trying not to think about the points of his teeth and how they might feel against her tongue. “It’s— I’m fine. I’m fine. I just—”
“You’re drenched in sweat and even I can feel how hot you’re running right now,” Lucifer says. “Don’t even try that with me. We need to get your temperature down, then call Belle—”
“Oh, fuck no,” Charlie says instantly, then feels her face go blotchy when Lucifer narrows his eyes at her. “Dad, it’s— it’s okay, I— I’m not sick.”
Lucifer presses the cool cloth to her forehead again. “Whatever you say, young lady.”
The desire that’s settled in her chest howls at the nickname, gnawing at her ribs like she’s got a cage of rabid animals locked up in there and they’re fighting to get free. If Lucifer doesn’t leave — and soon — he’s probably going to find out exactly what’s wrong when her wetness soaks through her underwear and pants, especially if he keeps using nicknames like that. What if he didn’t leave, though? What if he stayed right next to her? What if he slipped her clothes off and laid down next to her and let her grind on his hand and told her how good she was being—?
“Charlie?” Lucifer’s voice drags her back to the present, and Charlie’s face only gets hotter as she realizes that she’s squeezing her thighs together, her hands fisted into the blanket beneath her. “Okay, Charlie, you’re— something’s wrong. I’m calling—”
“I’m not sick, okay? It’s— It’s— It’s some kind of fucking aphrodisiac!”
Charlie barely even knows she’s said it until the words are already out, and at that point, it’s too late. She can’t let anyone else know she’s like this, not when she has a hotel to run and an image to uphold, and she especially doesn’t want Belphegor fussing over her even worse than Lucifer is, even if that means having to deal with…
“Oh,” Lucifer chokes out, his face practically glowing gold.
…that.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie says, and the humiliation and brief guilt over making him deal with this almost kills the arousal. “I’m— I’m sorry. I— It just hit me all of a sudden, it was like— it was like one minute I was fine, and the next minute I— I can’t stop thinking about—”
Lucifer’s staring at her, eyes wide and mouth hanging open enough for her to see the points of his teeth again, sharp and dangerous and hot. As Charlie stares back desperately, he closes his mouth and swallows, his throat clicking drily as he very deliberately does not look anywhere except her face.
“Oh.” Lucifer clears his throat. “I…I see. Okay. Okay, do you— do you feel— I mean, um, is it…hurting you?”
Charlie takes a breath and tries to think past the lust, realizing that maybe she should have done that sooner. It hurts, but only in the way that wanting something so badly you can taste it and not being able to get it hurts. She still has control of her body, for the most part. And she can think. Most of her thoughts are about things she really shouldn’t be thinking about, but they are there. It’s not like she’s mindless.
“No,” Charlie says eventually. “Not…not yet.”
“Not yet,” Lucifer repeats, and then he swears. “Okay. I— I’m going to touch your face, alright, sweetie?”
Charlie nods, feeling more than alright with that, and can’t stop the little whimper that falls from her throat as Lucifer gently tilts her face towards him, peering into her eyes before closing his own and frowning for a moment. Charlie feels the telltale prickle of magic through his hands, then he carefully pulls back and swears again.
“Do you know how—? I mean, did you— did you go anywhere? Take anything? Drink anything? Someone must have given this to you.” Lucifer’s eyes flash dangerously. “And when I find them—”
Charlie shakes her head, closing her eyes to avoid seeing that threatening sharpness that he keeps so carefully hidden, the sight of it making her blood feel like it’s boiling. “No, all— all I’ve done today was do activity plans, and—” She takes a deep breath as the arousal spikes, her demon form threatening to escape at the raw desperation that screeches through her. “And go through the mail.”
“The mail. The mail!” Lucifer barely finishes saying it before he’s gone. It’s a scant few moments later that he pops right back into existence holding an envelope addressed to Charlie. “Did you touch this one?”
“Uh,” Charlie says, blinking, because higher logic is not coming easy right now. “I think so?”
Lucifer looks like he’s about ready to level a city, and he snaps his fingers. In a second, the envelope burns up, leaving not a pile of ashen paper in its wake, but a pile of shimmering pink glitter. Charlie’s heart drops at the sight. Other parts of her body have a rather different response, especially when Lucifer raises his hand to look at the powder closer, turning from goofy to analytic and serious in a second.
“This is what they got you with,” Lucifer says grimly. “And I can’t take it off. There’s angel blood in it.”
Charlie swallows, suddenly realizing that this might be a little more serious than two vibrators and a cold shower. “What’s going to happen to me?”
