Disclaimer: Eric Kripke owns Supernatural; all the characters, rights, and awsomeness. I sometimes (constantly) wish I was him - I would gladly trade my femininity for excessive body hair and a penis if it meant knowing Jensen Ackles. Dear lord, Eric has probably touched Jensen. Multiple times. If I were any more jealous I'd be psychotic.
Warnings: See chapter one.
Pairings: Balcifer, Sam/Dean.
And, on a personal note; "Jefferson Starships... heh? Because: they're horrible, and hard to kill."
Enjoy, jerks.
~Walking the Feather's Edge~
'Icarus'
Knee bouncing, foot tapping, and fingers thoroughly wrung, Balthazar checked his watch for what felt like the nth time in so many minutes. Oh, wonderful. A whole thirty seconds had passed since he last looked, a subsequent twenty minutes after he was lead into this poky little waiting area with its too harsh lighting and overpowering aroma of disinfectant.
Huffing out an irksome breath, the blonde scrubbed both hands roughly down his face, scratching at his lightly stubbled jaw as he kept a vigil eye on the door. It had been just over two weeks since Dean finished his third heat cycle, and whilst the days slowly trickled by, yielding no better results than the last, they had all began to lose their remaining vestiges of hope. And then, from the ashes of despair came a small glimmer of a miracle; Dean developed a bout of morning sickness.
With biological components and genetic structure remarkably similar to that of a normal human being, it had been observed that ethereal beings shared symptoms to certain illnesses parallel to that of humans. For example, in pregnancy it was common for demons and angels to suffer from irritability, morning sickness, erratic fluctuations of mood, and spells of exhaustion.
Naturally, the very instant Balthazar noticed that Dean had become ill and had taken to napping more often during the afternoons, he immediately ushered the groggy hybrid into the car and rushed him to the nearest clinic. Sam had put up quite the protest, flapping his large wings and crooning for his mate, the demon visibly upset that he didn't know what was going on. After a brief struggle, Lucifer managed to subdue the indignant alpha, communicating in stern tones that Dean wasn't under any kind of threat and would be returned home before the night was out.
Samuel was not best pleased, pointed teeth bared in displeasure and windowpanes rattling with a dark influx of demonic power, but he couldn't rightly argue with his master and eventually backed down, allowing his dazed mate to be escorted out the door with Balthazar.
Well, that had been over thirty minutes ago now, and Balthazar was just about ready to yank his hair out by the roots if he didn't get a goddamn update and fucking yesterday. After all the worry and the stress and the tears, they might finally be on the right tracks. Dean would fulfil his role as devoted beta and get his merry brood. Sam would dote over his pregnant mate, would tend to Dean's every wish and whim all the while strutting around like a bragging peacock with its tail feathers ruffled up. He himself would not only acquire some very valuable field research on hybrid offspring and their upbringing, but he'd also gain a litter of little hatchlings to spoil absolutely rotten. And Lucifer? Well, he would attain the peace of mind that the newest additions to their budding family would hinder his blonde from getting struck down with 'baby-fever' again any time soon.
The waiting was seriously setting Balthazar on edge, so much so that when the waiting room door finally creaked open on squeaky hinges he was instantly on his feet – never mind that there were three other visitors currently waiting to be seen, he'd damn well sat there for just about as long as he could take. If this wasn't for him, then the clinic was about to experience a tantrum the likes of which they'd never seen before.
A svelte woman with flowing auburn hair, kind emerald eyes and a quirky little smile appeared from behind the door, her gaze sweeping the small room and its occupants before landing on Balthazar and glittering with a familial kind of warmth.
"Mr. Pellegrino," she beckoned with an eccentric wave. "Would you like to come with me, please?"
Balthazar certainly didn't need to be told twice. Hurriedly shuffling out of the room, he closed the door behind them and was suddenly upon the petite specialist.
"Jesus, Charlie," he chided, icy grey eyes wide with obvious concern and his hand gripping her bicep. "I didn't take you for a masochist. Do you have any idea how long I've been sitting in there chewing my nails down to the bone?"
The redhead looked somewhat startled. "Um, like, fifteen minutes maybe?"
"Twenty minutes," Balthazar corrected, all pretence of civility gone. "Twenty minutes too long, sweetheart. Now, please tell me you have some good news for me."
In spite of appearances, Balthazar had actually known the pretty redhead for a number of years. Charlene 'Charlie' Bradbury and he had attended college and even graduated together, the two forming a fast and meaningful friendship from the moment Charlie had awkwardly admitted that she was in love with Harry Potter and Balthazar had charmed her with his limited edition Star Wars box sets.
The pair had gone on to work closely side-by-side in Ethereal Inc. for a number of years, Charlie the geeky head lab technician in the R&D department before growing bored and setting her sights on supernatural veterinary work instead.
Balthazar was gutted that she was leaving him behind after so many joyous years of witty banter and completely platonic flirting, but he wasn't about to begrudge one of his closest friends their true calling in life, and so the duo parted ways with the promise to keep in touch. And they had. Charlie ended up opening her own practice right next door in Cambridge, the clinic a neat five minute drive from their own home in Boston.
The turn of events couldn't have worked out better really; Balthazar got to meet up regularly with his longest standing friend, the pair arranging weekly lunch dates at quaint little bistros and cafés just so that they could sit out on the verandas – Charlie with her syrupy iced coffees and Balthazar with his crafty cigarette – and bitch about anything that caught their fancy. It also meant that help was always close at hand when Dean got himself into a scrap or needed a booster shot. There was literally no one else in the entire cosmos Balthazar trusted more with the health of his beloved Dean than he did Charlie.
However, such intimate friendship and camaraderie unfortunately came with its share of downsides, too. Just as Balthazar could tell when Charlie was truly happy by the faint crinkle at the corners of her eyes, and when she was exceptionally excited by the cute little scrunch of her nose, he could also tell when she was nervous, anxious and genuinely upset – all three tells of which she was desperately trying to conceal right now.
