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A puff of white cosmetic powder momentarily floats across her vision as she tries to glare at their source of impending doom through the exhausting task of keeping her eyes from blinking; the make-up artist working the bristles of a mascara professionally fast across her lashes.

“Lucifer is going to have our heads when he finds out,” she hisses, when the cosmetician finally moves away to gather another round of supplies for her job.

“And I’ve been tellin’ ya, he won’t find out! You’ve got way too much anxiety goin’ on in there for one puny human body, dontcha think?”

Mammon’s lips stretch into a facetious smile as the make-up girl applies a generous amount of concealer to his face.

The make-up girl blushes in response, warbling out some flirtatious, nonsensical pick-up line.

She can’t help but roll her eyes at that. “I thought you said Asmo would be coming along with!” She asks, wanting to cling to that one tiny hope but it shatters as soon as he harps in delight:

“That was obviously a lie.”


The way Lucifer’s brows pinched together into a frown, eyes narrowing into slits, let her know he wasn’t buying the farce either.

Mammon had barged into Lucifer’s office a while ago, just as she had been in the middle of helping him organize his shelves, with a ludicrous proposal on hand.

He had apparently landed a modelling contract to make himself some quick, ‘honest’ cash after his credit card had been confiscated by Lucifer (again) - which he then produced along with Diavolo’s written permission to see it through.

She could almost see the cogs in Lucifer’s mind, working through his brother’s words, weighing whether he spoke the truth or not when Mammon added, just as gleefully:

“Just so you know, Lord Diavolo was gracious enough to allow her along. It’s a two person contract.” His eyes swiveled her way expectantly. “You’ll come with, won’t ya? After all, I went to all that trouble of gettin’ you the job. You’re thankful, aren’t ya?”

Just as she opened her mouth to ask him why exactly he felt the need to get her a job, Lucifer spoke up, his eyes previously having been scanning the documents Mammon had placed in front of him.

“And you’re sure you’re not making up this ‘job’, just so you can have her come along? I certainly hope you remember you’re forbidden from engaging in any sort of physical relations with her until we’re absolutely sure you’ve learned your lesson.” Lucifer’s voice was amiable enough, belying the thinly veiled threat lurking just beneath, as he reminded Mammon of all his latest sins.

And his ensuing punishment of keeping his hands off of her. For what better way was there to keep the second born in line when all of Lucifer’s previous methods of cutting his funds short had failed?

She felt sorry for Mammon at this point, even if it was his fault entirely. She missed him too.

Lucifer, however, had strict rules in place, none of which he was willing to bend. He stood steadfast and obdurate in his judgments and all in the House of Lamentation were expected to abide by them.

Mammon snorted, waving away Lucifer’s genuine concerns. “Like I’d ever do somethin’ that scummy.”

She sorely wished she could believe her handsome moron in that moment.

She snuck a peak at Lucifer’s face, trying to gauge his reaction.

His eyes were trained on his younger brother, gloved fingers drumming across polished mahogany, as if working through and crossing out all the possible ways Mammon could be lying to get out of his punishment.

“Very well. You have my permission." He spoke at long last. "Unfortunately, Diavolo is attending to business outside of Devildom at the moment but since you have his signatures and the official seal…”

“Damn right I do.” Mammon gloated, snatching up the document before turning towards her. “Come on then, time to go!”


“Now what?” Mammon clicked his tongue in exasperation. “You still goin’ to be up our asses– Alright. Alright, I’ll shut up, stop glarin’ at me already.”

Lucifer rose from his chair, reaching over to place a hand on her head. Gloved fingers plucked a stray strand of hair before bringing it up to his mouth in a kiss. “I entrust him to you, princess.”

She smiled at him in response before he canted his head; fingers delicately cupping her chin before he kissed her, feather-light and gentle, letting the sweetness of his mouth linger on hers a moment longer, before he pulled away.

Softness, veiled, flickered within his gaze as he whispered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

She managed to speak, despite the fire in her cheeks. “You will.”

