Chapter 2: The Bartender's Quarters
He led him up a narrow, unadorned staircase, the wooden steps groaning under their combined weight, Lucifer’s grip on his hand unyielding. The glamour of the premiere was another universe down there. Up here was the machinery: exposed pipes snaking along a low ceiling, the smell of industrial cleaner and stale coffee.
Lucifer shouldered open a door marked ‘STAFF ONLY’ without letting go.The break room was a tomb of fluorescent light and laminate. A fridge hummed a discordant tune. A sink was piled with mugs stained by ghostly tea rings.A worn couch, upholstery splitting at one corner, was pushed against a wall. It was aggressively, comfortlessly real.Lucifer finally released his hand. The sudden absence of that anchor made Robert sway slightly. The bartender locked the door with a decisive click, then turned, his back against it, filling the frame. He just looked at Robert, his expression unreadable in the buzzing, sickly light.“Well,” Robert said, his voice sounding too loud in the hollow space. “This is… atmospheric.”
“It’s quiet,” Lucifer said. His voice was still that low rumble, but it seemed to absorb the fluorescents, softening their harsh edge. “No rituals here.”
Robert took a step closer.Then another. The height difference was absurd, intoxicating.He had to crane his neck. He reached out, fingers tracing the rolled cuff of Lucifer’s sleeve, the warm skin beneath.“So what happens now? In the quiet?”
In response, Lucifer moved to the couch and sat down. He didn’t recline; he sat upright, kingly on the stained fabric, and patted his thigh. The invitation was clear, utterly commandeering.A laugh escaped Robert, short and breathless. He walked over, placing his hands on Lucifer’s broad shoulders for balance, and swung a leg over, settling onto his lap.Even seated, Lucifer was so tall Robert’s eyes were only slightly above his. The new proximity was a shock.The solid thighs beneath him, the chest he was now pressed against. He could feel the steady, strong beat of Lucifer’s heart.
Lucifer’s hands settled on Robert’s hips, big enough to almost encircle them. They stayed there, holding, not pulling.Letting Robert adjust.Letting him decide.
Robert leaned in, closing the last inch between them.This kiss was slower than the first in the hallway, deeper. It wasn’t a claim; it was an exploration. He could taste the ghost of that expensive whiskey, a hint of mint, and something fundamentally, unnervingly Lucifer. His hands moved from the man’s shoulders into his dark hair, short and soft under his fingers.
A low sound vibrated through Lucifer’s chest, a hum of approval. Those large hands began to move, sliding up Robert’s back, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. One hand cradled the base of his skull, angling his head, deepening the kiss past the point of breathing.
Robert rocked his hips, a slow, experimental grind, and felt Lucifer hard beneath him. The jolt of pure, electric need that shot through him was almost blinding. He broke the kiss, gasping, his forehead resting against Lucifer’s.“Fuck,” he breathed.
Lucifer’s eyes were open, watching him, the amber dark with intent.“Yes,” he said simply. His hands dropped to the button of Robert’s trousers, deft and sure. The sound of the zipper was obscenely loud.
Robert shuddered as Lucifer’s hand slipped inside, past the waistband of his briefs, finding him.The touch was cool at first, then rapidly warming. A long, confident stroke that made Robert’s head drop to Lucifer’s shoulder. He moaned, the sound muffled in the fine cotton of the bartender’s shirt.
“Look at me.” The voice was a soft command against his ear.Robert forced his head up. Lucifer’s gaze was locked on his, unwavering, as his hand moved with a devastating, rhythmic certainty. It was unbearably intimate, being watched like this, completely unraveled. The fluorescent light buzzed above them.A pipe clanked somewhere in the wall. This gritty, unglamorous room was the most real place Robert had been in years.
“You’re even more beautiful up close,” Lucifer growled, and the words weren't flattery; they were an observation, a fact stated in that quiet rumble. “All the pretense bleeds away.”
He shifted then, his free arm hooking around Robert’s back, and in one smooth, shockingly effortless motion, he stood, lifting Robert with him.Robert clung to him, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. Lucifer carried him the two steps to the couch and laid him down on the cracked vinyl, following him down, his body a welcome weight.
The world narrowed to the press of Lucifer’s mouth on his, the skillful, urgent work of his hands as he pushed Robert’s pants down his hips, the shocking cool of the air on his heated skin. Lucifer rose up on his knees, straddling him, and shrugged out of his own shirt.The sight was biblical. The man was carved, immense, his skin smooth and warm in the ghastly light. Robert reached for him, pulling him back down, needing the contact.
Lucifer captured his wrists, pinning them gently above his head on the couch cushion. He held them there with one hand, his other tracing a path down Robert’s side, over his hip, his inner thigh. “Okay?” he murmured, his breath hot on Robert’s throat.
“Christ, yes.”
There was a fumble, the rustle of Lucifer retrieving a small packet from his own discarded pants. The practical sound was another anchor to reality.Robert watched, heart hammering, as Lucifer prepared himself, his movements focused, deliberate.
When Lucifer positioned himself, the first press was slow, inexorable. Robert gasped, his back arching off the couch, his wrists straining in that gentle, unbreakable grip. Lucifer paused, his own breath ragged, his forehead beaded with sweat. He waited, his amber eyes searching Robert’s face, reading every flicker of sensation.
“More,” Robert begged, the word torn from him.
Lucifer obeyed, sinking deeper with a controlled, relentless push that felt less like being filled and more like being known. The stretch was intense, bordering on too much, then it wasn’t.It was everything. He began to move, each thrust a deep, measured claim that shook the couch frame against the wall. The rhythm was punishing and perfect, each stroke hitting a spot that scattered Robert’s thoughts into bright, colorless light.
Robert freed a hand, tangling it in Lucifer’s hair, pulling him down into a sloppy, desperate kiss. He could feel his own climax building, a tight coil in his gut, but he fought it, wanting this—this raw, grating, unobserved realness—to never end.
Lucifer’s pace increased, his control fraying at the edges.His breaths became ragged gasps against Robert’s neck. “Look at me,” he rasped again.Robert opened his eyes, blurry with pleasure. He saw the awe, the fierce concentration, the presentness in Lucifer’s face. It undid him completely. The release crashed through him, wave after wave, silent but for the choked sound in his own throat. He convulsed, clutching at Lucifer’s back, fingernails scraping over sweat-slick skin.
Lucifer followed him over, his final thrusts deep and shuddering, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips as he buried his face in the curve of Robert’s neck. They lay locked together, the only sounds their ragged attempts to reclaim air and the relentless, impersonal buzz of the light.
Slowly, carefully, Lucifer rolled onto his side, pulling Robert with him, keeping them connected.He pressed a soft, unexpected kiss to Robert’s temple. Robert just stared at the water-stained ceiling tile above them, feeling spent, hollowed out, and impossibly awake.
The flickering neon from a beer sign outside the lone window cast a red glow across Lucifer’s skin.Robert traced the letters it painted on his shoulder. BUD LIGHT.He let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh.
Lucifer turned his head on the scratchy cushion.“What?”
“Nothing,” Robert said, still tracing the ghost letters. “Just… the venue.”