Disclaimer: How many times do I have to say that I own nothing? If the object of disclaimers is to push me to the brink of tears, then job done...
Warnings: See chapter one.
Pairings: Balcifer, Sam/Dean.
And, on a personal note; "Hi ho, Silver! Away!"
Enjoy, idjits.
~Walking the Feather's Edge~
'Hook & Line'
As a general rule, Balthazar wasn't typically what one would describe as a 'morning person'.
During the week he had a gruelling routine of rolling from crisp, body warmed sheets and stumbling through a scalding shower and meagre breakfast so that he could be ready to hit the road for eight-thirty, giving himself ample time to arrive at work for a nine o'clock start. He would grumble and complain, words grunted and attitude decidedly surly until he had his first dose of caffeine. His colleagues had long since learned to steer clear of morning pleasantries and attempted humour until at least the time lunch hour rolled around. Lucifer had once likened him to an adolescent schoolgirl experiencing fluctuating bouts of PMS – and had spent a very uncomfortable night on the couch as a result.
It was Balthazar's firm belief that men were like hibernating beasts. What was that famous expression; let sleeping dogs lie? Yes, that was perfectly adequate to describe his rather feral demeanour come first light.
Hence his complete and utter astonishment that his husband – the man he had shared a life and bed with for how many long months with now? – was currently pawing all over him before the clock had even hit double digits. On a Sunday.
Didn't Lucifer know him, like, at all?
"Did somebody die?" Balthazar groggily inquired, his voice low and scratchy from sleep.
"I should hope not," was the silken reply murmured against the back of his neck, warm, callused hands smoothing up over his thigh and trailing across his chest.
"Oh?" Balthazar hummed confusedly, brows knotted like he was contemplating something perplexing and eyes resolutely clamped shut. "I guess we're under attack then? China finally decided to invade? Or the Russians, perhaps?"
The hands on his body stilled, but didn't lift away. "…Huh?"
The total bafflement in that one tiny sentiment made Balthazar grin. "Well, I can only assume, given that it's Sunday and barely nine o'clock, that we must be under some sort of global attack?" Craning his neck, he directed a withering glare at his bewildered husband. "Because you know that impending war and the death of a close family member are the only acceptable circumstances under which you are allowed to wake me at such an ungodly hour. Especially on the weekend."
"Aren't you just a little bundle of sunshine this morning?" Lucifer snorted with amusement, his hands traversing on their course once more. "I've been up since six – have already gone for my morning jog, been home to shower and change, and popped out to pick up breakfast."
Balthazar was prepared to call bullshit, but now that he was a little more awake and aware of his surroundings – thanks to a certain someone – he could feel the soft scratch of cotton against his bare back and the gentle rasp of polyester basketball shorts against his thighs, which, coupled with the scent of ginseng shower gel and the Paco Rabanne cologne that had been a gift from himself for Lucifer last Christmas, all pointed toward the validity of the man's claim.
It was at times like these that the Brit really did loathe his husband's natural "up and at 'em" attitude, a point which he demonstrated quite vividly by throwing their duvet over his head and burrowing deeper within the still toasty confines.
"Come on, sweetheart," Lucifer cooed, chuckling lightly at the blonde's endearing morning blues as he attempted to pry him from his, apparently, airtight cocoon. "It's a beautiful day out, and it'd be a shame to waste it. We could go for a drive around the countryside, take a stroll somewhere new… We could bring the boys and a picnic, make a day of it."
After their argument last night concerning Dean and his visit to the clinic, Lucifer wanted nothing more than to pamper and spoil his blonde; to give him one day of relaxation where he didn't have to worry about anything or anyone but himself.
It took a minor struggle, and more strength than he had originally anticipated, but he eventually managed to wrestle Balthazar out from underneath the sheets, the Englishman's stormy grey eyes slitted into a dark scowl as he huffed about the injustice of it all. Lucifer couldn't help but grin at that adorably juvenile pout. "Ah, there he is; my beautiful English crumpet."
Balthazar allowed Lucifer to dip down and kiss him, though he did deflect at the last second so that he caught the corner of his mouth instead of his intended target; his lips.
