(no subject)
Recipient: stella_polaris
Title: Trinity
Rating: Diet NC-17
Summary: Lucifer craves a tasty bit of Heaven, and sees his chance to achieve a heightened state of pleasure through an angel and demon who have gotten rather close over the millennia.
Author's Notes: Good Omens / I, Lucifer crossover - I hope the parenthetical asides are manageable.
Warnings: Voyeurism, Possession, and Naughty Words (gasp!)
Why, oh why, should I, in all my infernal glory, even give more than a moment’s thought to that slippery little snake? Hardly a demon at all, really. All his claims about ‘sauntering vaguely downwards.’ Ha! Oh, he made his stunning coupe-de-grâce just the same as we all did: with Michael’s embarrassingly phallic sword at his heels. He was every bit as damned as the rest of us, for he had tasted the delicious fruit of Free Will. Sunk his teeth in to the concept of Separateness. Let the juices flow every bit as much as Eve had. (I always did have a soft spot for her juices).
Long story short; his efforts to convince you, my dears, that he was any less guilty of treason than any other demon is subterfuge, clear (I hazard to say ‘pure’ even if it does reference one ‘A.J.’ Crowley.) and simple. But he was only ever half in, really. The idiot child of evil, if you will. Probably would have had difficulty sinning his way out of a wet paper bag. Debauchery, in his mind, consisted of fast driving in an ancient car and occasionally discorporating himself with too much drink. (For all his softness, though, he had shown some delightful promise in global-scale sin manufacturing.)
Oh, yes, I know he takes credit for the Fall of Humanity. But you and I, we know the truth, don’t we?
(Dear reader, I’d be careful how much you trust your narrator, by the by. Neither He nor I have ever really been known for our truth telling. Look at all those dinosaur bones).
But, as I was saying before my mind wandered… Yes, well the truth is, I had found that the ‘demon’ Crowley had been showing up in quiet a few reports after the little Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t. (Oh, of course I have near-omniscience, but when it comes to the field agents, I usually just ignored the knowledge hoping that maybe it would go away. Have you seen some of our field agents? Jiminy Christmas himself would have a fucking difficult time forgiving them for their fashion faux pas, let alone their deeds. They make Elton John look almost human.)
But, it seemed our Crowley had hacked off a minor Duke in some way. (To be frank, I really don’t have that much hate in my being. I much prefer other modes of sin. I do, however, have a less-than-comfy relationship with the Dukes. We may be the Fallen, but that doesn’t mean we have to look or smell like what we Fell into was a particularly ripe gutter).
So as I was saying, one Duke seemed to have it in for Crowley, claiming that Crowley had committed various misdeeds up to and including: gross negligence, insubordination, and (the crème de la crème) Treason! Oh, if only I had had an actual corporeal face at that moment, I would have loved to see my expression. To be honest, I emitted a highly un-evil giggle leading to some thoroughly non-evil hours of laughter. At least at first. But as the reports continued to roll in, I started to take it a bit more seriously. I made no move, though, of course. What did I care that some demon had smote another with Holy Water? The fact that the demon doused happened to be the Duke Hastur’s fuck-buddy couldn’t have interested me less.
What did interest me was one little tidbit in the Duke’s reports. Something about ‘consorting with the enemy.’
Well, I’ve always enjoyed a good ‘consorting’ myself. But the thought that this lesser-demon was having it off with one of His chosen was practically unthinkable. Which of course made it practically the only thing I managed to think about at all. Days of Your Time passed with intoxicating thoughts of burying myself in sweet angelic flesh. Thoughts of which angel I would choose. Would it be Michael? His Favorite who would finally fall to my sword? Or perhaps Raphael. Little Whore would beg oh so sweetly.
When those thoughts gave out, then came the questions. With their auras, wouldn’t it burn worse than a ten-dollar hooker? How could one even imagine sinking one’s gorgeous self into some stuffy, holier-than-though, no-sense-of-humor halo-polisher, whose sense of fashion and physique probably rivaled Aristotle’s more than the David’s? (Not that he was much to look at in the first place, either, at least not from an amorous point of view anyway. Have you seen the size of his giant-smiting member?).
