Summary:
Lucifer (Louis) finally manages to catch Michael about to seal the deal on a kill in real time at a local queer pub after their eyes met beneath a street lamp about one month ago. Of course, the practical thing to do is have a wet dream where you fuck your supposed enemy in a bathroom stall.
Author’s Note:
This is a part of a growing work I’ve named ‘Doll Parts.’ I cannot show the second chapter just yet while I submit it to different residencies, but this is the sequence that happens after Lucifer tracks Michael down for the first time. Please thank @dogboysaintmichael (Kaz) for his hard work on the artwork that goes along with it.
And yes, remember the #1 Rule with me: You do not escape Lucifer/Michael smut. Not now, not ever. Have fun, and enjoy! ♥
A dream. That’s all it was, a dream. Both Lucifer and Michael will rest their heads down on their respective pillows after their meeting at the pub; for Lucifer, he will take satisfaction that he’s started to carve a profile out of the infamous Barbie Killer that plagues the streets of Los Angeles. For Michael, he’s just over the moon about sending that stupid bastard ‘boyfriend’ right on down to Hell, having slit his throat upside down on a gurney before chopping him up to bits. To this end, both of them should have been satisfied with the simplicity of their jobs being fulfilled.
Yet it was not so. When they both close their eyes, they share a glorious vision of what could have been from the brief time they got to talk. It goes a little bit like this:
First, back to the pub. Instead of Lucifer leaving like he did once Michael’s target returned from the bathroom, Lucifer told him to fuck off, don’t you see this gal is mine? And the guy did just that with an indignant huff. It’s bad to let another killer walk free, but, Michael would just shoot a smug smirk at the loser, glad that somebody was man enough to stake their claim without being abashed by his appearance.
“Thank you.”
Dream Michael would say now, his blistering Pacific blue eyes twinkling. “He was really getting on my nerves.”
“Yeah, mine too.”
Dream Lucifer says with a scoff. He then looks to Michael in this sequence dead in the eyes with his lilac gaze, felt the violent urge to sweep all that pretty, blonde hair back so he could get a better look at the silver hoop earrings that he knows Michael is wearing. “And of course. I can’t let a pretty girl look so bored, can I?”
You sure can’t, Michael says with the hint of a smirk. “I’d be rather insulted if you didn’t. I mean seriously, you were reading the fucking newspaper in a pub? That’s so droll!”
Sue me, Lucifer snarks back with a shit eating grin, unable to control his face since again, this was a dream and the dream version of himself wanted to reveal what hid beneath his mask. “I like keepin’ up with the news, what’s so wrong about that?”
To which Michael insists the pubs are for flirting and for hook-ups, not to read. “You want to go do that shit, ‘Lucifer,’ go to the library.”
As if. Lucifer just snorts, face crinkling into one mean ass smirk as he nods his head at the blonde. “Ain’t you ever hear of multi-tasking, Mikey? I can read the news and flirt, just like I’m doin’ right now.”
A brow twitch. Michael is scanning Lucifer up and down, down and up. The detective was the shorter one out of them, and deceptively delicate looking with all his long, brunette hair framing his heart-shaped face, but he seemed a man who knew how to top real well. Just the mere thought of their lips meeting had begun to send Michael into a headspin, his subconscious trying to remind himself that this is a dream, a dream, a dream.
(Lucifer’s tries to do the same, by the way. It’s just a dream, he is only dreaming, there is no way – )
“Well flirting is fun and all, but uh, I don’t exactly have all night to be out. I’ve got work in the morning.”
Michael says now to see what Lucifer will do. The detective just snorts and gives a shrug of his shoulders.
“And so do I, hello? I’m twice your age, motherfucker, if anythin’, I’m the one who needs to sleep!”
That gets a chuckle out of Michael. There’s a brief exchange of awkward side glances towards the front door, then the bathroom, since both are trying to figure out where they’re doing to do this –
“I don’t mind a little fun in public.”
Lucifer concludes upon seeing Michael’s indecision. If he’s the one who was going to dominate in this situation, then he was going to do it right, and when pretty girls like the blonde here couldn’t think for themselves, well. “I’m sure it ain’t the first time this place has seen a bunch of horny bastards fuck in the stalls.”