"So cruel, love," Lucifer teased, midnight blue eyes narrowing playfully.
"Really?" Balthazar scoffed with an arched brow. "You come barging in here and disturb me from my well deserved rest, and I'm cruel? And stop calling me crumpet!" he groused as an afterthought, striking out with a half-hearted punch to the redhead's shoulder. "It makes me sound like some sort of posh tart."
Lucifer simply could not resist the temptation to further harass the grouchy blonde. "Hn. And here I thought a crumpet was more of a savoury cake type deal?"
"You're not at all as funny as you think you are," Balthazar growled, turning his back to the smirking buffoon in a not so subtle gesture to leave. "If you're quite done pestering me, you and your sodding stroll can piss off."
Lucifer pursed his lips against the rising laughter bubbling in his chest. "And breakfast…?"
Balthazar thought about that for a second or two. He was well aware of his husband's cunning little scheme to make him forget all about the monstrous dark cloud hanging over their heads, and whilst he didn't think that his efforts, no matter how grand, would do much good in improving his dilemma, he couldn't begrudge the man the thought and devotion fuelling his intentions.
"Where did you go?" he queried at length, his voice mumbled from between the folds of his pillow.
"Oh, nowhere special," Lucifer replied, his tone deliberately nonchalant. "Just that little patisserie on the corner that you love so much."
There was a pregnant pause, to which the corners of Lucifer's mouth quirked up in a haughty smirk, knowing that he'd won this round. It wasn't just rumour, you know; the quickest way to a man's heart was most definitely through his stomach – and damn if Lucifer didn't know each and every avenue into Balthazar's affections. Like playing the golden fiddle, it was child's play to him.
Finally, Balthazar conceded. "I'm not getting up for anything less than a bear claw…"
Lucifer chuckled, kissing the back of his sleep-mussed hair. "Powdered, just the way you like it."
"…I'll be down in five."
Grinning, Lucifer rolled out of their bed and ambled downstairs.
"You see? I told you I could smell sugar. The nose never lies, man."
Sam peered over Dean's shoulder from where they stood in the kitchen doorway – not a terribly hard feat considering their vast differences in height – his sharp gaze settling on the pink and white confectionary box sitting idle on the countertop.
"Whaddaya reckon's inside?" Dean asked, his tone bordering on giddy whilst his feathers ruffled in excitement.
Sam arched a brow at his mate's keen enthusiasm. "I don't know, Dean. I'm not a mind reader."
"Boxes don't have minds, idiot," Dean snorted derisively.
"Psychic then, whatever," Sam growled, turning to stalk away. "Either way, I don't think whatever's inside was meant for us."
"Aw, c'mon, Sammy," Dean goaded with a mischievous little grin, one that Sam had come to learn the hard way couldn't possibly mean any good. "Aren't you even a teeny bit curious?"
"No," the hellspawn deadpanned, shrugging a shoulder. "Unlike you angels, we demons don't crave sugary treats like some back-alley junkie. I know how to look after my body, thanks."
Sam flexed his biceps and abdomen, muscle and sinew rippling like a wave upon the shore. Dean merely rolled his eyes at the provocative display, mentally cursing his traitorous body when it thrummed a little in appreciation at the physical strength of his provider.
"Yeah, 'cause this piece of ass is something to be scoffed at," he jeered, stretching out the length of his taut body and fluffing up his smoky feathers in a flirtatious arch.
Interest thoroughly piqued, Sam returned to his mate, wrapping his long arms around Dean's trim waist and nuzzling his face into the creamy skin of his throat. "Of course it's not, Angel. You will always be one sexy 'piece of ass' to me."
"Yeah, well, the way you were talking you'd think I was one donut away from turning into a freakin' roly poly!"
That made Sam snicker, his tail flicking with mirth. "Not to worry, love – I'd gladly roll you wherever you wanted to go."
"Oh, shove off," Dean chided, his tone holding no real bite as he shrugged off Sam's amorous advances. Glancing at the lanky demon from the corner of his eye, he flashed a sliver of pearly white teeth. "You wanna make it up to me?"
Sam's eyes flashed obsidian. "Desperately," he purred, eagerly crowding himself into Dean's personal space, his leather pants rubbing provocatively against Dean's ripped jeans.