Lucifer turned to Mammon next, austerity bleeding into his expression in warning, “You are not to touch her more than is necessary and you are certainly not to be intimate. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mammon responded sulkily but Lucifer seemingly satisfied, angled a cautionary look her way.

“See that he does not rope you into any mischief.” She chuckled in response to his severe look before promising Mammon’s good behavior on his behalf, not realizing then, what a terrible mistake she would be making in trusting Mammon to be anything remotely resembling good.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Mammon boxed her cheeks within his palms, pulling her close before he planted a quick smooch on her lips.  “Bastard was totally tryin’ to make me jealous, forbiddin’ me from touchin’ you and all while he had his hands all over ya.” He mumbled, even as she fixed him with her own reprimanding look.

She should have taken that tiny ‘misconduct’ for the warning sign it was.

Oh, how she was a fool for the man, falling right into his trap.


“Can you press in closer? Place your hands on her waist, please. Tilt your chin a little bit more. Perfect.” The continual flash of fluorescent lights all around them, she feels the heat coming off of Mammon’s body as she moves in closer, hands pressing against his chest. Her lips mere breaths away from grazing his chin as she stares up at him.

“And it just had to be a couples’ shoot. For an adult magazine, might I add.”

“It’s not as if they’re makin’ us strip. I wouldn’t have agreed to doin’…uh… Anyway, it’s not as if–” Mammon’s breath catches in his throat with the press of her thigh in between his legs.

“Oh! I like that one, Miss!” Snap.

Hands cupping around his neck, she leans upwards, pressing her lips to his ear in a kiss. “And this is better than a nude photo shoot? We’ve practically been grinding against each other for the past half hour now.”

“W-Well… our faces ain’t gonna be visible in the final shots so it won’t cause ya any trouble.” Mammon’s voice tapers off uncertainly despite his assured words, the blush undeniable and high on his cheeks as he feels her breasts press against his body through her skimpy layer of clothing.

“Can you place your hands on her hips, please?”


The smile on her face is hard to smother when she takes in her idiot’s flustered expression. She nods her consent. “It’s alright. I did agree to do the shoot after all.”

Guiding his hands against her hips, she slides them down against her bottom, tone seductive as she whispers, “Squeeze me as tight as you like, Mammon.”

A muffled sound, strange and distorted, escapes his throat and he presses in, fingers tracing the short, delicate edge of her skirt before his hands slip underneath to knead generous handfuls of her ass.

“That is beautiful.”


She catches his gaze, her own she knows, heated, with the way his bony fingers dig and pulse into her, the tips of them teasing just near her entrance.

So different from the way Mammon usually likes to have his way with her. Or she, with him. Clearly, he’s been paying attention in the bedroom, sweeping up a few tricks of his own along the way.

Wanting to get back at her for her earlier teasing.

“These are great! One last shot, if you will. We’d like to have you two kiss for the cover photo.”

“What?” She turns toward the photographer, confusion and alarm evident in her startled question.

Playing about a bit on set was something they could sneak through Lucifer’s rules. But to kiss him when she could just as much reject it? Lucifer wouldn’t be too happy to know she had allowed herself to be that careless.

She opens her mouth to deny the scene when a stray catch of idle conversation reaches her ears.

“Isn’t he so hot? What I wouldn’t give to be kissing him right now. And oh dear, he looks like he could be hiding a ‘jackpot’ underneath all those clothes.”

It’s one of the make-up girls who’d been eyeing him up in the dressing room earlier.

The way her hands lingered just that little bit longer on his face, the ‘accidental’ slip she apologized for when she almost stumbled into Mammon’s lap as he caught her – was not lost on her.

“Hush, what if he hears you?”

“So what if he does? Maybe I can ask him out once the shoot is over. Take him to a hotel nearby or something.”

“Haha, girl, you need to get laid.”

“Maybe he’ll do me the honor then.”