Lucifer vanishes the powder, all the threat draining from him as he focuses on her once again. “I…I don’t really know. You…you should be okay, I don’t think it’ll hurt you, but…”
Maybe not physically. But Charlie can already feel primal, animalistic want inside her, as if the magic has realized there’s an entire demon lurking just under her skin and is starting to worm its way into the cracks. She wants to feel skin against skin, wants to feel someone underneath her or on top of her, wants to hold Lucifer’s wrists above his head and bite that neck until he’s bleeding.
Oh, no. Charlie swallows, pressing her thighs together and hoping that the wetness she feels there hasn’t soaked through her clothes yet. Well, now I can’t go to anyone else, because I might just rip them apart!
“...prevents me from taking the spell off, but it’s not technically a weapon, so it’s not going to have any long-term effects on your health, I’d assume. Of course, I’m not an expert, we really should call Belle or at least someone who has some kind of experience with these spells to make sure…” Lucifer is still talking, but he trails off as he sees Charlie looking at him, and this time, the flush spreads down all the way to his collar. “You…you probably want me to leave. I— I should go, it’s—”
“Please don’t leave,” Charlie says, before she really hears herself, and she swallows back a desperate rambling plea for him to take her fucking clothes off right this second. “I… I don’t…”
What’s she going to say? Turns out I have a thing for you? Turns out you’re exactly who I seem to need right now? Turns out if I was human I would absolutely be going to Hell because I can’t stop thinking about fucking my own father? Charlie’s mouth feels like she’s swallowed sawdust, and she tells herself she’s imagining the way Lucifer’s eyes linger at her throat, where her bowtie hangs undone and rumpled and her top button has fallen open, for a half second longer than she really thinks is necessary. Lucifer might be the Devil, but he isn’t going to just accept getting propositioned by his daughter. He’d tell her to find someone else — Angel Dust, Vaggie, Husk. Charlie should find someone else. But she doesn’t want someone else. What she wants, what her heart, brain, and pussy are all screaming at her to have, is him.
“I really— I don’t want you to leave.” Charlie winces at how weak her voice sounds. For Hell’s sake, how did she end up in a situation straight out of one of Angel Dust’s pornos? And why is she rapidly realizing that she’s starting to not care?
To his credit, Lucifer seems to take this in stride, wiping her face with the washcloth again and frowning. “Okay… Do you want me to get you some water? Or— or run you a bath? I could get some ice, and—”
The fever beneath Charlie’s skin spikes when he touches her, a moan spilling from her chest before she can bite it back at the contact, even separated as it is by the cool cloth. She wants his hands on her, she wants his hands in her, she wants his hands clawing at her back—
“Charlie, I—” Lucifer’s eyes have gone dark, honey-gold and crimson, and Charlie watches his throat bob as she blinks at him, humiliation and arousal raging in her gut. “I really shouldn’t be here.”
“I want you here,” Charlie says, and she knows that Lucifer knows what she’s not saying. I want you.
Charlie wants to say it. She wants to just ask for it, like she should, like would be appropriate, but really, none of this is appropriate, so maybe she’s barking up the wrong tree. She exhales a shaky breath and reaches for his hand, the washcloth landing next to her as her fingers close around Lucifer’s wrist. She expects him to pull his hand away, especially when she carefully tugs it down her body, resting it over her stomach and looking up at him.
“Please,” Charlie whispers. “I— Please.”
Lucifer’s hand doesn’t move, his eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. “You’re not thinking straight.”
It’s not the rebuttal Charlie expected, and the fever spikes hot again, her horns heavy on her forehead before she knows what’s changed. He didn’t say that they can’t — he just thinks she doesn’t know what she’s asking for.
“Yes, I am.” Charlie takes a deep breath. “I know— I know what I’m asking for. I know why we shouldn’t. But— But if I’m as powerful as everyone says I am, then I could really hurt someone when I’m like this. I–I can’t hurt you. You could— you’re stronger than I am.”
Lucifer takes a deep breath, and his fingers twitch against the plane of her stomach.
“Besides,” Charlie adds, swallowing drily and hoping she’s not irreversibly ruining the relationship they’ve tried so hard to repair, “it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve thought about it.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Lucifer chokes out, and Charlie isn’t sure whether that’s a good swear or a bad one until she feels his fingers effortlessly undo the button on her pants, his hand slipping down against her soaked underwear. “Fuck, Charlie…”
Charlie’s not proud of the way she moans, throwing her head back and shuddering in relief at the pressure of his hand against her oversensitive folds, the physical bliss mixing with pure thankfulness that he’s actually doing this.