Balthazar felt his gut coil with icy dread, his head promptly filling with every worst case scenario. "Charlie…? What is it? What happened?" he beseeched, both hands clutching at her slim shoulders. "Oh, god – is it Dean? Is he alright? Please tell me he's okay."
"Calm down, Balthy, Dean is perfectly fine," Charlie reassured in a motherly tone, her emerald eyes soft and understanding. "He was somewhat malnourished and running a mild temperature, but I've given him some medication that should bring the fever down and help soothe his nausea."
"Malnourished; fever?" Balthazar parroted, brows furrowed in consternation. And then her words really sank in and it gradually dawned on him, his heart panging miserably. "Ah. Right. So that means that he's not…?"
Charlie shook her head sombrely. "I'm sorry, hun. I think that all the stress and anxiety of trying to get pregnant, coupled with his loss of appetite, has simply taken its toll on him." Reaching up to pat the blonde's hand, she gave him a sympathetic, thin-lipped smile. "He's exhausted, Zar."
"As long as he's healthy, I suppose that's the most important thing." He gave a wan smile, the light dying behind his eyes as he squeezed her shoulder. "Can I go see him? I'm sure he'll want to go home, curl up with Sam and just forget about this whole thing for a while."
Balthazar barely made it a single step before Charlie gently seized his wrist, halting him in his tracks. He frowned at her from over his shoulder, wondering what the holdup was, and that's when he got a good look at the pained expression marring her usually quite pretty features. And suddenly he knew; as hard as it was to swallow the regrettable news of Dean's false alarm, what was coming next was going to be much, much worse.
"There's more," Charlie confirmed his fears, her face grave.
"Yes, darling, that much I figured out on my own. That fancy doctorate framed above my mantel isn't just for kicks, you know." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep, cleansing breath. He was being a colossal ass and worse, he knew it, but he honestly couldn't help it. He'd never been one to digest bad news with any modicum of dignity. "Sorry, Chaz, I didn't mean to snap. You know what I'm like; the slightest bit of drama and I turn into the cattiest bastard you'll ever meet."
"It's okay, babe," the redhead assured the agitated Brit. "After so long you kind of get used to the magnitude of different reactions clients tend to throw at you. And besides," she murmured with a mischievous grin, "it's not like I'm not privy to your infamous bitchfits. Need I remind you of the night of Alastair's grad party?"
Balthazar cringed. "Oh, Christ…"
Charlie chuckled behind her hand. "When that skanky bimbo Ruby got all up in your crush's business I seriously thought you were going to flay the skin from her bones!"
"Forget Inias," Balthazar scoffed with a dismissive wave. "I was more upset that the little harpy somehow managed to commandeer my Johnnie Walker! I was but a lowly student, and that bottle cost me a bundle – that thirty dollars could have fed me for an entire week – and the brainless wench went and let half the football team wrap their lips around it. Um, hello? Can you say venereal disease?"
"Always the drama queen," Charlie grinned with a fond eye roll.
Balthazar felt his own lips twitch into a lopsided smile. He wasn't quite sure how she managed to do it, but the spritely little redhead always knew just what to say to put him at ease when he was teetering precariously close to the edge of oblivion. He could not possibly love the woman more right now.
"Well, as fun as it is reminiscing about the good old days when I was the charismatic bachelor with the charming English accent and the ass that wouldn't quit, we can't exactly avoid the hulking big elephant pouting in the corner…"
Charlie inclined her head. "Come, walk with me and we'll talk."
With no qualms whatsoever, Balthazar took hold of Charlie's hand and loosely intertwined their fingers. Without missing a beat Charlie returned the gesture, squeezing gently in reassurance as she guided them down the brightly lit, linoleum hallway.
"Before you go giving yourself a stress induced hernia, let me begin by reiterating that Dean is perfectly fine. As soon as his fever abates and he gets some nutrients back in his system I can write him off with a clean bill of health."
"Hm. And this is where the dreaded 'but' comes in…"
"I can use 'however' if you prefer?" Charlie suggested with a minxy grin. "It's like a fancy 'but'." Balthazar didn't look the least bit amused at her lame attempt at humour, and the redhead awkwardly cleared her throat. "Yikes, tough crowd…"
"Charlie…" Balthazar warned, his stormy grey eyes pleading with her to please just get on with it.
"Right, okay." With a heavy sigh she slipped seamlessly from casual companion to competent practitioner in the blink of an eye. "I didn't want to say anything when you first came in, didn't want to needlessly panic you on what could have been nothing more than a silly, theoretical hunch. Only…" She bit down softly on her plump bottom lip, eyes downcast. "Well… it turned out it wasn't so silly after all."
Balthazar licked at his suddenly too dry lips, a dreadful lump rising in his throat and threatening to choke him. "Oh, out with it, woman! I'm a big boy now, in case you hadn't noticed. I'm sure I can handle it."
"Dean is… I mean, uh, given his circumstances, he's um…" Realising she was stammering and conducting herself in a less than professional manner, Charlie sucked in a sharp breath and straightened up, looking her friend square in the eye. "Dean is barren, Balthazar. He cannot now, nor will he ever be able to conceive conventionally. I'm so sorry."
The blonde flinched back, as though physically slapped. "Barren? Are you– how can you be sure?"
"Like I said, when you told me of the complications with Dean's ability to carry – a definite abnormality for any healthy creature during a reproductive cycle – and when the results of the pregnancy test came back negative, little alarm bells started going off in the back of my head." Gesturing for her friend to sit on the cushioned seats stationed outside one of the many examination rooms, Charlie wrapped her white lab coat about her waist and sank down beside him. "I figured while I had him here I might as well dig a little deeper, if not for Dean's sake then for your own peace of mind."
