Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was Cas would be shagging Dean, and I wouldn't be writing twisted demon/angel nonsense.
better cut him up, girl
Old Lucifer keeps the angel like a pet in a cage of burning oil, and only the need to keep on the fallen angel's good side keeps her away. Old Lucifer is cold-hot-cold, a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a motherfucking angel, ice king (ha) and his complexity thrashes her composure and leaves her a stammering wreck in his presence.
But the angel, oh yes, the real angel, the rebellious yet the devout. He's chained up in the basement in oil and flame, standing marble statue still and weathering any storm of words that Lucifer throws at him. She can stand without shaking in the angel's presence and look him in the eye and those fucking beautiful ocean eyes stare back, locked in ice behind his irises. She daydreams about holding those eyes in her hands, cutting into them to find the mysterious ice inside them, to let it cool the fire raging in her head.
But she doesn't.
Lucifer, ever powerful, sees the thoughts in her head for a flash, when she lets her guard down and the image of the angel, tied down and bare and bloody red beneath her hands, splinters across her consciousness. He rests a hand on her shoulder - her eyes roll back into her head, sirens screech and worlds collapse and stars implode and every nerve sings a song of black and blue - and tells her quite calmly she is not to touch him.
Old Lucifer's a scary fucking bastard. She wants to do as he says, she wants to. But she really wants the fucking ice eyed angel to touch her, run his holy hands along her skin and leave trails of fire in his wake. She wants it more than anything she can ever remember.
So she sneaks down into the cellar while Lucifer is performing the ritual,
He holds her close and presses his holy hand to her forehead; she says the taunts she's learned by rote and for a moment thinks he might kiss her, might take pity and burn all the sin out of her. Because she wants to be better, she wants to be, but she can't remember how and elbows deep in a corpse just feels so good.
The fabric of his trench can hardly contain his glory and she shiver-shakes where any part of him touches her. She's soaking wet between her legs and because there's just something so wrong about getting it on with an angel, she has to try.
But he burns her instead, and it's almost like when Azazel first twisted her into his form except it isn't, it's nothing but flames.
She catches alight and goes crispy, deep fried demon in holy oil as he steps over her to leave, and she feels the chill of him on the backs of her legs, her ass, her shoulders - and thinks she just might have touched him after all.