velvet dark

"Just one sip."

"Absolutely not." 

Fully aware of the reason, Lucifer asks anyway, "Why not?"

"You know why," answers Michael, clearly agitated not only by Lucifer's incessant pestering but also by the bright, hot, strobing lights and the thundering bass at the club.  Why he ever allowed Lucifer of all succubuns to talk him into spending time together at a night club of all places is beyond him.  They could've had a lovely dinner.  They could've gone to go see a movie.  Hell, they could even be fucking right now at home, but no, Lucifer wanted to take him to the club.

Fucking bastard.

Lucifer smiles like the furdin that got the cream as he swipes back his sin and tonic, downing the rest with ease.  As he drinks, Michael watches in spite of his feigned disinterest and Lucifer never looks away, their gazes locked in heated tension for just a moment before Michael pulls away.

Lucifer's smug, satisfied smile only grows wider.

Michael rolls his eyes, eager to get his hands on him for once though he knows he'd be playing right into Lucifer's hands.  "I'd die."

"No way," Lucifer snorts, annoying as ever, "Really?  Even a tiny sip would prove fatal?"  

"Correct."  Michael can't believe this is the fifth time they've talked about this.  In a way, it's his fault for allowing Lucifer to wind him up like this.  Maybe he wants to be wound up.  Maybe he likes it.  Not that he'd ever admit it.

"Pity," sighs Lucifer as he waves over a server, ordering a bottle of their finest champagne in house.  "How about champagne?  Champagne doesn't count."

Michael growls, two seconds from standing up to leave, "It counts."

"Alright, alright, relax," Lucifer laughs, clearly having the time of his life, "Virgin sex on the beach for my friend here."

"Just water," Michael corrects him, "Make it two glasses."  He swears he won't hesitate in leaving Lucifer behind if he gets too drunk to handle.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, waving his hand as he admires the scene of sweaty dancers from their plush booth.  "You can't drink.  Next, you'll be telling me you can't dance."

"Correct, I can't."

"You can't?" Lucifer arches his brow.  "Or you won't?"

"Does it matter?"

Lucifer huffs, welcoming the returning server with their drinks.  With easy glee, he pours himself a glass of champagne, checking out the crowd for anybody he might like to take home later though the real prize is and has always been Michael.

And they both know it.  They both know why they're both here in this moment at this night club neither of them particularly care for.

Sometimes, Lucifer swears Michael can read his mind.

"You're not going home with any of them out there," Michael cooly remarks without looking, simply sipping his water as if it was the most expensive champagne, one leg resting atop the other.  

Lucifer sucks in a breath, aware of what Michael is implying, but he can't resist seeing how far he can test the angel.  Makes him want to press all his buttons and bury himself under his skin just to bring out Michael's possessiveness, the way Michael won't allow anybody else to even look at him even though it was the angel's idea in the first place to break up...

Workplace professionalism and all that.  Ha!  Boring.

But maybe it's better because they're not supposed to be together, but they can't stay away from each other anyway.

And when Lucifer stands up after downing a bottle of champagne to hunt for somebody to entertain him tonight in the pulsating crowd under the neon lights, Michael catches his wrist and yanks him close onto his lap.  The club is dark.  Nobody will see.

Lucifer practically groans the second Michael touches him, sliding his warm palm up the length of his thigh as he pulls him flush against his hips, suddenly wearing way too many layers and surrounded by way too many people.

"Michael," Lucifer gasps, hands interlocking behind the angel's neck as he leans in close, nosing his throat shamelessly, needier than he realizes, but Michael grips him by the jaw to get a good look at him and Lucifer is flushed red even in the dark.  His lips are slightly parted and Michael can't resist tracing the shape of them as he slips inside two fingers, playing with his long, pink tongue.

"Is this what you wanted, Lucifer?" Michael murmurs hotly into Lucifer's ear, "To be taken apart in front of all of these strangers right here in the dark?"

Lucifer twitches, body clearly responsive to the idea as he nods his head, laughing in disbelief at himself.  Really, he thought he was better than this, but it greatly satisfies Lucifer that Michael wants him - no, needs him - just as badly, if not more.

When Michael removes his fingers, they're sticky wet, glistening under the strobe lights and he stares for just a moment before looking up at Lucifer who looks long gone, practically whining when he's forced to watch Michael slip the same fingers into his own mouth to taste Lucifer on his tongue.

"Fuck, Michael, for the love of Satan, just hurry up and fuck me stupid already before I do it myself."

"Say please."

"Go to hell."

"We're already here, I'm afraid."

Lucifer answers Michael's retort with a slow, filthy kiss and gets absolutely, exactly what he wants in their plush booth, mingling together half-dressed with labored, feverish breaths in the velvet dark.