Balthazar frowned. "But Dean–"
"Was fine," Charlie interrupted with a knowing smile. "I know how nervous he can get, especially when you're not around, so I put him under sedation. He didn't feel a thing." Tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear, she got right down to the nitty gritty. "Working off my earlier hunch, I more or less knew exactly what I was looking for, and so I ran a few blood tests and preformed a brief invasive procedure. I'm still waiting on the results to come back from the lab for official confirmation, but I can say with confidence that I've already determined the problem."
"Which is…?" Balthazar prompted, unsure as to whether or not he could even stomach the answer.
"Dean is experiencing something akin to anovulation in human women." At Balthazar's distinctly ignorant look, Charlie pressed on. "Anovulation is essentially a menstrual cycle in which no oocyte is released and therefore ovulation doesn't take place." If possible, the Brit looked even more confused. Charlie rolled her eyes. "Jesus, did you not pay attention in biology, like, at all?"
Balthazar simply couldn't resist a provocative grin. "Oh I paid plenty of attention to biology, darling – just not in class."
Yeah… Charlie wasn't touching that one with a ten foot barge pole.
"In layman terms," she stressed with a pointed stare, "while Dean is experiencing regular and healthy heat cycles, he's not actually producing any eggs for Sam to fertilise. Basically, it's the female equivalent to firing blanks."
"My god," Balthazar breathed, dragging both hands through his hair. "It's so much worse than I ever anticipated." Twisting to face the redhead, he looked pleadingly at her. "Is there anything we can do? Medication? Surgery, perhaps? You said he couldn't conceive conventionally, so there has to be something."
"Oh, of course! There are always options," Charlie confirmed encouragingly. "We don't have to consider anything as drastic as surgery, but there are a few prescription drugs available. One such option is a synthetic drug that stimulates the production of FSH and was actually formulated from clomiphene citrate, a treatment used for infertile human females. It is currently in the final stages of clinical trial, but it has wielded some excellent results with up to sixty-seven percent of the recipients able to successfully ovulate, and a further thirty-two percent able to conceive."
"Thirty-two percent?" Balthazar echoed with a frown. "That's not awfully high. And still in clinical trial, really Chaz? I don't know if I like the sound of that…"
Charlie nodded, sympathetic to her friend's anxiety. "Okay, if you don't like that then there are different avenues we can explore. What about IVF? Or even surrogacy? Dean may not be able to produce ripe eggs, but his womb is still fully functional. We could take the egg from another submissive, fertilise it with Sam's sperm, and then implant it within Dean. He could carry and birth the hatchling as if it were his own."
"Heavens no," Balthazar immediately rejected, shaking his head. "Don't get me wrong, it sounds nice; Dean being able to experience pregnancy even if he didn't technically 'conceive', but there's absolutely no telling how Sam would react. I mean, it's a foreign scent growing inside of his mate. What if he felt insecure or threatened? Or, god forgive, became violent? I've witnessed firsthand furious alphas literally try to tear the unborn foetus from the bellies of unfaithful submissives in a jealous rage during studies." His lip curled in repugnance at the gruesome memories. "There's no way I'm going to risk the lives of any defenceless little pups, or Dean for that matter, on anything less than a guarantee of his safety."
"I understand your concern, hun, I really do," Charlie coaxed gently, her hand coming to rest atop the blonde's knee. "But we've had some very promising results with some of our other surrogates…"
"And the rest?" Balthazar challenged, arching a probing brow. "The ones that weren't so promising?" Charlie averted her gaze and pursed her lips, wordlessly answering his question. The Englishman gave a curt nod. "Yes, I rather figured as much. What else have you got?"
"Adoption?" she tried with a small shrug. "There are always plenty of young fledglings and newborns looking for loving homes down at the shelters. It's not usually popular with those that already own fully-matured companions, especially a mated alpha, but it might be worth considering. Of course, there is no guarantee that either Sam or Dean will take to a new addition that isn't blood related, and if the chick or pup grows to become an alpha then you always run the danger of Sam construing that as a personal attack on his territory and mate."
"Damn…" Balthazar heaved a tired sigh and rubbed at his pounding forehead. "When did the future start looking so bleak?"
"I'm sorry, sweetie," Charlie murmured softly, her hand rubbing soothing circles on the blonde's back as she deliberated her next words carefully. "You know, you might want to think about tubal ligation…"
Balthazar's head shot up at that, eyes narrowing. "You mean tying Dean's tubes? You want me to sterilise him?"
"It's just a suggestion," Charlie was quick to defend herself, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. "I'm only thinking of what's best for Dean here. In fact, if you wanted to be even more humane then I would recommend a full hysterectomy. It would stop his heats altogether and end this fruitless cycle."
"No. Absolutely not," the blonde snapped, rising to his feet because he was suddenly too agitated to sit still anymore. "I refuse to give up on him, to write him off like a god forsaken lost cause."
"He's making himself physically ill, Balthazar," Charlie warned, her tone taking on a serious edge as she attempted to break through the Brit's stubborn resolve. "It's not healthy for him to continue on with this hollow obsession… It isn't healthy for either of you."
"This is not an obsession," Balthazar heatedly opposed, his jaw clenching. "Like you said; I'm only thinking of what is best for Dean. With a mother that died not long after he was born, and an absent sire who abandoned him because he wasn't 'pure', he has suffered enough due to his mixed genetics. He grew up with nothing, Chaz. He had no littermates, no parents, and none of the other fledglings in the sanctuary where he was born would associate with him. He was all alone in the world until my parents brought him home on that fateful afternoon. We bonded and he changed my life – he's the reason I do what I do, why I fight so hard. I made a promise, a solemn vow, that I would look after him always, that he would never again have to face the road ahead with no one standing by his side." Pausing to regain his collapsing composure, he give Charlie a helpless look. "He's sacrificed quite enough already, so don't stand there and tell me that I have to be the one to take away something so meaningful to him, because I won't do it – I can't."