But I digress.
In essence, I decided that maybe this Crowley had a good idea. I may be the King of Pride, but I can appreciate initiative in another being, and this particular demon, as lowly as he was on the infernal totem pole, certainly had a beaut. For what demon doesn’t occasionally long for the scent of Heaven- the taste? Here was this snake, enjoying heavenly favors. Surely I was allowed, nay, privileged to have my share of divine ecstasy.
(Just in care you were wondering, Divine Ecstasy has absolutely nothing to do with the Old Man. Oh, sure, angels on occasion have given one or two virginal saints the night of their lives. (That Saint Theresa never could be satisfied after that. Believe me, I tried.) But all in all, what those chaste young virgins experienced was far better than Divine Ecstasy- it was Defiled Ecstasy. Served up by Yours Truly.)
Now, I’m a pretty creative son-of-a-whore, but figuring out the perfect way into an angel’s robes just wasn’t coming to me. I guess you could say that I needed my own particular burning bush, my own tree of knowledge. Well, it eventually came to me, of course. If you can’t beat them. Join them.
I started out simply by watching them, noting their habits, the hours of their companionship. To be honest, I was a little shocked at how Good they looked together. Me, shocked by Good! Can you believe it?! But it was true. The angel, of course, had no sense of style, no pride in his appearance (I guess I should have seen that coming, eh?) But what he did have was something that no other angel (save maybe Uriel) had. A sense of humor. They actually enjoyed each other’s company. It nearly blew my mind, I tell you. Most angels I meet are so fucking stodgy, a being nearly dies of boredom just as soon as they open their mouths. But not these two. They laughed! Uproariously. Drunkenly. Divinely. It was what they did most of, except for drink, which they did a good deal of, too. And eat. And basically enjoy all the little perks that make your collective existences so delightful. None of which you would have save for my (Crowley’s?) intervention. Now that I think of it, you should all send me ‘Thank You For Saving Me From an Eternity of Boredom’ cards.
Anyway, as I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself, the two did seem to have something (oh, dare I say a phrase so clichéd?) special. (Dear me, my fingers burn just typing it. But sometimes one must call a spade a spade, as the saying goes). The demon would drive up in his antique car (Quite nice, actually. If I ever manage to score a human body again, I might have to get myself one), saunter (he did have a nice saunter) up the stairs to the angel’s bookshop, and give the angel a kiss that practically made my non-existent mouth water.
And for all of his bookishness and tartan, the angel seemed to do a rather fine job holding his end of the kiss up, too. Usually after this doorway exchange, the demon would tempt the angel to diner. (The Ritz was a favorite of theirs; so reminiscent of my days of glory as the weakling Gunn. Oh, how I do miss that body sometimes).
One night, though, as I watched them necking like a couple of six thousand year-old teenagers, the angel firmly refused to be led down to the car; instead, Aziraphale (that was the angel’s name- poor thing, it was probably the worst angelic name I had heard in aeons) pulled the demon into the shop. By the sharp lapels of his leather coat, no less. This was the night I had been waiting for.
There are advantages to existing non-corporeally; namely, you can walk through walls unseen. Oh, yes, I can be a spectacular Casper. So up the stairs I went, through the door and the shop, up another flight of stairs and there were my angel and demon, undressing each other with mere thoughts, kissing as though there was to be no tomorrow. (Of course, this particular angel and demon had faced that very real possibility and, Ha! offering the Old Man the two-digit salute, had told Him where he could stick His fucking apocalypse).