Dean huffed with the effort it took to effectively manhandle his excitable mate from his person. "No, not like that! Jesus, Sammy, you're like a bitch in friggin' season!"
"Maybe if you weren't such a tease…" Sam huffed, reining in his carnal desires enough to regain at least some semblance of self control, his eyes slowly bleeding back to hazel.
"Dude, please," Dean replied with disdain. "I only need to be awake to set you off – and sometimes you don't even require that…"
Sam rolled his eyes skyward but didn't argue the fact. "Alright, fine. If you don't want to fuck, what do you want?"
Dean pursed his lips in a shoddy guise of innocence, his emerald gaze surreptitiously sliding toward the box of confectionaries across the room.
"Nuh-uh, no way," Sam immediately shot down, waving his hands back and forth as if to reinforce his refusal.
Dean visibly deflated. "But Sammy–"
"Forget it, Dean," Sam interrupted, folding his arms across his chest. He was in no mood for a sob story. "I'm not putting my tail on the line just so you can stuff your face with sweets. Master said he'd chain my ass down in the backyard if I disobey him again this week, and you know how testy I can get when I'm not allowed to fly."
"Oh, fine, ya massively overgrown pup! I'll do it myself if you're just gonna sit and bitch about it," Dean replied with a snort, bare feet padding against the cold kitchen tiles as he muttered under his breath, "Some freakin' alpha. Can't even fetch his mate a snack…"
Sam wasn't a moron; he knew Dean was purposefully baiting him – not like the hybrid was trying particularly hard to conceal the fact. And whilst he maintained enough cognitive intelligence to see straight through the devious little ploy, thousands of years, millennia even, of genetic programming simply could not take such a devastating blow to his alpha pride lying down. He was the hunter, top of the pack, the 'breadwinner' as his master would put it; it was his job to see to Dean's every desire, no matter how mundane or, in this case, inane – and boy did his feisty little bitch know it. He couldn't sit back and watch Dean do something that could possibly (definitely) result in punishment.
With an exaggerated sigh the demon pitched forward, catching Dean by the wrist before he got too far. "Sit, stay," he growled before stalking toward the counter.
Dean promptly did as he was told, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, a lopsided, vixenish smirk plastered across his mouth as he watched his domineering mate close in on the prize.
Sam approached the harmless cardboard box like it might suddenly sprout teeth and go for his jugular, hands hesitating to make any kind of contact lest the consequences be instantaneous. Behind him, Dean was growing impatient with his dithering.
"Well, princess? What's the holdup?"
"Give me a goddamn second," Sam barked in response, blowing the bangs from his face before deciding to just bite the bullet and flipped the lid open. He was almost surprised an alarm didn't start blaring and a bared cage didn't drop from overhead. Peeking at the contents, he talked to Dean from over his shoulder. "Right, now that I'm here, what do you want exactly?"
Dean pondered for a second. "What is there?"
"How the hell should I know?" Sam scowled. "I'm not the one who likes all this sugary crap! I have no idea what I'm looking at here…"
"Man, you can be so useless sometimes," Dean sighed as he heaved himself to his feet. Pressing himself in against Sam's back, he peeked over his shoulder, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree at the sight that greeted him. "Whoo-boy, Sammy! We hit the jackpot!"
"We?" Sam echoed incredulously, though it was evident Dean wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention.
"Cannolis, éclairs, Danishes, and is that… oh sweet Jesus, apple turnover!"
Sam didn't know whether to be turned on at the low, throaty moans his mate was purring right by his ear or disgusted that he was about to start drooling on his shoulder.
"Will you hurry up and pick something so we can hightail it out of here, please?" he groused, ears perked for any sound of his master returning.
Dean blinked, mouth curving down into a frown. "What, you mean I can only have one thing?"
"You can't be serious?" Sam scorned, brows furrowing. "As slow as you might believe master to be, I think he might just notice if the entire box mysteriously disappears into thin air!"
"Don't rush me!" Dean snapped, bullying Sam out of the way. "This is a very delicate process… I mean, there's pie at stake here, man!" Reaching into the box, he carefully lifted a single pastry out and set it to the side.
