So about a half an hour ago (shortly before midnight my time), I hit 30,000 words. On Day 9, the total projected word count is 15,000. I ACCIDENTALLY TWICE THE WORDS OOPS. This is definitely looking like it'll be about 75,000 words. Which is great because, y'know, it'll be my longest project ever. (75,000 without the Author's Notes. With A/N, it'll probably be like 80,000.)

Thanks to GoForTehGig for reviewing the last chapter! I know I didn't give you guys much time, but are you really going to complain? (Also, I keep getting AO3 comments on this now, and I firmly believe there's a special place in Heaven for AO3 commenters.)

This chapter was harder to write than I thought it would be... I had the scene in my head but I didn't really know how to write it, so... yeah, if you hate it, let me know. I'll probably re-write it later.

"You left a mark last time," Lucifer hissed to the blonde writhing beneath him. He scraped his teeth over the skin.

"S-sorry," came the gasped reply, followed by a strangled moan.

"You know you can't do that," he went on, heedless of the apology. "You don't want my wife to find out about this, do you?"

Balthazar Roché twisted his fingers in the sheets. "No," he breathed. Lucifer knew just what to say to make him feel cheap and filthy. It was bad enough that he had to remember he was married while they weren't in bed. Being reminded that this was just some affair for Lucifer during the actual act was nearly torturous.

He wasn't in love, he reminded himself as Milligan rocked his hips, tearing a moan from Balthazar's mouth. People didn't fall in love with Lucifer Milligan. Falling in lust, on the other hand, was something people did quite frequently with this man, and he'd fallen quite hard.

He didn't know how many others there had been before him, if any. He didn't want to know how many others there would be after him. He was usually able to ignore those thoughts. It was almost impossible to focus on anything that wasn't them, right there, fucking on the California king-sized bed in the Presidential Suite above the casino, but sometimes it happened. Like right now, when he was acutely aware of the ring on Lucifer's left hand digging into the skin of his hip, pressing into the bone. It was sure to leave a bruise, and Balthazar took a perverse pleasure in that fact. Lucifer had no qualms about marking him, claiming him as his own, but no one owned Lucifer Milligan. If you got this much attention from him, you considered yourself lucky.

But being skin-to-skin with him like this was enough to drive his mind blissfully blank after a few moments. It was always like this. If Lucifer fucked you long enough, you would forget how to communicate in anything other than vowels. Hell, you'd forget your own name. He'd give you exactly what you wanted, turn around, and take exactly what he wanted, and you'd be so enraptured while it was happening that you'd let him. He had that kind of power over just about everyone, but especially over him.

It was over too fast, but then again, it always was. No matter how long they spent between the black thousand-thread-count sheets, whether it was hours or the one week neither of them left the room at all (he had no idea what Lucifer told his wife later), it was never long enough. Balthazar was addicted. He wasn't the first and he wouldn't be the last, but right now, it was him.

He tentatively reached out and trailed his fingers over Lucifer's arm. When the younger man didn't pull away, he inched closer. It was always a gamble, trying to figure out how much contact he was allowed after the deed was done. Sometimes, he didn't want to be touched at all. Other times, he practically cuddled. This time seemed to be more along the lines of the latter. As he scooted, Lucifer moved his arm and wrapped it around him. Balthazar sank into the solid form of his body, closing his eyes and letting himself float there.

This was bliss. For a few moments, he could pretend it was just the two of them on this sea of subsiding hormones as they both enjoyed the post-orgasmic haze. Right now, no one else in the world mattered. Not Meg, not Michael, not anyone who could distract Lucifer from this moment.

"I can't figure it out," Lucifer murmured abruptly.

Ah. Apparently not. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice had crept up and ruined the moment for Lucifer. "Can't figure what out?" Balthazar asked. Part of him was genuinely interested in what he was thinking, but most of him just wanted to hear his voice. It could be sweet and soothing sometimes, especially sex-roughened like it was.

"My father. He's always told us that we should take responsibility for our actions, take care of our family, that kind of thing. And then one day he just gets on a plane to the Middle East and we don't hear from him for six months. And then when he finally does contact us, all he says is he'll be home at some point but he doesn't leave any instructions except 'don't look for me.' It's like, what the Hell? He's like this huge fucking hypocrite—him and Michael both. Michael's always harping on about following Dad's plan and hanging on the man's every word, but the one directive he actually does give us, he just ignores. I don't get it. And then he has the nerve to tell me to be subservient to him. No, fuck that. And I know Gabriel agrees with me but he's too scared to actually do anything about it. He doesn't want to pick sides until he knows with any certainty who's gonna win this thing. At least Raphael had the balls to just pick a fucking side, even though he picked Michael's. But Gabriel's staying out of it because he's so sure he's gonna get steamrolled. That's why so many of his people are deserting him, eh?" he added, gently nudging Balthazar.

The blonde laughed sleepily, curling himself closer to Lucifer. He was only half-listening to his lover's ranting, but he could tell Lucifer didn't mind. He just needed to vent.