I watched intently, prepared and eager for this vicarious lesson in angel/demon coupling. Oh, can I delve into my poetic nature for a moment as I tell you about the way the moonlight glowed off of the angel’s pure white backside? Would it be too much to liken their fiery embraces to the meeting of two thunderheads in the sky, electric charge building between them to the point that hair I didn’t even have was standing on end? Oh, but they did make a beautiful sight. The demon (while hardly as gorgeous as my hand mirror) was tight muscle and firm skin. The angel, even with his slightly pudgy frame, managed to pull off Beautiful as though it had been made for him. Angelic beauty is nothing to sneer at (though I often wondered why He needed good-looking beings around if he was without sex... hmmm...) and they both possessed this rare form of breathtaking beauty in spades. It was a delight to watch, I admit, and, if I had had use of a knocker at that moment, I would have been hard as a metal rod. Alas, no, I was forced to wait on the sidelines, listening to the demon blaspheme sunlight by comparing it with the angel’s hair, listening to the angel’s throaty moans and half-held back chuckles at the demon’s words.
They were all sweaty and pink and it was still only foreplay. Hands and lips worshiped their skins. Suddenly the angel was straddling the demon, I couldn’t believe it, and was, oh- bad angel. I watched as the demon’s length disappeared down the angel’s throat. How the demon’s legs trembled as he too watched the angel, neither of us quite able to believe that an angel of the Lord could suck cock quite so well.
Fancy that, I thought to myself as the demon finally took control of the situation, flipping the angel underneath him, preparing himself for entry. Oh, but surely there would be some commotion now. Surely the angel had not been spared the homophobic propaganda package that Heaven doled out so liberally. Yet the fact that they were two male-shaped immortals didn’t seem to bother the angel in the least. In fact, as the demon pressed himself through, up and in, the angel practically wriggled for it.
I was so close to them I could hear their thoughts deteriorate into static as the demon moved within the angel. To be frank, my own thoughts almost followed theirs. But it wasn’t enough. Maybe, just maybe...
And then. There, I had managed it. Inside at last, not just one of them but both (thank goodness they were already joined, I don’t really fancy the idea of completely dividing myself into two, no matter how pleasurable the cause). I was suddenly in the middle of my very own Trinity. The Angel, the Demon and the Lord of Hell. Quite preferable to the original, I can tell you that.
How can I describe it so that you, dear reader, can understand? Unfortunately I can’t. How can one describe fucking and being fucked at the same time. The threesome? You ask. No. Not even close. I’ve had plenty in my day, but none of them were even in sight of this encounter, not even after five-hits of ecstasy. No, this was. This was being in Heaven. And being in Heaven. And being wrapped in Heaven and many other prepositions that still would be unable to really describe what it was like.
Thankfully, neither seemed to notice my presence, so all I had to do was come (oh, terrible pun) along for the ride. And what a ride it was. I have to give Crowley credit, he set a good pace. Millennia of practice, one would imagine. But something about the exchange made it feel new and (dare I say) virginal. Oh, they had done this before, that was obvious by the way the angel was doing that thing with his muscles, but just like in a romance novel, every time was as Good as the first time.
Staying power was also in their favor. No matter how delicious the friction, no matter how breathtaking the fine spasms that ran through us, it seemed to last forever. A metaphorical eternity in Your Time, that is. Meaning that even though it lasted longer than normal human sex, it was still too short, and before I knew it I felt the demon hit the angel’s spot in just the right way. I felt the angel’s muscles tighten and teeth bite almost completely through his lip; and as I rode the angel, I felt the demon’s length gripped by silken muscle again and again, causing star bursts in front of our eyes as the angel’s willing flesh drained every ounce of energy from our bodies. Talk about multiple orgasms.
I didn’t stay for the afterglow, as much as I would have liked to have done. I couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t notice the third presence as their minds settled. Nor could I risk being ripped in two by the parting of their flesh. With a reluctance reminiscent of the moment before the Fall, I left their bodies and the flat, my being still thrumming with the power of our orgasms.
I have considered paying them visits from time to time, but have not done so. No, dear ones, I’m not growing soft or sentimental, don’t worry. (You hear Astaroth?) Simply too busy to enjoy the pleasures that existence so plentifully offers. I have, however, restored that Damned Duke’s amore in the hopes that it will prevent any further Crowley reports from gracing my desk.
Let the snake have his fun even if he is a sad specimen for a demon.