The raw exposure of Balthazar's emotions, his gaping vulnerability, plucked wretchedly at Charlie's heartstrings.
"I know Dean hasn't had it easy, hun – you seem to be forgetting that I've been his personal physician and avid fangirl for a number of years now," Charlie reminded him, her features open and warm like that of a mother doting upon her child. "You have his best interests at heart, and I admire that, but you gotta be careful that you don't get his needs crossed with your desires, for both your sakes." Slowly rising to her feet, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and granted her long-term friend a compassionate smile. "Look, I think I've given you more than enough to think about for now. Why don't you take Dean home and mull it over for a few days? He should already be coming around from the tranquiliser."
Nodding numbly, he followed Charlie when prompted, his movements lethargic and sullen whilst his temples throbbed with the weight of a decision that shouldn't be his to make in the first place. What would Dean want, given the choice? Was he truly suffering this way? Was there any hope at all?
With a heavy heart and a mounting sense of impending misery, he quashed such pointless musings as inconsequential, resigned in the fact that there were simply some questions for which he would never know the answer.
Balthazar had barely set foot in through the front door, with Dean – still muzzy from the sedative – traipsing listlessly behind him, when he was damn near bowled over by 190 pounds of frantic demon. Sam had Dean wrapped up in his gargantuan wings and halfway up the stairs before the Brit could even blink.
"Oh no, excuse me, gentlemen," he drawled sarcastically to the demon's retreating back, his only answer the echoing slam of a door from upstairs. Scowling, the blonde shrugged out of his coat and decided to leave the pair to it.
He needed a stiff drink anyways.
Meanwhile upstairs Sam was growling, a dark, intimidating rumble low in his chest, as he delicately laid his groggy mate out in their 'nest'.
Lucifer and Balthazar had kindly bestowed the supernatural duo with a rather lush queen sized bed within their very own sleeping quarters when they had first moved in together as a family, both men knowing how defensive their companions could get over their space and possessions – and Lucifer for one certainly didn't want a repeat of his bachelor days when Samuel had hijacked his parlour and adamantly refused his master entry of the room when he was occupying it. Hence the boys got their own bedroom, complete with their own bed and accumulated personal effects.
It had been a good idea – in theory.
The plush cream carpet lasted all of a month (whose bright idea was cream, anyway? With two fully-grown ethereal beings that treated mud puddles like spa days it was hard to tell what the original colour might have been anymore), and the bed even less (the grand mahogany frame had been scratched, bitten and gouged from a mixture of frenzied fucking and utter boredom, the headboard a total write off – to this day Lucifer refuses to accept explanation as to why).
Within weeks the lavish queen mattress had been ripped into literal shreds, mounds of latex foam and strips of knitted ticking piled into the furthermost corner from the door, the optimum vantage point to avoid direct sunlight in the early mornings and also for Sam to keep a constant, dutiful eye on the door should anyone decide to intrude uninvited.
It wasn't long after the total deconstruction of their bed that Balthazar detected a suspicious decrease in the number of decorative scatter cushions from the lounge and den, and Lucifer noticed the distinct lack of heavy comforter, used primarily in the colder winter months, from the ornate oak chest at the foot of their own marital bed. It didn't exactly require Columbo to solve their 'great mystery', and upon inspection of the mated companion's room, they found their missing pillows and blanket (and fluffy towels and quilted throws and snug bathrobes); all of the smuggled contraband used to meticulously build themselves a cosy little nest to rest, sleep and play in.
Situating Dean comfortably within the thick of the mound, closest to the wall and tucked away out of sight, Sam curled himself tight about the hybrid's body, his leathery wings cocooning his mate in close to the soothing heat of his body.
Taking a deep lungful of his angel's scent, Sam scrunched up his nose in distaste. "Damn, Dean, you reek," the demon complained, setting about instantly rectifying the grievous infringement on his property. "You stink of disinfectant and those god awful rubber gloves humans wear."
Dean, not in a position to do much of anything really, simply laid back and allowed Sam to bathe him, the faint scratch and familiar warmth of the demon's deft tongue a welcomed distraction as it lapped lovingly over his face and neck, washing away the stench of cold, clinical instruments and probing hands.
Mind still bleary from the lingering effects of whatever it had been the red-haired woman in white had injected him with (the crafty witch diverting his attention with a routine eyesight test that he'd done a thousand times already before cunningly jabbing him in the neck) and thoughts clouded with snippets of words he didn't quite understand – "surgery", "adoption", "sterilise" – he allowed himself to be lulled into a hazy state of semi-consciousness by his alpha's tender licks and pacifying growls, head lolling back and eyelids drooping to half mast.
For several minutes the room was awash with silence, Dean's relaxed breaths and the gentle rasp of Sam's tongue as he devotedly bathed his beloved the only sounds to periodically break the peace.
Until–
"I think I'm broken, Sam…"
The words were spoken on a gentle exhale, so soft and detached that if Sam were any lesser being he might have missed them entirely. Only he wasn't, and he didn't.
Abruptly ceasing his ministrations, mouth poised over the hybrid's right hip, sharp hazel eyes flicked up. "What are you talking about, Angel? There's not a damn thing wrong with you. You're my mate, and therefore perfect in every way." Lip twitching, Sam flared his wings. "Who told you otherwise? I demand to know, Dean – they've filled your head full of lies!"
"I think master thought I was pupped," Dean explained, absentmindedly shushing his riled mate with a soothing little purr.
"Humans really are simpletons," Sam scoffed exasperatedly, his mate's fingers tangling through his long chestnut locks considerably calming him. "If you were carrying my pups I'd know long before even you."