The woman sends a wink Mammon’s way and her good sense goes flying out the window with that one flirtatious gesture.

“Hey now, the human ain’t comfortable with the arrangement and this ain’t exactly what we agreed to–” Mammon begins to speak from behind her, before she cuts him off, just as swiftly.

“On second thought, please let us give you the hottest photo ever, for your magazine.”

Mammon’s eyes widen at her sudden change of mind.

“We’re doin’ wha–”

“Wonderful. Thank you so–”

The photographer has barely finished speaking before she whirls around, taking Mammon by collar of his shirt as she pushes him back against the white screen.

“E-Easy there…” He’s staring at her, goggle eyed, the shock of it, plain as day across his features as she requests:

“Please kiss me, Mammon.”

Her mouth or his own; she’s not quite sure which of them moves first, the distance gone and replaced and she’s kissing him: open-mouthed, hot kisses. His tongue lighting incendiary sparks against her own as he sucks on it, her bottom lip in turn.

At the edge of her consciousness, she’s aware of the delighted encouragement of the photographer and the steady diminution of gossiping titters and giggles. Instructions being shouted back and forth. The occasional stranger asking for directions to a particular studio space. The hasty click of a camera shutter as the cameraman enthusiastically snaps his desired photos: the entire space warps itself until all that remains is her and Mammon. His mouth and his taste, the tongue that so eagerly strokes itself against hers.

It’s petty of her to be this possessive of Mammon when she knows the one, the only person he keeps in that loyal, loving heart of his. That despite all his shortcomings and specious capricious disposition, his insatiable greed: the only one he hungers for this desperately is her.

And perhaps, she realizes; she’s no different.

The audible smack of his lips against hers, the short puffs of breath he manages to sneak in between wet kisses: all serve to strike a match against flammable lint and she realizes: she’s ravenous.

That not only her heart, but her body has been missing him all this time.

He croaks her name into the pocket of air she allows him in between their passionate kisses. “You’re goin’ to have me losin’ my mind if you keep goin’.”

“Lose it, then. Lose it all you like, Mammon. As long as it’s me you lose your mind for.”


The undertones of ginger mixed in with dry wood assail her senses yet again, as the door slams shut with the hasty vehemence of Mammon’s impatience driving her against the door. She inhales deep through her nose; his scent mixing in and distorting with the heavy blanket of perfume that still permeates the air of the dressing room.

His palms scour the contours of her body with an urgent passion before he slips a hand underneath the hem of her skirt, index and middle pressing insistent circles against her clothed clit.

She moans against his touch before he cuts her off with the slip of his tongue into her mouth. “M-Mammon… I’m not so sure about this.”

His thigh replaces his fingers in between her legs, pressing up and grinding into her core. “Damn the Devil. He’s goin’ to be here soon, isn’t he.”

His words more a statement than a question, she feels him shift before she hears the decisive click of the lock beside her.

His hands alighting at her waist only but a moment before she feels the world shift, his mouth back against her, hard and unrestrained; the impact sends them reeling a few steps back before her back catches against the edge of the vanity.

Mammon hoists her up over the edge, sending plastic vials and make-up kits crashing to the floor before his hands flip up her skirt, fervid palms forcing open a space in between her legs. He falls to his knees in between the stretch of her legs, fingers gathering over the softness of her thighs to capture them in a vice-like grip, mouth following soon after with a broad, generous sweep of his tongue across her mound.

“That fuckin’ bastard, keepin’ me away from ya, hogging you all for himself.” The annoyance and anger bleeds into his strokes, every swipe sending a new flutter rising within her walls, her panties soaking her juices up fast.

Mammon noses the sopping fabric away from her pussy, sneaking his tongue beneath to swipe at raw skin and she shudders at the feeling of how good he feels, fingers curling into and scraping at his scalp in a bid to pull him closer.

Her thoughts are hazy at best, shifted from mild concern to blissed-out ignorance, Lucifer’s warnings slipping fast out of her head. “Lucifer is going to be so angry at us if he finds out.”