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Great, you've picked – now let's go."
"Whoa! Hold your horses there, Sam," Dean argued, dashing the demon's hopes of a clean getaway. "That there's for Balthazar; they're his favourite."
"For the love of–!" Sam exclaimed, wings flaring in irritation as he snatched up the box, ignoring Dean's startled cry of protest, and held the contents precariously over the sink in warning. "If you don't pick something in the next five seconds, I'm dumping the entire lot out! Now, before I pop a fucking vein, can you please just–" The unmistakable thump-thump-thump of footfalls coming down the stairs cut Sam off mid-rant, his hazel eyes locking with Dean's as they stared, frozen, at one another. "Oh, shit! Shit, fuck, shit – here!" In his panic, Sam pushed the box of pastries into Dean's hands.
"Sam? What the hell, man?" Dean sputtered, fumbling with the box like the demon had just handed him a live bomb.
"No time!" Sam replied, survival instincts kicking in full throttle as he hastily ushered his angel toward the back door. "Just go!"
Dean was conflicted, hesitating at the threshold of the back patio, sweets clutched to his chest and jade eyes wide with indecision. "Sammy, I–"
The door to the kitchen suddenly swung open and Sam gave Dean a final nudge. "Go, Dean; now!"
Lucifer entered the scene just in time to witness the angel hybrid take flight, a flash of pink and white disappearing off with him. It didn't take long for Lucifer to put two and two together, his companion's intensely guilty countenance notwithstanding, and he balled his fists on his hips, levelling Sam with a reproachful glare.
Sam could only shrug in his defence, genuinely repentant that he'd had to deliberately disobey his master, the man that had raised him from a helpless pup, but not in the least bit sorry that he'd followed his baser impulses to provide for his mate.
For that, he would never apologise.
When Balthazar finally pottered down some several minutes later, it was to an ill-tempered husband and a whining demon; Lucifer reading the morning paper at the breakfast bar and Samuel sprawled sullenly across the wooden decking outdoors, thick leather collar and heavy metal chain seeming to physically weigh him down.
Quirking a brow, Balthazar poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, absentmindedly picking up the bear claw left sitting on the countertop. "So," he began, stirring a liberal amount of cream into his mug, "what did I miss?"
"You mean apart from Samuel aiding and abetting your darling little 'angel' into stealing our breakfast?" Lucifer replied sourly with a rustle of his paper. "Nothing much."
"Ah, I see," Balthazar hummed, peering through the window in the general direction of Sam's attentions, and sure enough there was Dean, the hybrid lounging back quite comfortably on a low hanging branch of their maple tree and leisurely gorging himself with their baked goods. The blonde might have been a tad bit more upset if the little minx hadn't left him his absolute favourite pastry as compensation – as it was, Balthazar was finding it increasingly difficult not to laugh out loud at the whole situation. "Well, at least I got mine," he grinned, giving his surly husband a kiss on the cheek before sauntering out of the room with a barely suppressed chuckle.
Lucifer merely rolled his eyes, and if he smiled fondly, just a little bit, well there was nobody around to take any notice.
It was late afternoon, and, as per Balthazar's insistence that he wasn't in high enough spirits to endure the great outdoors, the Brit and Lucifer found themselves kicking back in the lounge instead; Balthazar with a glass of pinot and a good book, feet propped up in Lucifer's lap, and Lucifer slowly vegetating in front of the plasma watching the game, one hand wrapped around a gently perspiring bottle of Fosters whilst the other lazily massaged his blonde's feet. The high-profile lawyer wasn't usually one for sitting idle. In his experiences there were always things to be done; reports to be typed up, clients to be educated, taxes to be done, the list goes on. But all that could wait, for right now he was perfectly content to wither away the hours in the peaceful company of his beloved, where conversation was scarce but unimportant and time wasn't measured in monetary value.
If he were to die now, it would be with a smile on his face as a happy man…
…and then the phone rang and ruined everything.
Tranquillity shattered, Lucifer glowered at the blaring nuisance. "Of all the times…"
"Aren't you going to answer that?" Balthazar asked, nose still buried in the world of literary fantasy.