Title: Trinity
Rating: Diet NC-17
Summary: Lucifer craves a tasty bit of Heaven, and sees his chance to achieve a heightened state of pleasure through an angel and demon who have gotten rather close over the millennia.
Author's Notes: Good Omens / I, Lucifer crossover - I hope the parenthetical asides are manageable.
Warnings: Voyeurism, Possession, and Naughty Words (gasp!)
Why, oh why, should I, in all my infernal glory, even give more than a moment’s thought to that slippery little snake? Hardly a demon at all, really. All his claims about ‘sauntering vaguely downwards.’ Ha! Oh, he made his stunning coupe-de-grâce just the same as we all did: with Michael’s embarrassingly phallic sword at his heels. He was every bit as damned as the rest of us, for he had tasted the delicious fruit of Free Will. Sunk his teeth in to the concept of Separateness. Let the juices flow every bit as much as Eve had. (I always did have a soft spot for her juices).
Long story short; his efforts to convince you, my dears, that he was any less guilty of treason than any other demon is subterfuge, clear (I hazard to say ‘pure’ even if it does reference one ‘A.J.’ Crowley.) and simple. But he was only ever half in, really. The idiot child of evil, if you will. Probably would have had difficulty sinning his way out of a wet paper bag. Debauchery, in his mind, consisted of fast driving in an ancient car and occasionally discorporating himself with too much drink. (For all his softness, though, he had shown some delightful promise in global-scale sin manufacturing.)
Oh, yes, I know he takes credit for the Fall of Humanity. But you and I, we know the truth, don’t we?
(Dear reader, I’d be careful how much you trust your narrator, by the by. Neither He nor I have ever really been known for our truth telling. Look at all those dinosaur bones).
But, as I was saying before my mind wandered… Yes, well the truth is, I had found that the ‘demon’ Crowley had been showing up in quiet a few reports after the little Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t. (Oh, of course I have near-omniscience, but when it comes to the field agents, I usually just ignored the knowledge hoping that maybe it would go away. Have you seen some of our field agents? Jiminy Christmas himself would have a fucking difficult time forgiving them for their fashion faux pas, let alone their deeds. They make Elton John look almost human.)
But, it seemed our Crowley had hacked off a minor Duke in some way. (To be frank, I really don’t have that much hate in my being. I much prefer other modes of sin. I do, however, have a less-than-comfy relationship with the Dukes. We may be the Fallen, but that doesn’t mean we have to look or smell like what we Fell into was a particularly ripe gutter).
So as I was saying, one Duke seemed to have it in for Crowley, claiming that Crowley had committed various misdeeds up to and including: gross negligence, insubordination, and (the crème de la crème) Treason! Oh, if only I had had an actual corporeal face at that moment, I would have loved to see my expression. To be honest, I emitted a highly un-evil giggle leading to some thoroughly non-evil hours of laughter. At least at first. But as the reports continued to roll in, I started to take it a bit more seriously. I made no move, though, of course. What did I care that some demon had smote another with Holy Water? The fact that the demon doused happened to be the Duke Hastur’s fuck-buddy couldn’t have interested me less.
What did interest me was one little tidbit in the Duke’s reports. Something about ‘consorting with the enemy.’
Well, I’ve always enjoyed a good ‘consorting’ myself. But the thought that this lesser-demon was having it off with one of His chosen was practically unthinkable. Which of course made it practically the only thing I managed to think about at all. Days of Your Time passed with intoxicating thoughts of burying myself in sweet angelic flesh. Thoughts of which angel I would choose. Would it be Michael? His Favorite who would finally fall to my sword? Or perhaps Raphael. Little Whore would beg oh so sweetly.
When those thoughts gave out, then came the questions. With their auras, wouldn’t it burn worse than a ten-dollar hooker? How could one even imagine sinking one’s gorgeous self into some stuffy, holier-than-though, no-sense-of-humor halo-polisher, whose sense of fashion and physique probably rivaled Aristotle’s more than the David’s? (Not that he was much to look at in the first place, either, at least not from an amorous point of view anyway. Have you seen the size of his giant-smiting member?).