“Thank you, oh, fuck, thank you, please, just stay there, just hold it right—” Charlie grabs for his wrist again, feeling her claws lengthen and her tail slither from underneath her as she moans and shamelessly grinds down onto his hand, sparks dancing in her vision until there’s a shuddering overload of sensation and she cums with a sound like she’s been punched in the solar plexus.
Charlie opens her eyes moments later, fully panting now, to find Lucifer staring at her like she’s just offered him the world. Slowly, Lucifer turns his eyes down to where her hand is wrapped in a vice grip around his wrist and feeling oddly…wet. The mind-wiping flash of arousal that grips Charlie as she sees the gold starting to slick down the dark gray skin of his forearms is enough to make her moan again, folds throbbing with renewed want. She expects Lucifer to reprimand her, but he just swallows, his throat bobbing, and looks up to her face again.
“If you, um,” Lucifer says, voice shaking, “like being on top, I…”
Oh my God, Charlie thinks. My dad’s a fucking bottom.
The motion she uses to grab Lucifer and roll them over so she’s kneeling over him isn’t graceful, but it’s sure as shit efficient. She can feel her tail whipping excitedly behind her, and Lucifer’s face practically glows with a golden flush, his blood smeared across his wrist where Charlie’s claws sliced into him, and the arousal feels a million times better now that it has a target who’s lying ready and willing beneath her. Finally, she feels like she can focus — granted, what she’s focusing on is the idea of fucking Lucifer into the mattress, but at least she’s focusing on something instead of feeling like she’s about to combust from sheer horniness.
Charlie tugs her shirt off without any further ado, half-wishing that she could make this count — and knowing she probably should — but unable to really think of how, considering the idea of foreplay makes her want to claw something else. She undoes her bra one handed as she leans over to the bedside table, pulling open the drawer she keeps personal items in and pulling out a harness and one of the accompanying toys.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Lucifer says, breathless and almost seeming annoyed, and when Charlie gives him a concerned look, he rolls his eyes. “That’s the same fucking drawer that I keep my sex toys in.”
Charlie pauses just long enough to let herself have a mini-crisis over that, then she’s wriggling out of her pants and underwear and strapping the harness around her waist. “If— if you want to stop, or if I hurt you, just tell me.”
Lucifer nods, then raises his hand and snaps — the magic that crackles over him is golden and leaves the air tinged with the faint scent of apples and smoke, his clothes disappearing in the blink of an eye.
“Show-off,” Charlie grumbles, but it’s affectionate, and she knows she’s fucked when he grins with those sharp, deadly, beautiful teeth and it only makes the fervor inside of her burn hotter. She reaches for the toy, slipping it into the harness with practiced ease.
The thing is, Charlie’s known her whole life that it was Lucifer who gave birth to her. Lilith was barren, one of Heaven’s parting gifts, and probably wouldn’t have borne a child even if she had been able to; it was only natural that Lucifer would have taken up the task. So Charlie knows — and has known for a long time — that Lucifer, at least some of the time, has a pussy. It’s only been recently, however, that she’s actually thought about that fact.
She’s thinking about it again now, staring at his naked form, all the long, slender lines of him. Lucifer is beautiful. Charlie knew that, too, but it was always a sort of detached knowledge, the same way you’d think about a nice landscape or a pretty drawing. Now, though, looking down at him, it makes her hungry, the spell and the demon inside her howling for her to make him hers in any way possible. The flush staining his chest and cheeks, the effortless grace with which he seems to lay there, the shimmering golden folds between his legs — Charlie groans and pulls him forwards by his hips, nails digging into the soft skin there as she slides the toy over his folds, shuddering along with him when she feels the heat and wetness between his legs thanks to the enchantment on the toy.
“Fuck,” Lucifer groans, and he rolls his hips in time with the toy, his head falling back when the head slides over his entrance but doesn’t go any further. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead, please, Charlie.”
Charlie hadn’t even realized that’s what she was waiting for. She lines the toy up, fresh tremors making her breath hitch as she feels the give of his body around the head, the red silicone made slick by his fluids and disappearing into the gold in a way only describable as obscene. She thought she was desperate for this…but how ready was he?
The heat of him around the toy makes Charlie moan, her hips stuttering and her tail thrashing angrily at the restraint she forces herself to show before she wraps it around her own thigh and doubles over Lucifer, propping herself up with her hands. She has to be careful. She is strong, and sometimes she forgets her own strength, or doesn’t even know it in the first place.