"I'd really rather not, as it happens."
"It could be important," Balthazar countered, prodding Lucifer in the ribs with his toe as the phone continued to trill. "Not to mention it's getting awfully irritating."
Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Lucifer swapped his beer to the other hand and stretched across the armrest to pluck the phone from the hub on the end table. "Hello, you've reached the Devil's Den, Lucifer speaking – how may I be of service?"
Balthazar snorted at his husband's childish behaviour, gently shoving his shoulder with his foot in reprimand. His easy grin soon dissipated however, when Lucifer suddenly stiffened beneath him and sat bolt upright, his hand clenching the phone with much more force than was necessary.
"Wrong number, asshole," he growled through gritted teeth before hanging up and tossing the phone down on the coffee table.
"Who was that?" Balthazar prodded, though he had his suspicions.
Lucifer shot him a misplaced glare before collapsing back against the couch. "Nobody."
"Oh?" Balthazar carefully righted himself, placing his book and glass down on the table. "And are you usually in the habit of calling 'nobody' an asshole?"
Lucifer curled his lip but didn't respond. It only took only a few short moments for the phone to ring once again, but Balthazar was ready for it, jumping up from his vantage point to snatch it up and dance safely out of reach before Lucifer could even organise himself enough to sit upright.
Dutifully ignoring his husband's blatant orders to the contrary, Balthazar accepted the call. "Hello?"
"At last, the voice of reason. Hello, Balthazar."
Suddenly his decision to answer didn't seem like such a good idea, after all.
Flicking his gaze to Lucifer, who just gave him a mordant stare as if to say 'I told you so', Balthazar sucked on his teeth and replied with a cool, "Mr. Milton… To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?"
There was a chuckle on the other end, the man's voice as smooth as liquid silk. "Always with the classic British charm. Some things never change, huh Balthy?"
"That's Mr. Pellegrino to you," Balthazar retorted, refusing to fall prey to the man's tangled web of wicked grace and bewitching charisma. He wouldn't be fooled twice. "What do you want, Michael? And do make it snappy, my husband and I were enjoying a nice quiet rendezvous before you so rudely interrupted."
"My apologies." Balthazar couldn't help but notice the complete lack of sincerity in Michael's tone. "I was actually looking to speak with you, Mr. Pellegrino."
Balthazar narrowed his eyes at the barb. "So speak."
There was a brief pause, and then, "I've got a business proposal I'd like to extend your way–"
Balthazar's response was swift and concise, a resounding, "Nope."
"You haven't even heard what it is yet," Michael sighed, and Balthazar could practically see the man rolling his sharp blue eyes.
"I don't need to hear it, Mikey," Balthazar argued, the old pet name slipping out without his consent. "You've either lost your marbles completely, or have suffered some fairly serious head trauma, if you honestly think that you and I working together again is anything less than a catastrophic idea."
This caught Lucifer's attention, who was suddenly on his feet and fixing Balthazar with a severe warning glare. Balthazar scowled right on back, holding his hand up to cease his husband's advance.
"Just listen to me," Michael commanded more than suggested, an unfortunate repercussion begot from one too many years ordering others to do his bidding. "You know I wouldn't be calling if I didn't think you were the right man for the job – fuck it, the only man for the job. Don't make me grovel, Balthazar, because you and I both know I can't stoop that low…"
Balthazar pursed his lips. There was just something about Michael Milton, cavalier multimillionaire and hardass CEO of Ethereal Inc., begging him, a lowly researcher and former underling, for a favour that made his insides coil with something akin to excitement. Even hearing the usually so stoic and professional man curse was a rare and heat inspiring occurrence. God, Balthazar could still remember a time way back when the only time Michael would ever dare utter such vulgarity and filth was when the words were rasped into his ear, bed sheets tangled around their writhing, sweating bodies as Michael surged forward and, and…
Balthazar swallowed thickly, angling his body away from Lucifer to avoid that penetrating midnight gaze as he quickly banished the cobwebs from a long and sordid past, that seemed like a lifetime ago now, from his mind.
"Well, you seem desperate enough to warrant my attention, so… I'm listening."