"Well of course we know that, moron, but master doesn't," Dean chided with muted bite. "I honestly think that's why he took me to the pretty woman in white earlier, so that she could, I dunno, have a look or test me or whatever. Only…"
"What? What is it?"
"I was in there too long, Sammy," Dean admitted, his deep jade eyes visibly troubled. "She knocked me out. Why bother if it was just a routine check? Then when I came to, they were talking about me outside. I was still so muddled from the shot I didn't catch most of it, but I heard my name, and words like 'sterilise', and 'IVF', and something about tubes? Knotting tubes? Or was it tying…?" Shaking his head in confusion, he turned to his alpha for answers. "Have you heard of anything like that before?"
Sam frowned, his tail swishing and curling through the air in thought. "Hn. Well, sterilise is like the same as clean, I think. You know like when master washes his hands before he touches food?" Dean gave a nod of confirmation, willing to take his word for it even though he was in no way clearer as to what that had to do with him. Was Balthazar bothered with his hygiene? "As for the others, I haven't a clue – I wasn't even aware that you had 'tubes'. I haven't ever seen them if you do, which is odd when you consider there isn't a single inch of this beautiful body I haven't yet explored…"
Sam slithered his way up Dean's body, growling amorously as he dipped his head to nuzzle and nibble at his mate's throat. Dean shifted beneath Sam's weight, his blood simmering in spite of his best efforts not to spur him on.
"Jesus, Sam," he groaned weakly, torn between pushing the perpetually horny demon away and pulling him ever closer. "My heat only just ended like two weeks ago. You're like a freakin' dog with a bone."
Not one to be so easily discouraged, Sam continued to insist, rubbing himself provocatively against the hybrid. "Mmm. C'mon, Angel. All this talk about heat and pregnancy and pups has really got me going…"
"You're fucking incorrigible, Sammy," Dean chided sternly…
…as he hurriedly shimmied out of his faded jeans.
Elsewhere meanwhile, Lucifer was holed up in his home office, quietly crunching numbers and calculating their next month's budget, all whilst enjoying a finger or two of scotch – generally just keeping himself to himself. Tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, he was carefully perusing their outgoings for the last financial quarter, reams of paper strewed haphazardly about his desk and illuminated by the soft yellow glow pouring from the small table lamp perched on the corner, when Balthazar suddenly sauntered in.
Thin black framed reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, Lucifer arched a brow when his blonde lover, barely even acknowledging his existence, headed straight for the drinks cabinet sat against the far wall. Lucifer watched silently as the Englishman grabbed a fine crystal tumbler, grabbed the half full decanter of their eighteen year old Glenfiddich, then promptly turned heel and left again. There was no big fanfare – he didn't tear into the room, stomp around, mutter curses under his breath or even slam the door; but after three years together, Lucifer knew how to read the signs. There was a maelstrom of emotion brewing mere millimetres below the surface of that otherwise blasé façade.
Downing the remaining dregs of his drink, he abandoned his work and followed the younger male out. He found the Brit exactly where he thought he would; quietly reflecting (read; brooding) in the living room.
Sinking deep into the worn leather armchair and swallowing generous measures of their expensive whiskey, the native Englishman didn't so much as flinch when his husband suddenly took up residence on the armrest to his right.
"So…" Lucifer began in a lazy drawl, elegantly crossing his legs and draping his left arm over the back of the headrest. "Are you going to tell me what it is that you're upset about, or am I going to have to guess?"
"Who says I'm upset?" Balthazar returned with a cool shrug, knocking back his drink before reaching to refill his glass from the open decanter sitting on the end table to his left.
"Well, let's see," Lucifer hummed in a knowing tone, scratching idly at a coarse, whiskered cheek. "No informal greeting kiss when you came in; you're moping around in the dark; and you're polishing off our 'seasonal' whiskey like you're expecting the apocalypse in the morning…"
"Okay, first off; I am most certainly not 'moping', and it's plenty bright in here," Balthazar quipped with a scowl, gesturing vaguely to their dimly lit surroundings. "And secondly, I'm only drinking this pathetic excuse for sufficient whiskey," he brandished his glass, "because we're out of anything older." He polished off his second helping with a grimace, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. "We need to add a case of Macallan 1824 to the shopping list."
"Our budget would disagree with you there," Lucifer muttered with a disapproving frown as the Brit poured himself a liberal third glass. Reaching across, he confiscated both bottle and tumbler from the blonde, dutifully ignoring his growls of protest. "I think you've had quite enough already, wouldn't you agree, love?" Rising to his feet, he set both items on the coffee table before turning to face his incensed lover. "Come. I feel we have much to discuss, and I would rather be relaxing somewhere comfortable than perched on a stiff armrest watching you drink yourself into oblivion."
Stormy grey eyes narrowed in defiance, Balthazar clenched his fingers and grit his teeth. He really did loath being told what to do or how to act – was he not a grown man, for god's sake? – but he couldn't begrudge his husband his concerns. How many times had the role been reversed, with Lucifer drowning his work related stress and carefully guarded worries at the bottom of a bottle whilst Balthazar rolled his eyes and condemned him silently in the background?
Rubbing at his chin, he conceded defeat with a weary sigh. "Bloody hell – okay. You win, darling."
"Don't I always?" Lucifer replied with a dashing grin, offering his blonde a hand and assisting him to his feet.
"Like I could stay mad at you," Balthazar scoffed, the barest hint of a smile teasing at his lips. "You're far too adorable in those glasses."
"All part of my natural charisma, sweetheart," Lucifer smirked, pressing an affectionate kiss to the corner of the blonde's mouth. "Now, let us retire, and you can tell me all about it."