But I digress.
In essence, I decided that maybe this Crowley had a good idea. I may be the King of Pride, but I can appreciate initiative in another being, and this particular demon, as lowly as he was on the infernal totem pole, certainly had a beaut. For what demon doesn’t occasionally long for the scent of Heaven- the taste? Here was this snake, enjoying heavenly favors. Surely I was allowed, nay, privileged to have my share of divine ecstasy.
(Just in care you were wondering, Divine Ecstasy has absolutely nothing to do with the Old Man. Oh, sure, angels on occasion have given one or two virginal saints the night of their lives. (That Saint Theresa never could be satisfied after that. Believe me, I tried.) But all in all, what those chaste young virgins experienced was far better than Divine Ecstasy- it was Defiled Ecstasy. Served up by Yours Truly.)
Now, I’m a pretty creative son-of-a-whore, but figuring out the perfect way into an angel’s robes just wasn’t coming to me. I guess you could say that I needed my own particular burning bush, my own tree of knowledge. Well, it eventually came to me, of course. If you can’t beat them. Join them.
I started out simply by watching them, noting their habits, the hours of their companionship. To be honest, I was a little shocked at how Good they looked together. Me, shocked by Good! Can you believe it?! But it was true. The angel, of course, had no sense of style, no pride in his appearance (I guess I should have seen that coming, eh?) But what he did have was something that no other angel (save maybe Uriel) had. A sense of humor. They actually enjoyed each other’s company. It nearly blew my mind, I tell you. Most angels I meet are so fucking stodgy, a being nearly dies of boredom just as soon as they open their mouths. But not these two. They laughed! Uproariously. Drunkenly. Divinely. It was what they did most of, except for drink, which they did a good deal of, too. And eat. And basically enjoy all the little perks that make your collective existences so delightful. None of which you would have save for my (Crowley’s?) intervention. Now that I think of it, you should all send me ‘Thank You For Saving Me From an Eternity of Boredom’ cards.
Anyway, as I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself, the two did seem to have something (oh, dare I say a phrase so clichéd?) special. (Dear me, my fingers burn just typing it. But sometimes one must call a spade a spade, as the saying goes). The demon would drive up in his antique car (Quite nice, actually. If I ever manage to score a human body again, I might have to get myself one), saunter (he did have a nice saunter) up the stairs to the angel’s bookshop, and give the angel a kiss that practically made my non-existent mouth water.
And for all of his bookishness and tartan, the angel seemed to do a rather fine job holding his end of the kiss up, too. Usually after this doorway exchange, the demon would tempt the angel to diner. (The Ritz was a favorite of theirs; so reminiscent of my days of glory as the weakling Gunn. Oh, how I do miss that body sometimes).
One night, though, as I watched them necking like a couple of six thousand year-old teenagers, the angel firmly refused to be led down to the car; instead, Aziraphale (that was the angel’s name- poor thing, it was probably the worst angelic name I had heard in aeons) pulled the demon into the shop. By the sharp lapels of his leather coat, no less. This was the night I had been waiting for.
There are advantages to existing non-corporeally; namely, you can walk through walls unseen. Oh, yes, I can be a spectacular Casper. So up the stairs I went, through the door and the shop, up another flight of stairs and there were my angel and demon, undressing each other with mere thoughts, kissing as though there was to be no tomorrow. (Of course, this particular angel and demon had faced that very real possibility and, Ha! offering the Old Man the two-digit salute, had told Him where he could stick His fucking apocalypse).