“He won’t. Not if I fuck you faster than he can get here in that fancy car of his.” He drew back his face to glare up at her. “And I can. I’ve been hungry for ya. Lucifer’s been on my case for weeks and it’s drivin’ me nuts. This is the only chance I’ll get to have you this close. So, let me fuck ya. Say you’ll have my cock, you - you disgustingly perfect human, because I’m gonna fuckin’ lose my shit now if you don’t.”

Mammon’s gaze is fierce, hot with his desire and supplication as he beseeches her and she smiles, cupping a hand around his cheek. “You make me want to be so bad for you.”

And it was as if his eyes lit up in joy and adoration, almost violent in his passion, with the way it took her breath away as he scoops her into his arms, spinning them around before they’re on the sectional, bodies flushed and writhing, hands and limbs clumsy and chaotic as they seek to tear at each other’s clothes.

Her hands settle and tug his belt free of the confines of his pants, the zipper following soon after and then she feels him, finally, hard and leaking within the cup of her palm.

A few quick strokes coax the groans from his throat, his hands gathering the swells of her breasts before he squeezes, thumbs rubbing furious circles at the peaks, over the thin material of her shirt.

And she almost screams in pleasure when he fits himself into her at last, hard and throbbing, stretching her in all too familiar ways, ways she had missed and yearned for, in their terribly long absence from each other.

Mammon’s moans, akin to prayers of her name leaving his throat, seem to mirror her sentiments as he thrusts inside her with an almost reckless sort of yearning. His mouth swoops down to bury itself within the crescent of her neck, hot tongue ravenous and wanton, lapping at the taut stretch of muscle he finds there, the thrum of her carotid so loud, she feels as if he might hear her from how erratic her heartbeat is with the proximity of the man she loves and hasn’t held, for ages.

Like torturous, delayed gratification, her pleasure seems to build and swell with the sinuous motions of Mammon’s hips and fingers, working a frenzy at her clit but she’s so far gone, she doesn’t even hear the desperate catch of Mammon’s breath as she tightens, painful and hot around his length. The soft whines of him drowned out by her own release catching  up to her; crying out his name with every stray catch of her nails against vulnerable skin.


The soft, wet laps of his tongue across her lips before he slips it into her mouth for another slow kiss has her post-coital self buoyant within dreamy euphoria; their quiet laughter and harmless gibes filling the otherwise quiet space, before her joy is shattered with the harsh, piercing ring of her phone.

Mammon, alert all of a sudden, shoots off of her, diving to the floor to sweep up his pants and her skirt, throwing it back at her, before nervously hopping around on one foot for unsuccessful tries in putting his leg through.

All at once, the two of them have descended into apprehensive pandemonium.

“It’s Lucifer! What do I do?”

“Go to him, that’s what. Agh, that brute has the most Demon awful timing ever!”

She flounders a moment, searching for her purse, before hurrying towards the door. She turns around one last time, throwing a worried, skeptic glance his way. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Psh. Of course. I ain’t guilty as far as Lucifer’s concerned. He doesn’t know a damn thing. Just wants his precious princess back.” The scorn and disgust is evident in Mammon’s tone, as he shoos her away with a wave of the hand.

She chuckles, mildly amused before blowing a kiss his way. “See you at home, my favorite dummy.”

“Wha- who do you think you’re–”

She lets the door fall shut behind her, laughing as she makes her way back into the now, much crowded studio.

Eyes scanning the stream of people going past, they finally settle on the art director, deep in animated conversation with a familiar man. She takes in the back of that black cardigan and her steps almost falter at his foreign outfit. Before he turns around, as if he almost sensed her gaze on him and smiles, the warmth in his dark eyes lightening her steps before she’s practically running to Lucifer’s side, her own smile ready in greeting.