Resting his forehead against the elder's shoulder, Balthazar simply inclined his head in acquiescence, mind at ease wrapped up in his husband's strong arms and concealing a warming smile in the crisp folds of his shirt.
Thirty minutes and a wardrobe change later found Lucifer and Balthazar comfortably situated in the master bedroom, the blonde perched on the edge of their king mattress dressed in a pair of navy plaid sleep pants and a loose-fitting white t-shirt, recapping his trip to the clinic with a decidedly bitter tone. Lucifer, donned in nothing but a pair of ratty old grey sweats and the skin of his back, was knelt behind him on the bed, listening intently to what his hostile lover had to say whilst diligently massaging out the tension riddled knots in the blonde's shoulders.
"Well, that certainly explains the sudden penchant for hard liquor…" Lucifer mused mostly to himself, choosing to ignore the reproachful icy glower Balthazar shot at him from the corner of his eye. "So, what are our options? They're always making advances in medicine these days, right? Surely there's something we can do for the boy."
"Charlie did mention a few proposals…"
Lucifer didn't like the way Balthazar's back suddenly tensed up all over again, his midnight blue eyes pinching in suspicion. "And they would be…?" he prodded when it became apparent that his husband wasn't going to elaborate any further.
Balthazar squared his jaw. "Nothing worth consideration."
Okay, now Lucifer was getting irritated.
"Balthazar," he warned, his palms resting hard and heavy upon his shoulders. "Stop being so evasive; it's childish and quite frankly unbecoming of a supposedly grown adult." Gripping the Brit's chin between gentle fingers, he tilted the younger's face to the side so that he could look him in the eye. "I don't ever ask for much, Zar, only your love and respect. I'm your husband; you should be able to trust me with anything." Smiling softly, he stroked the pad of his thumb across the blonde's jaw. "Otherwise what's the point, hm?"
Balthazar averted his eyes, unable to hold Lucifer's penetrating gaze for long. "She suggested IVF, surrogacy with a donor egg implanted within Dean, adoption, and a newly developed drug fashioned from human fertility treatment."
"Huh. Well that doesn't sound so bad," Lucifer said with an optimistic smile. "Why not give the medication a try?"
"It's still undergoing clinical trials," Balthazar argued with a frown. "I don't particularly want Dean experimented on like some lab rat; getting his hopes up just to have them dashed when it doesn't work."
"If, love," Lucifer countered gently. "If it doesn't work." Relaxing back on his knees, he picked up where he left off, dextrous fingers expertly smoothing out several kinks in the blonde's neck. "Come on, what else? I know you wouldn't be this worked up over a measly clinical trial or signing adoption papers… There's obviously more, so spill."
"It's nothing."
"Balthazar–"
"I said it's nothing!" Balthazar suddenly snapped, violently shrugging out of Lucifer's soothing touch and lurching to his feet. Icy grey eyes seething with frustration, he turned to face his greatly perplexed husband still kneeling upon their bed. "Bloody hell, Luce, can't you ever learn to just fucking drop it? What does it matter if I don't tell you every single insignificant detail? If I say that something is unimportant then you should just take my goddamn word for it and back the fuck off!"
Lucifer was up and off of the bed in a shot, Balthazar starting when he was suddenly backed up against the wall by their ensuite bathroom with a muscular forearm braced firmly across his sternum. His husband's face was the very epitome of calm and serenity, but Balthazar wasn't fooled. He was versed well enough in his lover's habits and mannerisms to know that he was merely riding the eye of the storm; one wrong move and he'd undoubtedly unleash the man's infamous temper.
"I know you're troubled, sweetheart, understandably so," Lucifer began, his voice a low, dark murmur that set Balthazar's nerves on edge. "But why don't we calm down for a second, take a deep breath and try to compose ourselves, hm? You know how excessive cursing in conversation upsets me."
"Maybe I want to curse; you ever think of that, huh?" Balthazar bit back, hands curling tight around the arm pinning him down. "Maybe I deserve to fucking curse and mope and throw a goddamn bloody tantrum! Maybe I don't need you constantly breathing down my neck and hassling me when it's so fucking obvious that I don't want to talk about it!"
"I just want to understand," Lucifer growled, his patience wearing terribly thin. "If only you would open up to me, then perhaps I could help, perhaps I could–"
"She wants me to sterilise him!" Balthazar barked suddenly, shoving Lucifer back and effectively cutting him off midsentence. "She reckons the best solution is to reach into Dean and tear his insides out. It's the 'humane' solution, apparently. Christ. Are you satisfied now?"
Lucifer contemplated the situation for a long moment, his astute powers of judgement and shrewd mind quickly weighing up the pros and cons of such a significant decision, before coming to a swift conclusion.
Eyeing the quietly fuming Englishman, he tentatively broached the clearly sensitive subject. "Would it really be so bad?" he tried, wincing when the blonde recoiled like he'd reached across and bodily struck him.
"Oh Christ, not you too," Balthazar groaned in despair. "What ever happened to trusting you? To helping me?"
"I'm merely suggesting that it's not the worst idea I've ever heard," Lucifer stated, folding his arms over his naked chest with a small shrug. "If it's what's best for Dean, then I would think that you would agree. Surely you don't want the poor boy to suffer unnecessarily, do you?"
"I think I know what is best for Dean, thank you very much," Balthazar growled defensively in response, eyes narrowing and hands curling into fists.
"Do you?" Lucifer queried, cocking his brow. "Are you sure you're not living out your own fantasies precariously through Dean? Pushing him into dangerous situations to make up for your own shortcomings?"
Balthazar gave a jaded laugh of resentment. "You know what? Fuck this. If you're just going to take Charlie's side, then we're done here." Pushing away from the wall, he shouldered past his husband. "I'll be sleeping downstairs."
Striking with the kind of speed a rattler would envy, Lucifer seized a hold of his blonde's bicep, whirling the Brit back round to face him. "You're not going anywhere, love – not until I say we're finished."