“It’s okay,” Lucifer says, and Charlie barely hears his next words over the rush of blood that makes her feel hot and bruised and swollen when he clenches around her and rocks his hips down against the toy. “You can’t hurt me, Charlie.”
“You’re—” Charlie almost can’t say the words, it feels so obscene. “You’re— you’re really tight.”
He is, and the spell currently turning her blood to fire wants her to fuck him open until he’s slick and loose and coming apart at the seams. Charlie growls and pushes back the red that threatens to bleed into her vision, desperately trying to fight the primal part of her that’s been whipped up into a frenzy by the foreign magic. The gentle touch of a hand to her chin makes her snap her eyes open, her hips jerking forwards entirely involuntarily and making Lucifer’s lashes flutter as he guides her to look at him.
“I can take it,” he says, giving her a lopsided, self-assured grin. “I promise. Come on. If we’re going to do this, don’t hold back.”
Charlie’s only a woman. She’s only so strong.
Lucifer’s moan when she gives in and forces the rest of the toy inside in one harsh, brutal motion is straight out of a porno, his hands clawing at the sheets and his legs falling open even wider. The sensation of his tight, velvety heat around the toy is almost too much, and Charlie moans helplessly as instinct takes over and she grinds up into him as far as she can go before she finally manages to wrestle control back just enough to set a rhythm that makes her feel like she’s going insane. The room feels ten degrees hotter than it did before and Charlie swears she can taste the sweetness of the spell in the back of her throat, which just makes her wonder what he’d taste like if she replaced the toy with her tongue and let him clench around that instead.
“Charlie, Charlie, oh, fuck,” Lucifer whimpers, voice breaking in time with her thrusts, reaching one hand up to grab the headboard as he fists his other hand into the sheets. “Fuck— yes, yes, please, as hard as you can, please, just like that, I want you to fuck me—”
A loud bottom, Charlie amends to her earlier assessment, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t send a hot rush of satisfaction through her. She adjusts her grip on his hips and pulls him up a little higher, a growl of satisfaction surprising even her when it falls from her mouth at the way he clenches and bucks his hips. It’s like he hasn’t gotten touched in years, and Charlie’s realization that he probably hasn’t is uncomfortable and sticky in her chest until Lucifer wraps both his legs around her waist and digs his hooves into her back like he’s trying to fuck himself even deeper onto the toy.
The magic is singing in Charlie’s chest, every nerve humming as she digs her claws into the sheets and grits her teeth against the urge to bite down on the soft, smooth expanse of angelic beauty on display in front of her. The spell makes her feel animalistic, almost feral, and she wants nothing more than to mark him, the demon inside her making her teeth ache as she keeps the rhythm of her thrusts, each one hard enough to knock the headboard against the wall. Lucifer takes it so well, like he was made for it, and Charlie distantly recognizes that she is never going to be able to look at him the same way again now that she knows what this feels like.
“I’m gonna cum,” Lucifer gasps. “I— I’m gonna—”
Charlie is, too, if he keeps making noises like he is, desperate little whimpers mixed with the sounds of the toy sinking into him on each thrust, so wet that Charlie can hear it. Her own thighs are slick, her pussy tight and clenching around nothing at the stimulus from the toy, every thrust in making the pressure build and build like a pot threatening to boil over. He’s fluttering around her, his hips jerking back into her motions, and Charlie watches as his face goes tight and pulls his hips up with one hand to angle her next thrust right into his sweet spot.
Lucifer’s moan as he cums is loud and unashamed, his legs tightening around Charlie’s body again to hold her in place while his whole body shudders with the tremors, and all it takes is a few more shallow rolls of her hips into him to force Charlie over the edge, too. It feels like her orgasm takes over, her body going stiff as ecstasy washes every bit of her in bright, blinding pleasure. She can still hear Lucifer’s noises, their bodies moving together in senseless, mindless bliss, bodies pressed together and every inch of her feeling awash with light.
The come-down is sticky and sweaty, her heart thudding fast and loud against her ribs and shivers rolling down her spine as she shifts her hips the slightest bit and sensation explodes in crackling fireworks. She can still feel the magic inside her, but there’s a certain clarity that she didn’t have before, her vision seeming a little clearer as she pushes herself back up onto her knees and looks down at Lucifer.
It’s unfair, the way he’s barely broken a sweat. Charlie wipes her face and meets his eyes as he looks back up at her, seeming sheepish.
“Not the first time I dreamed of,” Lucifer says, grinning awkwardly.