"Wonderful," Michael rumbled, shit-eating grin implied in the silky lilt of his voice. "As you very well know, Ethereal Incorporated recently amalgamated with Dick Roman's ElysianCorp. We're holding a social gala next week at The Plaza to schmooze some of our wealthier benefactors into giving generous donations to some of our new and upcoming scientific ventures. I would really like for you to be there so that I can introduce Mr. Roman to the new leading head and board chairman for the Research and Development department of our New York branch."
Balthazar was speechless, but not necessarily for the right reasons. "I, uh… I honestly don't know what to say." Rubbing his chin in contemplation, he had to manoeuvre himself around the coffee table to avoid Lucifer's incessant grabby hands. "New York, though? That's quite the commute."
"Not if you lived here," Michael breezily opposed. "You would easily be making double what you do currently, perhaps even close to triple. You'd be a fool to refuse me, Balthy."
Balthazar clucked his tongue. "Hm, yes; now where have I heard that line before, I wonder?"
Michael gave a throaty chuckle, the sound not unlike a soft growl and darkly seductive. "Just… think about it. You don't have to give me an answer right now, but either way I would still like to see you at the gala. Remember, it never hurts to be seen in the right social circles."
"Or with the right socialite, you mean?" Balthazar scoffed.
"I see your bite hasn't diminished any over the years," Michael murmured in a baritone Balthazar knew all too well. "Still as sharp and fiery as when we first met…"
"And Lucifer?" Balthazar quickly cut in, frowning in disapproval as if Michael were standing right in front of him.
There was a long pause, during which Balthazar could only surmise Michael was working a nasty tick in his jaw as he was prone to do when irritated. "What about him?"
"Well I assume his invitation to your little soirée simply slipped your mind?" Balthazar inquired in a sickly sweet tone. "I also assume that you're going to set us up in one of the luxury suites for the night seeing that it would be a mighty big inconvenience for us to travel all the way back home the same night?" For a long while there was nothing, and Balthazar could all but feel the man seething on the other line. A sly little grin curved one side of his mouth. "Michael…?"
Michael exhaled, long and slow. "As you wish. But in return, I will be expecting a favourable response to my proposal – preferably with a better outcome than my original proposal."
"Low blow, Milton," Balthazar sneered, seriously contemplating reaching down the receiver to bitch-slap the sass right out of his mouth. "Email me with the details, and we'll see you next week."
Balthazar hung up before Michael had the chance to reply and tossed the phone onto the couch. Raking a hand through his golden locks, he pivoted slowly to face his none-too-pleased husband.
After a long stretch of silence, Lucifer threw his arms out in frustration. "Well? What did the colossal dick want?"
Balthazar chewed pensively on the inside of his cheek, his stormy gaze cloudy with the weight of the impending conversation. "Have a seat, darling. We need to have a little chat…"
Lucifer took a guarded step back, his eyes narrowing speculatively. Oh, he so wasn't looking forward to where this was going…
A/N: Well, I got there eventually. Sorry it took so long - I work long hours, and mostly nights, so I spend most of my days asleep long into the afternoons. I get a break sometimes, though; like this week, for example, I had three days off. In a row. Pure bliss. So, yeah... I write when I get the time, but it won't always be as swift as the first two chapters.
Again, apologies.
But I digress... I hope y'all enjoyed this latest instalment. I had actually planned on writing a lot more (originally I had planned on having the whole gala shindig in this chapter) but time was slipping away from me - as was the plot - and I posted what I have thus far before it got ridiculously long and out of hand.
Hmm, yes. Expect Michael in the (cyber)flesh next chapter, as well as tensions running high and perhaps some revelations of Balthazar's tangled past. Dean and Sam in this chapter were merely providing us with some comic relief, I should think. I didn't want to leave them out completely, hence their silly little cameo. Don't rightly know what I'll have them doing in the next instalment whilst Lucifer and Balthy are otherwise engaged in New York - any suggestions as to what you guys want them to be at? Left with a 'babysitter'? In the house on their own? Taken with to the gala where they gripe and complain about being stuffed into full clothing? Pitch me ideas and I'll see what I can do (:
Please do enjoy... Until next time, peace-out,
FMV