This gets Michael to flush some, his tanned cheeks kissed red at the thought that everybody can hear Lucifer pound his guts out. Out of all his exploits, this was uncharted territory, something that excites him as he then nods in agreement. “I’m sure it isn’t. Lead the way, Lucifer.”
So the detective is just casually sauntering over to a gender-neutral bathroom with his hand in his pocket, whistling like he didn’t just proposition this hot bitch. The killer gives it a few seconds before sauntering in right after like he too just ‘needed to use the bathroom,’ kitten heels clicking against the grimy tiles before he sees Lucifer hiding in the very back stall.
“You know people with wheelchairs might need this, right?”
Michael begins with his classic sarcasm as he squeezes on in, lips curling into a teasing little smile. “It’s not very nice to deny them the ability to use the stall.”
Lucifer just gives Michael one wicked little lookover as he shrugs with a shoulder. “You’re a tall, handsome gal. I need enough room to bend you over and spread you, unless you think an ass as fine as yours can fit in those stupid regular stalls?”
Oh. Oh. Talk like that was getting Michael (dream Michael, yes, yes this is still a dream) a little hard as he uses his height advantage against Lucifer to pin him to the back wall. “No consideration for others, Lucifer. My, I’m not sure you and I will work out.”
It’s not nice to kill, Lucifer whispers in Michael’s ear in return. He flips the script by walking Michael back into the opposite wall, fingers squeezing that toned, muscle thigh while his lilac gaze stares dead into those Pacific blues. “I already know what you do and who you are. And here I am ignorin’ it because I wanna fuck your brains out until you come on the bathroom floor.”
Fuck, fuck it’s just a dream! A dream where Michael can feel how painfully hard he’s gotten beneath his skirt as he aches for Lucifer to touch his cock, something Lucifer will do by brushing his tawny fingers against the swollen head. With skirt material this tight, there is only one direction for the killer’s cock to go and it’s pointing down, the immaculate rod threatening to peek out of the hem.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Lucifer murmurs, lips now beginning to kiss along Michael’s neck. “Ain’t so sweet and innocent, are ‘ya? But that’s okay.”
To which Lucifer spanks Michael’s ass, forcing a moan out of the blonde. “I do love a bad girl as long as she’s good to me.”
And that, that sealed the deal. Lucifer leans up; Michael leans down, and both of their lips clash in a ferocious kiss that could stretch over whole lifetimes with the way subconscious time works. Lucifer imagines Michael tastes something like lip gloss, because he remembers how the killer’s lips glistened beneath the flickering lights and thought there was no fucking way such a mouth could do it naturally. Then, Michael imagines Lucifer tastes something like a strange mix of breathmints and cigarette smoke mixed with the hint of Hennesy he was nursing before approaching. Together, it made an intoxicating mix of sweet and savory, the perpetual dialogue that necessitated life itself.
“I want you.”
Michael breathes out with such a bluntness that one would be forgiven for comparing him to the divine angel Lucifer often stared at on the wall. His Pacific blues were glazed over with such a cock-drunk look that it put every type of alcohol Lucifer could consume to shame, making his smaller form shiver with delight. “I just, um, I forgot to – “
Bring a condom, Michael is about to mouth out. Lucifer just runs his thumb down those pouty lips, his lilac irises almost seeming to glow.
“That’s just fine with me, baby.”
Lucifer says with an all too chipper hum. If this is a dream (and it still is, they promise, it’s a dream!), then the detective should be able to do whatever he wants. That is to say, what he wants is Michael bouncing on his cock without any barrier between them, his fingers rubbing the now weeping slit with a cheeky little smile. “I wanna hit it exactly as you are.”
And the mere suggestion is so intoxicating that Michael lets his flimsy top slide down his shoulders, exposing to Lucifer a muscled chest with the bare hints of hair in the middle. In this process, Michael also flashes a massive, silver hoop earring dangling from his left ear. Lucifer can’t decide if he wants to stare more at the sway of the metal ring or the pecs, settling more for the pecs because they paired so nicely with such pouty lips that holy fucking shit, Lucifer is now beginning to realize this isn’t real and it’s pissing him off.