Charlie’s about to ask him how many times, exactly, he dreamed of this, but dismisses it a moment later, deciding that now is really not the time. They can have their heartfelt discussion about feelings later: much as she’d love to right now, her bones still hum with the electric crackle of artificial lust and she can’t seem to bring herself to let go of his thighs where she’s holding them open, which doesn’t seem like it’d be conducive to much more than word vomit about how much she hates herself for wanting him like this.
“It’s not over, is it?” Lucifer asks, and he sits up, the lean muscle of his stomach shifting as he does. “Here, is it okay if I…?”
“I’m inside you,” Charlie says, by way of assent. That was eloquent.
Lucifer shrugs as he touches the tips of his fingers to Charlie’s collarbone. “Ongoing consent is important.”
Charlie doesn’t know if she really expected anything less, honestly, and she breathes out the tremors that want to sink into the base of her spine and force her to resume her desperate thrusts into Lucifer as magic prickles across her skin from his touch. He seems to get an answer to his question from it, because he pulls his hand back with a shake of his head.
“It’s lessened,” Lucifer says. “But it’s definitely still on you. I guess this means that we’re on the right track, at least.”
At least we didn’t erase any plausible familial deniability for nothing, Charlie thinks to herself, half-amused but mostly just wry. Then her tail unwinds from around her thigh entirely of its own volition and decides it needs to take an exploratory jaunt over Lucifer’s long, slender limbs, wrapping around his wrist in a way that can only be called possessive. Lucifer just laughs softly and turns his palm over to carefully catch the spade-shaped tip, running his thumb down the line of it with the knowing touch of someone who has one of his own. The sensation makes Charlie groan, not knowing why she finds the sight of those dark gray fingers tracing over the razor-sharp edge as erotic as she does, unable to tear her eyes away until Lucifer lets it go and pushes himself back, the toy sliding free from him in a rushing loss of heat that leaves Charlie wanting to squirm and also kind of sob.
Lucifer shushes her gently, and Charlie barely realizes she’s blinking through tears until her vision goes fuzzy for a half second before she focuses on him again, watching as he turns himself over onto his stomach. It takes a second for her to register exactly what he’s doing until he pushes himself up on his spread knees, revealing the slick folds between his legs, the gold flush almost glowing against his pearly skin, and folds his arms under his head as he glances back at Charlie.
“Oh,” Charlie says, in a tone edging into the registers that only hellhounds can hear. “You—?”
“I get loud.” Lucifer clears his throat, and Charlie swears she sees him clench around nothing as she shifts and steadies the toy in her harness. “Probably…probably better if I have something to bite down on.”
The whimper she makes is not a sound that she’s proud of, and she’s reaching for him before she knows she’s doing it, wrapping her hands around his hips and pulling him back against her. Lucifer might hide strength, but he is still small, her hands fitting perfectly around his body as she mindlessly thrusts against the slick warmth between his thighs before she wrestles herself back under control enough to reach down, take hold of the toy, and sink it into him in one solid movement.
It’s not graceful and it’s not profound, not like it should be, but they still both moan, lingering in the heavy air as Charlie drapes herself over him and hangs her head to try and catch her breath. She’s so fucking wet it seems like it should be labeled a crime — but then again, if they weren’t in Hell, this would be. Charlie’s hips jerk and she can’t bite back another moan as it causes another fiery flood of pleasure through her. Lucifer’s still so tight, especially when she shifts again and he clenches around her like he wants to keep her inside him.
It’s hard to remind herself that she can be rough with him, but it’s even harder to hold on to any semblance of thoughtfulness when he spreads his knees a little wider, arching his back to press against the pressure of the toy inside him. The demon inside her howls in satisfaction at the thought, and all the coherency that she managed to claw back with her orgasm is wiped away when she thrusts in for the first time.
“Charlie!” Lucifer is loud, and he seems to realize that, too, because as soon as he says it he’s bundling the pillow up underneath him and biting down, muffling his next moan into the fabric as Charlie lets instinct take over and sets a brutal, punishing pace.
Charlie wants to hear him, wants to make everyone hear him, wants to leave him bruised and aching and bitten, and she knows that’s the magic and the demon talking but she just can’t bring herself to care. She just barely manages to resist the urge to fist a hand into his hair and drag his head up so he has no choice but to keep making those desperate, beautiful noises, instead allowing herself to dig her claws into his hips and support herself with her other hand, keeping herself laid over his back so they’re pressed together as close as they can go.