"And Castiel… well, I can kind of see where he's coming from. He's just a kid, you know? He tries to see the best in everyone—me and Michael and Gabriel and Raphael. He's still talking to all of us but staying neutral. Hey, I appreciate the sentiment, too. I understand his situation. He barely has any assets and maybe a dozen people working for him? If that? And they're all kids, too. Kids he went to school with, for fuck's sake. No, this is gonna end bloody and it's better for all of them if he stays out of it. It's no place for a kid."

Balthazar had met Castiel once or twice and had to admit that, on the surface, Lucifer's judgment was right on target. But underneath that, Castiel had a hidden power that he just barely understood.

"I just… my dad. He just left right when we needed him the most, like he doesn't give a flying fuck about any of us, and he expects us to still obey him? Where the Hell is he? He doesn't understand what's going on here at all. And then Michael still pretends to be the obedient son, but he isn't. He's not the perfect son that he sees himself as. And he still pretends he's doing what Dad wants him to do, even though he's just as lost as I am. I don't see why he just throws it in and says, 'Fuck you.' It's obvious Dad doesn't care. Why would a loving father abandon his children like this? Not even a set of guidelines to follow, just 'figure it out for yourselves.' What kind of father does that?"

Balthazar became dimly aware that this wasn't so much a rant as a steady stream of Lucifer's consciousness. He may not have even realized what he was saying. The Lucifer he knew would have never willingly admitted that he was lost. He'd never known Lucifer to openly acknowledge something like that before. This was an open, angry, vulnerable Lucifer Milligan, and Balthazar's chest tightened in response. He had to fight the urge to run his fingers soothingly through his hair. Doing so, he thought, would break the spell that Lucifer had cast on himself. He was almost hypnotized as he spoke, and Balthazar wasn't willing to shatter the illusion. Not just yet.

"But I still sent people off to find the bastard, because we need him back here. If I could just understand why he left, what the point of all this was, I think I might be able to accept it, but he isn't answering. It's like he's not even there anymore. Maybe he doesn't even know why he left, or maybe he doesn't want to tell us. Maybe he left because he's ashamed of us or something."

"I don't think so," Balthazar said softly, and then almost smacked himself. He'd wanted to avoid derailing Lucifer's train of thought.

Lucifer let out a breath that was halfway between a scoff and a chuckle. "I don't know. I would be. If I were in his shoes, I'd be pretty ashamed of us." He sank back against the pillows, keeping Balthazar pinned against him, not that the blonde was complaining. Sometimes, it really seemed like they had a connection. That, he supposed, was part of Lucifer's power. He gave you exactly what you wanted and then took it away so fast, you went dizzy. And because he'd already given it to you, you knew he could do it again and it felt so sweet that you didn't care what else happened, as long as you got your fix again. You'd go crawling back to him no matter what. You couldn't stay away from him. It was definitely an addiction. He hadn't known what would happen when Gabriel Milligan first told him he had to go pretend to be a defector with Bobby Singer. He didn't know what he expected, but it sure wasn't to end up in bed with his boss's older brother.

The whole thing was a convoluted mess that he didn't like to contemplate for any great length of time. It was obvious that Lucifer wanted him, for whatever superficial reasons he had, and the casual way he'd pursued him despite being married just indicated that this wasn't the first time he'd had an affair. Balthazar wondered if Meg knew about her husband's infidelity, but decided she probably didn't. But she almost certainly knew about his uncanny ability to get whatever he wanted from people. What Lucifer wanted, Lucifer got.

They lapsed into a thoughtful, comfortable silence. Balthazar was close to sleep, his head still resting on Lucifer's chest, when someone knocked very loudly on the door. Lucifer sighed and rolled out of bed, and Balthazar grumpily let his head settle onto the now-vacated pillow. Once Milligan wrapped himself in a robe, he exited the bedroom and went to the door.

Half-asleep, Balthazar peeked at the clock and nearly groaned. It was two in the morning. These were Lucifer's peak hours, when something was nearly guaranteed to go wrong downstairs—a customer over-spending his limit or blowing her whole line of credit, or something even worse with the coke he sold in the back—and they usually did. He had no idea how Lucifer stayed sane with close to no sleep, but then, he probably slept when he went home. Balthazar had never been to Lucifer's penthouse flat, and he had a feeling he never would.

Lucifer came back in a minute later, muttering angrily and flipping on a light. Balthazar had to suppress a groan as he pulled the duvet over his head and prayed he was going to be allowed at least a few hours' sleep. He hadn't been doing all this nighttime running around for years like Lucifer had. He wasn't used to it yet. But Lucifer wasn't barking at him to get up and get dressed, so he figured he was okay. It wasn't until he finished dressing and flipped the light back off on his way out that he said, "I'll be back soon." He closed the door behind him, and Balthazar finally sank into sleep.