“Did you enjoy yourself, princess?” And she titters at the use of the name, having just heard Mammon enunciate it entirely different from Lucifer’s gentle, rich tones - in abhorrence and revulsion.

“I did.” She valiantly tries to keep the grin off of her face but a smile, unbidden slips onto her lips and stays, nonetheless.

“You and your husband were absolutely fantastic though, Miss,” the director interrupts with a polite smile.

Her thoughts screech to a halt. Her what now? She’s about to inquire into his odd misconception but Lucifer beats her to it.

“I’m sorry, ‘husband’… you say?” Lucifer’s tone is just as amicable, but the mild frown that creases his forehead tells her otherwise.

“Pardon… is Lord Mammon not your husband, Miss? He told us so when signing the contract.” The director stares in goggled-eyed confusion, having picked up on Lucifer’s rapidly souring mood.

Oh God. Mammon, you dumbass.

Just as suddenly, the metaphorical roiling clouds disperse and Lucifer’s face smooths out into a smile; terrifying in the way it settles, effortlessly specious. “Why yes, she is. Forgive me. Thank you for taking care of our beloved wife.” His arm curls around the side of her waist, pulling her against himself securely, grip firm as his fingers drum across her now prickling skin; a tell-tale sign of imminent doom: Lucifer’s thinking. He’s putting two and two together.

There’s no way however, that he’d ever find out that she–

The director is just as flustered by his casual announcement of their ‘peculiar’ relationship, bobbing his head one final time in awkward courtesy to “Lord Lucifer” before scurrying away.

The spacious hall suddenly feels too cramped for her to breathe, cold sweat marking its way across her spine.

She’s almost on edge with the way Lucifer’s silence seems to dig into her ears, before he finally breaks it. “I reckon Mammon would prefer returning by his own car. Shall we?”

He offers a crooked elbow for her to take. Tentatively, she slips her arms through his and they make their way from her temporary workplace in further silence.

The long, lonely stretch of the hallway leading down to the underground parking garage makes their steps all too loud, further heightening the sense of unease that permeates through their extended silence, it’s almost too much to take and she’s just about to say something, anything to lessen the guilt toiling heavy within her belly before Lucifer stops walking. “This is far enough, I’d say.”

He turns to her, eyes housing an odd, smoldering intensity, it steals the breath from her lungs and before she knows it, he has her walked back and pressed against the harsh, cold concrete wall of the arching underground structure.

She watches, almost with bated breath as Lucifer’s gloved fingers trail the delicate edge of her skirt, sending inexplicable shivers down the skin of her thigh before they slip underneath, touching the still cooling wetness in between her thighs and she realizes with a silent gasp. Her panties–

“Where’s your underwear, darling girl?” He hasn’t raised his voice, he would never intimidate her in that manner, but the extreme look of disapproval he gives her in that moment makes her feel disappointed in herself. 

And something, something else burning. Low within her belly.

The sudden brush of cool leather against her clit has her gasping, her hips bucking into his hand on reflex before he withdraws, bringing the gloved digits, soaked, up to his face for cursory inspection.

“And you just so happen to be wet – no, practically dripping.”

Her face flushes with the flat delivery of his findings.

“He really did it this time, didn’t he? And came in you, on top of everything else. Oh dear, if you were trying to be discreet, you might as well have taken some extra precautions instead of returning to me, practically oozing with Mammon’s scent.”

He could tell she had sex with Mammon from just the scent?

A careful, delicate tap to her lips and she lets her jaw slacken on reflex, allowing Lucifer to slide Mammon’s release coated digits into her mouth.

“Suck them clean now, my good girl.”

Watching her with eyes, sharp as that of a well-polished garnet, Lucifer’s lips stretch into the hint of a simper before it’s gone, just as sudden and he withdraws his fingers, spit coated and into his own mouth.

The severe expression slides back in place, admonishing as he levels a calm, glacial stare her way before declaring her guilty verdict, “I believe some strict disciplining is in order.”



End Notes: Thank you for reading!