Title: Not Yet Quite Wild
Summary: A step forwards is a good step. Unless it's over a ledge. Luckily, there's no dangerous precipice, just a lot of rivalry, a subtle progression of emotions and Lucifer being a little bit of an egomaniac. College AU.
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, don't sue.
They fuck because it's the next thing to do. Months of taunts and barbs and mockery had always been leading somewhere; it seems inevitable that they've been leading here.
It's starts at grabbing and shoving, pushing each other against walls when everyone else has left the changing room, or when no one's looking in a club or in the hallway of Michael's flat when Lucifer drops round 'to congratulate him on trying this season'.
"You think you're God's fucking gift," Michael growls, as he slams him against the door, and Lucifer grins, grins, the damn egomaniac, and bares his throat.
"I am pretty special," he smirks, so Michael slots their hips together and makes him gasp, just to wipe that infuriating look off his face.
From then on it escalates. Dirty, hurried handjobs and rough, sharp grinding that leaves both of them tainted and dissatisfied. Michael can't believe he's not fantasising when Lucifer thumbs open his jeans and drops to his knees. He looks at him from under lowered lashes and hums a little as he takes him in his mouth, and Michael can't help feeling like he's missing something, but then he's feeling too much and oh fuck, oh fuck - Lucifer's smiling around his cock and goddamn he's going to pay for this.
And pay he does. Torture in the form of the next day, when it's all he can think about, Lucifer on his knees, mouth reddened and eyes glinting at him, daring him. He wonders whether he'd do it again, just as hard and fast and utterly ruthless, whether he'd let him hold onto his hair and just what he'd have to do to take control, to be able to jerk his head forwards and fuck into that sinfully hot mouth -
The whole day is uncomfortable and shaming and he wants it to stop until...
Until he's up against a wall again, Lucifer's breath playing ice from his neck down his spine, clever fingers sweeping up his thigh and he knows he owes him.
"Let me fuck you," Lucifer says, not quite imploring, not quite confident of the answer. Michael doesn't think he owes him that much but then he catches Lucifer's lips and fleetingly thinks of the dark shadows under his eyes sometimes and realises he kind of wants to let him.
"Okay," he murmurs, and he feels Lucifer's surprise against his mouth. He smirks. "What are you waiting for?"
Except when Lucifer kisses him again it's almost reverently. Where Michael expected fierce and brutal and quick, Lucifer's fingers softly caress his skin, skimming over his chest and side until he's almost begging for something, anything. He leads him out of the passageway into his bedroom and pushes him down on the bed, following to place careful kisses on the inside of his thighs before working him open slowly, tongue and fingers until Michael does beg.
Lucifer's body on his is unlike anything else he's ever felt. Every painful press is counteracted by the lightest of barely there kisses, and when he fully sinks into him he leans his forehead on Michael's and closes his eyes, like he can't quite let himself believe that it's truly happening. Michael's breath catches in his chest at the thought but is soon lost in the sensation; it's near worship, the way Lucifer covers him, rocks into him - but then all thought is eradicated in there and yes and don't ever, ever stop.
He expects it to be awkward the next day, and perhaps it is, but then during sports Lucifer collides into him and he gets a quick "tonight" in his ear, so he knows it's not ending there.
"Would you let me do it to you?" he asks later, when he's back in control. Lucifer looks at him, his brow creased like he's unsure, and Michael laughs. "Don't trust me?"
"No," comes the stilted reply, so they leave it at frantic rutting and distracted kisses.
For a time it stays that way, and sometimes Michael let's Lucifer fuck him and sometimes they mutually get off without it, but he doesn't notice anything changing until one day when Lucifer asks to have a shower and he realises their kisses have been getting longer and their anger softer, and suddenly, when he sees him come out the bathroom - all hard, wet lines and short, messy hair - he wants nothing more than to ask him to stay awhile.
He catches the inside of his lip with his teeth as he decides what to do. Lucifer raises his eyebrows in that infuriating way of his and asks if he's thinking something important.
"Don't strain yourself; you'll lose irreplaceable brain cells."