When Balthazar woke up next, it was to Lucifer slipping back into the room. The light mercifully stayed off as the strawberry blonde undressed and crawled back into bed next to him. He ran his fingers over Balthazar's side for a moment and murmured, "Are you awake?"

"Mm-hmm," Balthazar answered sleepily.

"Good." He pressed a kiss to Balthazar's lips, one he enthusiastically returned as he quickly shook off his sleep. Lucifer finally tore his mouth away from Balthazar's and started to lick and suck on his neck, leaving more marks for him to hide in the morning, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He moaned in delicious abandon, trying not to dig his nails into Lucifer's back as Milligan situated himself between his legs and rutted against him.

"Oh, fuck!" he almost screamed when Lucifer finally pushed into him. It was a sweet, sick burn, an indescribably hot pleasure that had him clinging to the man, begging for more no matter how much it hurt. With Lucifer whispering little encouragements in his ear, telling him how tight he was and how good he felt, he whimpered, wanting to roll him over and just ride him, but he didn't dare. This was Lucifer's affair—he called the shots. He met every thrust of Lucifer's hips, fisting his fingers in the younger man's hair.

Again, it was over way too fast. He raked the nails of one hand over Lucifer's shoulders, clinging to the sheets beneath him with his other hand, trying to restrain himself from crying out his name. It would be too intimate, too much for either of them. He just wanted one time where he felt like Lucifer was entirely his, but he knew it was too much to ask for. Lucifer could never he his.

The speed with which the act was executed was understandable because they were both exhausted. Balthazar didn't blame him when Lucifer fell asleep within a few minutes. He laid awake for a little longer, feeling an ache that he didn't recognize well up inside him. It wasn't good. He had to remind himself for the thousandth time that he wasn't in love with Lucifer Milligan.

Of course, it was a lie. That was the real reason he would let Lucifer use him. It didn't matter anymore. He was in love with him and had been since the moment the man looked at him. He figured there were probably dozens of people who were in love with Lucifer, but right now, he was the one that Lucifer had chosen to lay with.

Balthazar sighed and willed himself to drift back into sleep. It was too unsettling to think too hard about things like this right now. He'd never intended to get involved with Lucifer Milligan, and now he was too far gone to get out. He'd royally fucked up his job of just keeping tabs on the man and reporting back to Gabriel, but there was nothing anyone could do about it anymore. By all rights, he should just call it in and have Gabriel replace him, but that would be impossible. There was no way he could be replaced now without arousing suspicion, that much was true. But he didn't want to leave anymore, either. He couldn't. He knew something bad was hurtling toward them, and if there was even the smallest chance he could keep it away from Lucifer, protect him no matter how much he deserved it, he wanted to try.

He was in way over his head. His entire directive had been compromised. But the information he passed on to Gabriel was valuable, and he couldn't just stop now. No, not when there was something so close to bursting. The whole city felt it. If he vanished now, there wouldn't be time for another agent to infiltrate Lucifer Milligan's network and get the kind of information Gabriel needed.

Once all this was over, once he'd saved Lucifer from whatever was coming, he would give Gabriel Milligan his resignation letter and leave the city. After all this, he needed a fresh start somewhere new, somewhere people didn't know him.

And with that thought in mind, the decision that he might someday be able to escape the ghost of what should have been between him and Lucifer, he finally fell asleep.

Sam and Dean finished packing their clothes and stashed their bags in the trunk of the Impala. They dodged the patches of ice as they went, trying not to giggle when they missed one and slipped—not enough to fall, but enough to make their hearts leap into their throats, both from overall nervousness and the threat of falling. They tried to keep their voices down in the early-morning air, but it was probably the last time they'd feel close to at-ease in the foreseeable future.

They finally skated back up to their apartment and shrugged out of their jackets. Sam hadn't been able to sleep at all that night and now that he had only four and a half hours left until he had to be at school, he wasn't sure that he'd be able to sleep at all. Dean had explained the situation to him, and he regarded the whole idea with a fair amount of trepidation. But he'd royally fucked up, and Dean was the one bailing his ass out. Again.

Well, if Dean trusted his boss Gabriel Milligan and didn't trust Lucifer, Sam had no reason to doubt that trust or lack thereof. It definitely seemed like Lucifer Milligan wasn't the kind of man you wanted to cross, and the fact that he was about to do just that had him a little anxious. But Dean was sure that Gabriel Milligan could help them and keep them safe, so he just had to believe that.

Dean could tell that Sam wasn't going to sleep at all. So they sat up for the rest of the night.

"Think we'll be okay?" Sam asked finally.

Dean blinked at him in the slowly-lightening room. "You mean, safe from those assholes?"

"Yeah."

"I sure hope so."

"But do you think we will be?"

Dean swallowed. He hated to admit this. "I don't know. But I do know that Gabriel and Castiel Milligan are going to try their hardest to make sure we're okay."

Okay, now I'm really exhausted. All the people talking about sleeping makes me sleepy...