The feelings from the toy and her own natural arousal are overwhelming, her clit aching for stimulation and her own wetness slicking her thighs as she groans and ruthlessly fucks into him to try and satisfy the howling, clawing hole of arousal in the pit of her belly that’s rapidly growing tighter and tighter. She can feel wetness underneath her hand, the tang of angel blood mixing with the scent of sticky-sweet arousal that hangs in the air like a physical thing, and when Charlie’s claws slice deeper, she feels more than hears Lucifer cum again.
There’s a vicious sort of satisfaction in fucking him through it, everything hot-bright and possessive as she feels him fall apart around the toy, his muscles clenching and fluttering as his hips push back into her again. She made him do that, feel like that, his thighs trembling as she rocks in time with each drawn-out aftershock of his orgasm to leave him sobbing through the fabric between his teeth and spreading his thighs wider.
The back of Lucifer’s neck is flushed gold now, bright as he buries his face into the pillow, and the urge to sink her teeth into it rips through Charlie like one of Wrath’s lightning storms, suddenly unable to stop imagining what it would taste like — sticky and salty with sweat, the sweet-hot taste of his blood on her teeth, the sensation of biting him right there where he’d have to hide it with his shirt and popped collar if he didn’t want people knowing just who was fucking him like this. The thought is almost disgustingly possessive. Charlie squeezes her eyes closed and tries not to think about it.
“You’re so fucking— oh, fuck, it’s so good,” Lucifer moans, words softened by the pillow, and Charlie’s tail whips in sheer delight. “Fuck, fuck, oh, God, oh God please, please don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
Charlie couldn’t even if she wanted to. She’s careful of her horns as she drops her head again, so close to Lucifer’s skin that she can feel the prickling ozone of magic that bleeds from his body at all times. He’s radiating heat, every thrust into him accompanied by a lewd, wet noise, his panting moans muffled by the pillow but barely audible over the filthy sounds of her inside him.
Charlie isn’t going to last much longer. She knows that already, and it’s only reinforced when her hand on his hip unthinkingly slides down to massage at his clit, focused only on feeling as much of him as she possibly can. He’s soaking wet under her hand and when her fingers meet the swollen little bud he yelps, torn from his throat and not quite muffled by the pillow. The jerk of his hips makes her hiss through her teeth, careful not to let her claws catch on sensitive areas as she slips two fingers between his folds and rubs, focused only on forcing him to climax again to push herself that little bit more that she knows she needs.
Lucifer’s reaction is immediate: the pillow doesn’t do much to hide the noise that he makes, obscene enough to make Angel Dust blush and accompanied by a sudden gush of wetness around the toy and over Charlie’s hand, his body tightening and rutting back as if he can force it deeper inside himself. It would be enough to pull Charlie over the edge in a normal scenario, and right now, still in the throes of the magic, she stands no chance. She only faintly realizes that her mouth is pressed against the nape of Lucifer’s neck, her nose in his hair, and as the dam inside of her breaks, she tastes sweat and smoke and blood as she buries her teeth in the pale expanse of skin and bites down hard.
This time, the flood of pleasure is so acute it makes her see stars, flashing like neons as blood that tastes like charred honey bursts over her tongue. Lucifer seems to have given up on the pillow, because he’s moaning openly and unashamed, letting her use his body to ride out the aftershocks, the magic demanding more heat, more closeness, more everything. She doesn’t know what she wants, but she knows that this is as close to it as she can get, pressed along the line of Lucifer’s form with the toy still buried to the hilt inside him, every second bringing another wave of twitching, shuddering pleasure.
Eventually, Charlie manages to drag herself back, slumping onto her side and not even caring that her whole body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and she’s still got the toy strapped to her, bobbing almost comically with each of her motions. Her throat feels dry, her muscles ache, and yet the burn of the magic is still pounding in time with her heart, weaker but still undeniably there.
“Oh, Charlie, sweetheart…” Lucifer sounds worried, and Charlie feels the bed shift as he carefully moves to kneel next to her. His hand hovers near her cheek; when Charlie nods, too tired for words, he presses it against her to guide her to look up at him. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”
“It’s not gone yet,” Charlie says, closing her eyes and trying to clear her head of the scent of sex that still hovers in the air. Fuck, did she make Lucifer squirt? She doesn’t know why that’s as hot as it is… She swallows, wincing as she shifts, and adds, “I…I think it’s almost out of my system. I just…I need a minute.”
“Okay,” Lucifer agrees readily, and somehow he’s got the washcloth again, blessedly cool against her skin as he wipes her forehead with it, careful to avoid the sensitive base of each of her horns.