And like that Michael knows, and when Michael knows, Michael does, so he strides across the room and pulls Lucifer in by his waist and says,
"Don't leave me, not yet."
Judging by the defensive, slightly awed look in Lucifer's eyes, he understands more than just those words.
"Okay," he swallows after a pause, then, "I'm not going to leave."
This time there's no ferocity preluding sex but Lucifer seems to want to make it so, urging Michael to be rougher. Stubborn and determined, Michael only uses the lightest touches and gentlest hands to show him how he feels, how he felt the first time, and although Lucifer sighs when he spreads his legs for Michael to settle between, his eyes stay open, like this time he's letting himself have the moment.
Lucifer's body opens up beautifully for him, like they fit, like it's right, even though it's supposed to be the worst sort of wrong. He looks vulnerable for a moment before he rolls them so Michael's beneath him. Michael feels like he can't breathe. Lucifer puts a shaky hand on his chest and takes a shuddering breath. When he tells him go, Michael does it, when he tells him move, Michael moves. There's that wary sort of trust in his eyes, the lines of him lethal, his muscles taunt - and yet, there's something soft too, yielding, like maybe there's a chink in his armour that he doesn't want to hide anymore.
"Fuck me," Lucifer says fiercely, and Michael does, slow rolls on his hips while he grips Lucifer's. He traces over the bone and when Lucifer throws his head back, back arched and bent, Michael puts a reassuring palm on his abdomen, soothing and tilting his hips to get that angle that made Lucifer draw in that ragged breath.
When Lucifer shivers and the muscles in his hand contract to leave nail marks on Michael's chest he knows he's close, so he flips them back over, cages Lucifer in with his arms and kisses him like there's nothing else. It's excruciatingly difficult but he stills and holds back, leaving him hanging there while he inclines his head and presses a wave of little kisses on his collarbone. He thinks he hears Lucifer whine; his eyes are desperate, his cheeks flushed when he looks at him. Terrified and beautiful. He's utterly wrecked.
"Please," Lucifer murmurs, like Michael could deny him anything right now. "Michael."
So Michael pushes forward, pushes him through it. He kisses Lucifer's mouth as he comes, whites out over the body stretching beneath him and shudders a quaking breath into his neck. Mindful of weight, he shifts out and off, rolling to the side. He considers whether or not he should get up and leave to give Lucifer space because the expression on his face is utterly indecipherable, but lethargy wins and he lets his body relax into the bed, keeping a little distance in case Lucifer wants to hit him or storm out or whatever it is that's brewing behind those eyes.
Instead he feels a hand rest upon his chest, stroking over the red marks there.
"You know, I just had a shower."
Michael laughs softly and puts his hand over Lucifer's.
"So I guess there's no going back," Lucifer continues, and it kind of sounds like he wants him to say no, there isn't but he doesn't quite have the courage to say it himself. Michael obliges quickly.
"No," he says, "I'm sorry but there's no getting rid of me now."
There's a silence for a minute but he can practically feel Lucifer's smile, and he doesn't mind the sticky sweatiness when he lies against the length of his body and almost drapes himself over him, curling to put his head on Michael's shoulder. He concentrates on the important things in the room - the light that highlights their forms together, the sound of them breathing in sync, the scent of sex and heat and something fresher and sweeter. It might be his mint and teatree shampoo Lucifer used.
Finally, after what seems like a rather long, comfortable silence, Lucifer stirs and rolls, standing up and pulling Michael along with him.
"What...?" Michael asks, sleepiness clouding his mind a little, like being submerged in water.
Lucifer almost rolls his eyes and sighs. Almost.
"I'm not letting you fall asleep on me," he states bluntly, "and we're not exactly clean. Shower, now."
"Is that an order?" Michael raises his eyebrows but his tone is teasing.
"When have you ever listened before?"
"Perhaps I could make an exception."
Lucifer, still holding onto his hand, tugs him across the room, Michael willingly following because he was never actually going to say no, but just before they go through the bathroom door he turns him, pulls him close and whispers in his ear,
"Trust me yet?"
"Not as far as I could throw you," comes the reply - but the gentle kiss he gets is evidence enough on the contrary to completely satisfy him.