“I. . .I don’t mind.”
Michael manages to mutter out like his breath wasn’t quickening and his cock wasn’t straining so hard against tight denim. He too was getting pissed that this was a mere fantasy and not the reality they both should’ve settled into. “Not with you.”
Sealed, with a kiss. Sealed, by the way Lucifer flips that adorable (but obnoxious) skirt up onto Michael’s waist so his fingers can run along the blonde’s long cock.
“Immaculate.”
Lucifer murmurs against Michael’s lips with a smirk. He understands that the killer here doesn’t strictly identify as a man and so he makes a playful comment about the cock being the largest clit he’s ever seen. In response, Michael shivers with delight, flustering some that for once, somebody even got the memo in the first place. “You. . .you like it?”
Like it? Oh, please. Lucifer scoffs, teeth tugging at Michael’s bottom lip some because he wants to taste more of that lip gloss. “I fuckin’ love it. Ain’t ever seen somethin’ as fine as you in my motherfucking life and trust me, uh, I’ve lived long enough by now to see a whole lotta sexy bastards.”
Then, the stall door flings open. It opens because there’s some random drunk who just needs to pee and naturally, the handicap stall gives you the most room to amble about. When they open the door, both Lucifer and Michael’s gazes flit towards their newfound voyeur, with Lucifer just grinning while Michael flushes more.
“Oho? Looks like we’ve got ourselves a voyeur, my angel.”
And maybe, just maybe, that voyeur happens to be you, the one who reads this. Maybe it’s I, the one who writes this. Or maybe it’s God Himself, floating adrift in the infinite universe because He enjoys observing a good romp since all of us happen to live in a time where we can even think this shit up. Either way, the voyeur gets the memo that they are not going to use this toilet anytime soon, so they just hiss out a quick ‘my bad’ before slamming the stall door shut once more.
Now then,
Here comes the fun part, see, the part where Lucifer gets inventive with the environment by placing a few layers of those thin, shitty toilet paper covers on top of the closed lid. He would then yank his slacks down and take a seat, spreading his legs so Michael could see how sprung he was from all their ministrations beforehand.
“Say, Barbie, you wanna come and take a ride?”
The detective teases now, his lilac eyes dancing with no promise that he’d behave. Michael just eyes that cock like he’s never seen one before even though he’s seen plenty, taking his time to walk on over with an exaggerated sway of his hips.
“Oh, Ken. I thought you’d never ask.”
To which the killer then fishes out of his skirt pocket a cheap little sample of water-based lubricant. Michael always packed one of these bad boys in case he had the chance to get some after a fresh kill, especially when one considers this is perfect if you’re going to get fucked by somebody with a condom on. Going raw, however, this wasn’t the ideal but may these two trickster deities remind you this is a dream and that they do whatever they want so fuck it, they’re going to ball.
“Hmm, feels nice. . .”
Lucifer hums, shivering some once Michael starts drizzling his cock with it. For all the blushing this beautiful blonde did, the detective sure has never seen such a lust-drunk look swim in a pair of eyes like that before.
But that was just the start. Michael shoots a grin with all his pearly whites before he just sits right down on Lucifer’s cock, no preparation of the sort. Feeling something so large split him like this felt like Heaven itself, with the toilet now anointed their throne and Lucifer anointed the King.
“Jesus Christ. . .”
Michael pants out. His flimsy top rests idly around his waist, skirt still flipped up so all Lucifer can see is the lacy bralette that rested beneath said shirt. With a body this strong, the bralette did a poor job of covering, well, anything, leaving a set of pert nipples to be exposed. “Fuck, you’re so big, Lucifer. . .”
Rude, Lucifer teases, giving a spank of that pert, tanned ass as he runs his tongue along one of those nipples. “Just ‘cause I’m small in height ain’t mean I’m small in the pants!”
A giggle, and then a moan. Michael rocked into Lucifer so Goddamn hard that both of them almost came on the spot; Lucifer had become transfixed with the way such a being who was as tall and fierce as the killer bounced like a naughty schoolgirl after class upon him, his tawny fingers gently brushing back some blonde tresses so he never loses sight of that handsome face.