Charlie blinks up at him above her, eyes finding the little trail of shimmering gold winding down from the back of his neck. A careful swipe of her tongue over her teeth leads to a full-body shudder at the lingering taste, sweet-hot and almost addictive, but she manages to find enough coherency and control of her body to reach up and try to wipe it with her thumb.
“‘M sorry,” Charlie murmurs, pulling her hand away and staring at the little golden smear — ugh, Lucifer’s got golden blood all over him. Well, it proves her worries about being careful right, at least… “I didn’t mean to…”
Lucifer just smiles. “It’s alright. I like a little bit of pain.”
And if that doesn’t do something to Charlie, nothing will. She presses her thighs together as her neglected clit throbs at the slightest touch of the harness against it, reaching a hand down and shoving it under the leather straps to grind against her palm. It’s embarrassing, sure, but Charlie thinks they’ve crossed so far over the line of embarrassment that she doesn’t really have anything to worry about.
“Are you okay with being penetrated?” Lucifer asks, and Charlie focuses on him again to realize that he’s staring directly at her hand between her thighs. “It’s— It’s fine if you’re not, but if you are, I…”
…So he’s a switch, Charlie thinks. Were my sexual preferences genetically determined? That’s a weird thought…
“I know you’re tired,” Lucifer goes on, sounding more and more awkward the longer he talks, “and I wouldn’t blame you if you— or I could eat you out? But I know maybe that’d be weird, but then again this is all kind of weird and I probably shouldn’t be offering in the first place but honestly I think we’re past that so if you want me to eat you out I will, I haven’t done it in a while but—”
“Please stop talking, Dad,” Charlie says, and Lucifer’s mouth closes with an audible click of his teeth, something in his face seeming like he’s been shot at the sound of that innocuous word being said in a situation like this. Charlie understands the feeling. She kind of regrets it, too. “Fuck me.”
“Uh-huh,” Lucifer whispers, and then he goes bright gold. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Charlie’s about to roll her eyes, but all attention is rapidly diverted as Lucifer snaps and the harness and toy are gone, a crackle of glittering red and gold magic obscuring his lower half for a scant few seconds before disappearing and leaving him…
Oh.
Charlie swallows thickly.
She should have expected that.
Lucifer’s cock is— well, hard, for one, and quite a bit bigger than she would have expected, not that she’s thought about it, or anything. Charlie’s pussy gives a needy, humiliating pulse, unable to stop staring at the tip flushed the same pretty gold as his folds were. It’s a pretty cock, Charlie thinks, which is a weird thing to say about her father’s dick, but here they are. She rolls onto her back as Lucifer takes up a kneeling position between her spread legs. Angel Dust always says that height doesn’t matter much when you’re horizontal, and she sees the wisdom in that; despite being at least a foot taller than Lucifer, he still seems big enough to loom over her when they’re like this.
“Oh, is— is this okay?” Lucifer’s got one hand on his dick, the dark gray of his hands standing out against the gold-flushed white, and Charlie doesn’t think she can be blamed for the way she kind of wants to moan a little at how big it is compared to his hands. “I can, um, use a toy, if you’d like? If you don’t want— you know, if it’s—”
“This is good,” Charlie says breathlessly, and she hooks one leg around Lucifer’s waist, pulling him closer like he did to her. “I’m— I’m good.”
Lucifer bites his lip, willingly going closer and letting the head of his cock press against Charlie’s folds, already sticky with fluid and scorching hot against her. The touch sends another drag of need down her spine, and Charlie arches her back, trying to find the angle that will force him inside of her and only succeeding in grinding the slick inner folds against him in a way that makes her feel like she’s going to cry. Effortlessly, one of Lucifer’s hands goes to her hips, those slender fingers gently but firmly pressing them down and holding her in place as he guides his cock into her with all the careful confidence of someone who knows he’s good at this.
“I don’t want you to overexert yourself,” Lucifer says softly, swiping his fingers over her skin. “I’ve got you, okay? I’ll take care of you.”
Charlie whimpers, his words soothing, a cool balm to the still-smoldering embers inside of her, and obeys as best she can, letting her head fall back and closing her eyes as Lucifer presses inside of her. After the sensations from the toy and the bare minimum of stimulation to her clit, having him sinking in deep, his cock dragging against sensitive inner walls made slick by relentless arousal, is dizzying. The fact that he’s big doesn’t help matters much — Charlie gives a pathetic, punched out moan when he finally bottoms out, finding herself unable to completely clench down because of how he’s stretching her out. It feels like it should hurt, but it doesn’t, and Charlie breathes out slowly, her whole lower half aching with satisfaction.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” Lucifer whispers, supporting himself with his arms on either side of Charlie. “If it starts to hurt, we’ll stop.”