I watched intently, prepared and eager for this vicarious lesson in angel/demon coupling. Oh, can I delve into my poetic nature for a moment as I tell you about the way the moonlight glowed off of the angel’s pure white backside? Would it be too much to liken their fiery embraces to the meeting of two thunderheads in the sky, electric charge building between them to the point that hair I didn’t even have was standing on end? Oh, but they did make a beautiful sight. The demon (while hardly as gorgeous as my hand mirror) was tight muscle and firm skin. The angel, even with his slightly pudgy frame, managed to pull off Beautiful as though it had been made for him. Angelic beauty is nothing to sneer at (though I often wondered why He needed good-looking beings around if he was without sex... hmmm...) and they both possessed this rare form of breathtaking beauty in spades. It was a delight to watch, I admit, and, if I had had use of a knocker at that moment, I would have been hard as a metal rod. Alas, no, I was forced to wait on the sidelines, listening to the demon blaspheme sunlight by comparing it with the angel’s hair, listening to the angel’s throaty moans and half-held back chuckles at the demon’s words.
They were all sweaty and pink and it was still only foreplay. Hands and lips worshiped their skins. Suddenly the angel was straddling the demon, I couldn’t believe it, and was, oh- bad angel. I watched as the demon’s length disappeared down the angel’s throat. How the demon’s legs trembled as he too watched the angel, neither of us quite able to believe that an angel of the Lord could suck cock quite so well.
Fancy that, I thought to myself as the demon finally took control of the situation, flipping the angel underneath him, preparing himself for entry. Oh, but surely there would be some commotion now. Surely the angel had not been spared the homophobic propaganda package that Heaven doled out so liberally. Yet the fact that they were two male-shaped immortals didn’t seem to bother the angel in the least. In fact, as the demon pressed himself through, up and in, the angel practically wriggled for it.
I was so close to them I could hear their thoughts deteriorate into static as the demon moved within the angel. To be frank, my own thoughts almost followed theirs. But it wasn’t enough. Maybe, just maybe...
And then. There, I had managed it. Inside at last, not just one of them but both (thank goodness they were already joined, I don’t really fancy the idea of completely dividing myself into two, no matter how pleasurable the cause). I was suddenly in the middle of my very own Trinity. The Angel, the Demon and the Lord of Hell. Quite preferable to the original, I can tell you that.
How can I describe it so that you, dear reader, can understand? Unfortunately I can’t. How can one describe fucking and being fucked at the same time. The threesome? You ask. No. Not even close. I’ve had plenty in my day, but none of them were even in sight of this encounter, not even after five-hits of ecstasy. No, this was. This was being in Heaven. And being in Heaven. And being wrapped in Heaven and many other prepositions that still would be unable to really describe what it was like.
Thankfully, neither seemed to notice my presence, so all I had to do was come (oh, terrible pun) along for the ride. And what a ride it was. I have to give Crowley credit, he set a good pace. Millennia of practice, one would imagine. But something about the exchange made it feel new and (dare I say) virginal. Oh, they had done this before, that was obvious by the way the angel was doing that thing with his muscles, but just like in a romance novel, every time was as Good as the first time.
Staying power was also in their favor. No matter how delicious the friction, no matter how breathtaking the fine spasms that ran through us, it seemed to last forever. A metaphorical eternity in Your Time, that is. Meaning that even though it lasted longer than normal human sex, it was still too short, and before I knew it I felt the demon hit the angel’s spot in just the right way. I felt the angel’s muscles tighten and teeth bite almost completely through his lip; and as I rode the angel, I felt the demon’s length gripped by silken muscle again and again, causing star bursts in front of our eyes as the angel’s willing flesh drained every ounce of energy from our bodies. Talk about multiple orgasms.
I didn’t stay for the afterglow, as much as I would have liked to have done. I couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t notice the third presence as their minds settled. Nor could I risk being ripped in two by the parting of their flesh. With a reluctance reminiscent of the moment before the Fall, I left their bodies and the flat, my being still thrumming with the power of our orgasms.
I have considered paying them visits from time to time, but have not done so. No, dear ones, I’m not growing soft or sentimental, don’t worry. (You hear Astaroth?) Simply too busy to enjoy the pleasures that existence so plentifully offers. I have, however, restored that Damned Duke’s amore in the hopes that it will prevent any further Crowley reports from gracing my desk.
Let the snake have his fun even if he is a sad specimen for a demon.