"With all due respect, love; go fuck yourself," Balthazar snarled, fervently trying to pry his arm free from Lucifer's ironclad grip with minimal success. "Damn you, Lucifer – unhand me this instant!"
"No," Lucifer growled in response, quick reflexes catching the incoming fist launched at his face and sparing him a nasty black eye come the morning. "You are going to stay right here, with me, until we sort this whole fiasco out and reach an amicable, united decision. Do I make myself clear?"
And just like that, the two men found themselves in a heady, electrically charged kind of stalemate. Balthazar was positively seething, white hot rage coursing thick and fast throughout his veins and his every synapse pulsing with vivacious energy. Lucifer wasn't faring much better himself to be perfectly honest, his entire body humming with adrenaline and a liquid heat pooling low in his gut as was liable to happen when tempers flared and their spousal 'disagreements' turned heated. The elder male always did have a certain weakness for rough play, sadomasochism and mild violence something of a not-so-closeted kink.
Balthazar could have rolled his eyes at his husband's predictability – you didn't spend nearly three years of your life loving someone without picking up a trick or two along the way – and so when Lucifer suddenly surged forward, one large hand fisting in the neck of his t-shirt and the other clutching at his hip, the Englishman was ready for it, expecting the ardent mouth crashing against his own even if the intensity of the act did catch him somewhat off guard.
Knowing resistance was futile (not that he particularly wanted to resist at this stage), Balthazar wrapped his arms around Lucifer's neck, his slender fingers tangling in the man's strawberry-blonde hair and crushing their mouths more firmly together.
Spinning them around, Lucifer blindly navigated Balthazar backwards, pushing him up against the vacated wall with entirely different designs in mind this time. Balthazar huffed out a breath when he was roughly shoved back into the painted drywall, his mind reeling as Lucifer's tongue lapped into his mouth, damn near choking him with fervent passion as warm hands hiked up his t-shirt and a muscular thigh slipped between his legs.
Breaking the kiss just long enough to tear the blonde's shirt off over his head, Lucifer dove straight back in, his tongue avidly mapping every ridge and crevice of Balthazar's mouth whilst his hands reverently traced every solid dip and sloping curve of his sculpted torso.
Balthazar moaned breathlessly when Lucifer's fingers ghosted down the muscled V of his hips, his breath stuttering when they suddenly dug in hard, nails biting into the delicate flesh on both sides of the bone. Snapping his head back with a harsh thud, he hitched a long leg over the elder man's left hip and pulled him in close, rocking his pelvis enthusiastically against his lover's.
Groaning heatedly at the contact, and following Balthazar's lead, Lucifer hiked the blonde's other leg up around his waist, using the wall for leverage and supporting his lover with both hands cupping the pert, rounded globes of his ass. Smirking when the Brit gasped, he attacked the supple skin of Balthazar's neck, lips sucking and teeth nipping as he palmed that glorious backside and rolled his hips up in a slow grind.
"Good lord, Luci," Balthazar moaned, his thighs clenching tight about Lucifer's middle. He sucked in a sharp breath when the elder growled and sank his teeth into the flesh of his collarbone in retaliation for the insufferable nickname, arousal spiking hotly throughout his bloodstream. Vocabulary rapidly failing him, he managed a panted, "I'm still pissed at you, just so that you know…"
"Mmm, excellent," Lucifer hummed, moulding the length of his body against the rising warmth of his lover's. "Use that anger, turn it against me – make me scream, if you can."
"You are such a sadist," Balthazar commented with a saucy grin, his nails scratching lightly over Lucifer's scalp.
"Lucky for me then…" Lucifer began, carrying his blonde away from the wall and depositing him unceremoniously upon their bed, "…that you, my beautiful wife, are a total masochist. We compliment each other perfectly."
"Wife?" Balthazar queried with an indignant quirk of the brow, grinning smugly to himself when he raised his arms in a seductive little stretch, back bowed and muscles tensed, and Lucifer's midnight gaze shamelessly devoured his every move.
"Of course," Lucifer answered as if it should be obvious, a wolfish smirk curling one side of his mouth as he languorously crawled over the top of that athletic body. Pressing a heated kiss to Balthazar's lips, he lowered his body, slotting himself between the younger's thighs. "You're the sweet blonde with the slender frame and petite build; hence, wife."
"Oh, I see," Balthazar replied when Lucifer drew back, his arms winding about broad shoulders and neck arching as the redhead started lavishing his throat with open-mouthed kisses. "And I suppose that would make you the tall, strapping, handsome one?"
Lucifer chuckled against the blonde's creamy skin, inciting a plethora of goosebumps as his fingertips danced down over his heaving ribcage and quivering flanks. "Normally I'm not one to blow my own trumpet – I'll leave that to you, love," he waggled his brows facetiously, to which Balthazar rolled his eyes, "but in this case I would have to agree wholeheartedly. For tonight, I am the alpha male." Nipping teasingly at his ear, he growled on a sultry breath, "I'm going to bend you over like my Samuel does your Dean, and sex you up over and over, tear into you like I own you…" Grinding the swollen evidence of his desire hard against the answering firmness of his lover, he smirked at the breathy moan Balthazar let loose, the blonde clutching desperately at his shoulder blades. "And then, when it's all over, when you're blissed out and gasping for breath, tangled in the sheets and dripping with sweat, too sated to move or even speak – tell me then who you think the wife is around here."
A crippling bolt of heat and electricity surged down Balthazar's spine and shot straight to his straining erection at the husky promise. Licking his lips, stormy eyes glittered with mischief and challenge. "I'm hearing a lot of talk, darling, but not seeing much action to back it up," he purred salaciously, his fingers tugging impatiently at the strawberry-blonde curls at the base of Lucifer's head.