Charlie manages to choke out her assent, then all higher thought is wiped from her brain when Lucifer pulls back — barely halfway, not even enough for her to get a breath in, and then pushes back in.
She doesn’t cum, but she’s pretty sure that if she hadn’t just done that twice already, she would have. Lucifer might as well be molding her insides around his dick with how big he is. All she can do is reach up and grab at his back, digging her claws into his shoulders and hearing the way he gives a satisfied groan and repeats the motion, pace slow and careful until Charlie tightens the leg that’s still slung over his hips.
“It’s okay. I can take it. I—I need it.”
Lucifer obeys, picking up his thrusts, keeping them shallow as Charlie tries to breathe around the mind-melting pleasure. She hadn’t realized how empty she felt until now, filled up as much as she can be by him, and she drags her claws down his back as he gives a thrust just a little deeper than before and the head of his cock rubs against her sweet spot.
“You’re doing so good,” Lucifer says, and Charlie whines when she realizes how close he’s gotten, her eyes fluttering closed and feeling his breaths against her jaw. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re okay. I’m right here.”
Charlie will cry this time, because the combination of him inside her and his voice in her ear is doing things to her, his words low and silky, the Devil’s silver tongue that all the stories talk about. The spell is starting to unravel, loosening its grip on her until she can almost think clearly enough to really grasp the fact that she’s got Lucifer inside her and is enjoying it. Charlie keens when he thrusts, raking her claws down his back again, and Lucifer’s responding moan makes the space between her legs feel like she’s going to burst.
“Yes, Charlie, fuck, just like that.” Lucifer snaps his hips forward, the lean muscles of his back that hide the invisible power of his wings rippling under her touch. “You’re doing so good, baby.”
“Oh, fuck,” Charlie gasps, because the jolt of pure fire that electrified her at that nickname out of his mouth feels like she’s been shot. “Y-Yes, yes, please—”
It’s getting hard to think again, whatever easing of the spell there was rapidly being subsumed by entirely natural lust as Lucifer runs one of his hands down her side before settling it over her mound, the pacing of his thrusts never stopping as his thumb ghosts over her clit. Her whole body feels hot and wound too tight like a spring about to snap, her chest heaving as she pants desperately. She’s still clutching on to Lucifer, both her legs now around his hips, clinging to him like she’ll fall into nothingness if she doesn’t.
“Good girl,” Lucifer pants. “Good girl, just like that. I’ve got you. Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect, Charlie.”
Charlie’s hips spasm down into his hand when his thumb finds her clit again, her insides clenching around him, and she feels so full and blissed out that she thinks she might actually go insane if she doesn’t cum soon. The air is filled with the sounds of skin on skin and the scent of Lucifer’s magic — apples and smoke and heat. Charlie throws her head back, feeling her horns gouge lines into the headboard as she gives open-mouthed moans until finally Lucifer presses at her clit just as he thrusts right into her sweet spot.
Charlie’s orgasm feels like something inside her is clawing to escape, her claws shredding Lucifer’s back as she tries desperately to hold on against the surge of overwhelming pleasure as the spell that was so tenuously holding on finally snaps with a shockwave that makes her ears ring and her body stop responding. For what feels like a very long time, all she can focus on is her and Lucifer: the heat of their bodies pressed together, his back under her hands, the weight of him all around her as he whispers soothing, meaningless words into her ear.
Faintly, Charlie realizes that someone is sobbing. Even more faint is the realization that it’s herself. And then, with a sound like disappearing underwater, everything turns to a pleasant, insensate haze.
After that, it’s a blur: Charlie feels Lucifer pull out, feels the magic that sweeps across her skin, cleaning her and leaving her dressed in loose, thin pajamas, feels the way he carefully helps her to lay down and then props her head up ever so gently, feels the smooth, wet glass of a cup of water pressed to her mouth and hears him as he praises her for gulping it down greedily. She even thinks she feels him start to pull away — but faintly, her eyes mostly closed, she grabs for his wrist and tugs him back.
“Don’t leave,” Charlie mumbles tiredly. “Just…stay.”
There’s a pause — tense and expectant, even in her exhausted, wrung-dry state. Then the bed dips and Lucifer’s warmth settles in beside her.
They’ll talk about this. They’ll have to. But for now…
Charlie reaches for Lucifer’s hand and grabs it tight.
For now, all she can do is be grateful that he’s here.