“God, damn.”
Comes the hiss from Lucifer’s lips. He would nip and tease at Michael’s neck, wanting to leave an impression that could not be forgotten even if, yes, this was a dream. “You ride it like a cowgirl. . .makin’ it real hard for me to wanna pull out at this point.”
Why would you? Michael hisses right back, looking severe for a second because he couldn’t bear the thought of not having Lucifer come inside. “We’ve already gone this far. . .just stay in, please. I’ll be upset if you even bother pulling out.”
Say fucking less. Lucifer thrusts up as hard as Michael thrusts down, making the cheap, porcelain throne rattle against the semi-white tiles. There was a lot of squeaking and whining from the thing but, neither of them can find it in them to care as they kiss, whisper, thrust, and kiss. Then whisper, kiss, thrust, it’s starting to get difficult to track who is who is who.
“In me.”
Michael now repeats at some point. His subconscious can’t keep up at this point, not really; he just knows Lucifer needs to shoot it inside since he’s never gotten to experience it before, a tanned hand rubbing his massive clit with a pant. “In me, now.”
Don’t rush me, Lucifer murmurs back, though he’s smirking like the glorious bastard he is. He would now run his hand along Michael’s arched back, admiring how all that long, blonde hair frames the killer like he really is an angel and maybe, just maybe, Lucifer’s subconscious is hallucinating. “I’m tryin’ to take my time with you, baby.”
Oh, not like it lasts long, though. All that clenching those walls do around Lucifer’s cock inevitably makes him break, hips thrusting up rather sloppily as he whispers Michael’s name upon his lips. Michael does the opposite; he screams out Lucifer’s name while punching the wall, his whole frame trembling as he clenched and received the seed that shot right up into him. Just before both of them wake up, they would share an impassioned kiss and whisper that ‘shit, I might be falling for you’ and ‘yeah, I’m thinking the same,’ with Lucifer holding Michael so tenderly by the waist that one would think they’ve been together for eons.
✞
And now, the wake up. Lucifer is the one who shoots up first from his shitty, creaky bed, lilac gaze darting about against a whole lot of nothing since the blackout curtains obscured all light. Now that he’s not in a dream, Lucifer can tell he’s sweating like crazy; all his long, brunette hair clings tight to his lithe frame as he pants, pants, pants.
Then he feels it. Lucifer feels the ache in his groin as it forces his blanket to jut up. It’d been fucking decades since Lucifer had a wet dream like that, so he smacks himself in the forehead for a second because it was real fucking stupid to act like a dog in heat over somebody he’d just met.
All the same, Lucifer is here. He can still remember the image of Michael riding him with the skirt flipped up and it drives him to the brink of insanity when he even so much as blinks. It’d be with a sigh that the detective has to throw the covers off so he can wrap his fingers around his aching cock and begin to stroke, thinking ‘I should not do this,’ thinking ‘I want him,’ thinking ‘Michael, Michael, Michael’ like this is the final sermon.
✞
As for Michael. . .he’s the one who wakes up second, though he does it in more in a haze. By the time he came to from that dream, he’s already come in his sleep; it takes a good few minutes for him to realize he’s stained his pristine, cotton sheets with semen but once he does, he gasps, then tosses the blanket right off of him so he can get out of bed.
Fuck.
Michael thinks to himself once he can think. Despite the nocturnal emission, he was still hard, his tanned cheeks flushing some at such a sight. Can’t believe I fucking did that bullshit. That was so stupid.
But what happens, happens. There is no undoing how delicious it felt for Lucifer to pump in and out of him, those pretty lips parted as they moan. There is no undoing how badly Michael wished they just went to the bathroom and fucked, no condom, like he’s wanted to try for years yet would not do because you can’t just trust anybody with your body, even if Lucifer knew he was the Barbie Killer and was trying to catch him.
In the end, Michael tosses his sheets into the washer at three in the morning, sits on his white, leather couch, and drinks some. When drinking does nothing to abate the ache, he then begins to rub his cock with his palm and rock his hips into the touch, thinking ‘I should not do this,’ thinking, ‘I want him,’ thinking ‘Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer’ like this is the final sermon.
Real Gods Require Blood 
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