"Hm. Can't be having that, now, can we?" Lucifer replied with a lascivious smirk, fingers hooking into the waistband of Balthazar's sleep pants and tugging suggestively.
Balthazar raised his hips with a cheeky wiggle, aiding his husband as he stripped him down to his black Calvin Kleins. "Heaven forbid. Just think of your reputation."
Bunching up the discarded pants, Lucifer tossed them uncaringly over his shoulder, a wicked gleam glinting in those dark blue eyes. "Exactly."
Balthazar hissed with pleasure when Lucifer suddenly swooped down, his tongue laving wet and warm over his right nipple, teasing it into a rosy, hardened peak before latching on with his teeth, the blonde's back arching helplessly into the elder's mouth as he tugged and nipped with just the right amount of pressure to make him squirm.
Rubbing his hands down the Brit's sides, Lucifer slipped them behind his back and pressed up, keeping Balthazar's back bowed in that seductive arch as he mouthed his way down sun kissed flesh and fluttering abdominals. He couldn't help but smirk against the younger's stomach when needy fingers threaded through his hair and pushed, not so subtly trying to 'guide' him further south.
"Eager much, sweetheart?" he murmured with a cocky grin, deliberately stalling as he kissed and licked around the blonde's navel.
Balthazar rolled his hips impatiently, stormy eyes glaring as they gazed down upon his grinning lover. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to start something you couldn't finish?"
"Now that," Lucifer hummed, snapping the elasticised band of his underwear playfully, "sounds like a direct challenge of my talents."
Balthazar gave a flirtatious little grin, eyebrows rising provocatively. "Funny you should interpret it like that, almost as if you feel that you have something to prove…"
Lucifer's eyes narrowed to slits at that. You want to take a cheap shot at his life, his family, his career – hell, his lifestyle choices even? Go right ahead; take a number and step forth if you think you're hard enough. Never let it be said that Lucifer Pellegrino ever backed down in the face of degradation. But at the end of the day he was still a man; a red-blooded male with a fragile pride and two heads constantly at odds when calling the shots. As far as he was concerned, dragging his sexual prowess into scrutiny was hitting below the belt.
Perhaps it was high time he educated his ballsy little blonde in the ways of etiquette and respect.
"Such a wicked tongue you possess, love," Lucifer commented with a grin that simply screamed of depravity. Pressing one last amorous kiss to the inside of Balthazar's thigh, so very, achingly close to the pulsating erection straining against the front of his boxers, he suddenly pushed himself up and away, his gut coiling with heat at the indignant, needy whimper the blonde released instantaneously. "What say we put it to better use…?"
Balthazar watched with hungry eyes as Lucifer crudely palmed himself through his sweats, making his hinted 'suggestion' abundantly clear. Moaning in approval at the beautifully debauched sight, Balthazar pounced, knocking Lucifer down onto his back with a muted huff. Kissing the redhead deep and filthy, he reached down between their bodies, keen fingers dipping beneath the waist of Lucifer's bottoms, a low, wanton moan rumbling between their mouths when his hand curled uninhibited around the hot, turgid shaft of his cock.
"Commando?" he purred, giving the dripping length a firm pump. "You always know just how to get my motor running, darling. Please, please tell me you've been like this all day…"
"You like that, babe?" Lucifer breathed, his hands cupping Balthazar's shapely backside whilst his hips pushed up into every stroke of the blonde's palm. "You like thinking about my cock while I'm at work?"
"Mmm, yes," Balthazar groaned, Lucifer obviously appreciative of his answer when he squeezed his ass and forced him down into a hard grind. Encouraged, he sucked Lucifer's earlobe between his teeth and nibbled softly. "If I wasn't ridiculously hard already, I would be just picturing you sitting in that big pretentious office of yours, surrounded by dusty old books and stuffed shirts, kicking back in that pompous leather chair you love so much, talking about litigants and injunctions and whatever else it is you snooty lawyers like to talk about," he chuckled when Lucifer smacked his ass in punishment for the jibe, "all the while your cock is hanging free and unrestricted, rubbing sensually against your slacks, just begging for attention, for a hot, wet mouth or tight little hole to keep it occupied…"
"Jesus fuck," Lucifer rumbled out in pleasure, his cock twitching with every crude word breathed lewdly against the shell of his ear. "Where the fuck were you earlier when I was dying of boredom during my one o'clock? I could've tucked you under my desk, had you suck me off, fucked that pretty mouth raw while I graciously feigned interest in the ramblings of morons and madmen…"
"And here I thought excessive cursing upset you," Balthazar grinned impishly, silently proud of his ability to make his otherwise poised and unflappable husband lose his mind in bliss.
"We're not exactly having a casual conversation, love," Lucifer countered, hands slipping beneath the blonde's boxers and giving his rear a hearty squeeze. "Now, about that blowjob…?"
Balthazar could only roll his eyes and chuckle fondly.
Suddenly the weight of the world didn't feel so heavy upon his shoulders anymore.
A/N: Oh, wow. I am such a tease... Two unfulfilled sex scenes? I don't even know how that happened. I may be able to appease any broken hearts (polite way of putting it, I guess) by adding a; "I just woke up but I'm so insatiable I can't possibly keep my hands (dick) away from you" lovemaking scene at the beginning of the next instalment - if y'all want, that is.
So yeah - awws, poor Dean. But don't despair, I have plans for him. Good ones. Probably. I also intend to add at least one new character next chapter - what's that? You want a hint? Well, alrighty then... Think sibling rivalry.
Oooh, I have such big plans. Should be good (:
Anyhow - please enjoy at your own leisure. As I said before, if y'all have any questions, comments, queries, please don't hesitate to shout 'em out!...
...And then mail me about it, because chances are I won't hear ya if you're just yelling at your computer screens.
Love and peace,
FMV
