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vaarna
Title: Creatures of extraordinary grace
Fandom: Supernatural
Ship: Jo/Lucifer
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: sex, not betaed
Word Count: 2726
Summary:
Prompt: Porn Battle XII (The Dirty Dozen) jo/lucifer; collar, grace
CREATURES OF EXTRAORDINARY GRACE (Porn Battle entry)
Author's Note: I obviously have a serious thing for the serene Lucifer of Mark Pellegrino. He never lies, he’s sympathetic where the angels are all assholes… who’s to say he wouldn’t be the perfect gentleman and father figure to lost little Jo?
connections: could be seen as a semi-sequel to my previous Jo/Lucifer fic VIRTUE, but is quite loose in that regard. You don't have to read virtue to get the sexy bits ;)
Creatures of extraordinary grace
Jo Harvelle rakes her dirty golden hair with a brush. Her hands are bloody and her clothes too. There’s some blood in her hair too, but she keeps on brushing it, as if the action could somehow make her more human. It doesn’t help of course – she’s made her choice and become one with the devil. He’s breathed his heavy breath into her, and allowed it to heal her broken body.
She was supposed to die a hero, an untainted woman and a girl with her self-respect intact. Instead she found herself holding onto a bomb, crying in defeat as the fallen angel she was meant to kill offered her life back to her. She feels empty. She has betrayed everything she has known.
Take my offer and you won’t have to be this lonely ever again.
Once upon a time she wanted to become a hunter, despite her mother’s pleas to pursue a normal life. Once upon a time she was desperately in love with Dean Winchester, who was as close to a knight in shining armor as you could get in her line of life. Once upon a time she would’ve never taken the hand of the devil and felt his lips promise her eternity.
The brush flies against the wall with a loud bang and her façade breaks as she bursts into tears. She’s lived in fog ever since he walked her away from her death and ignited the bomb afterwards to cover their tracks. She doesn’t feel all that different, but she knows she’s not human anymore. There’s something in her, a piece of him that hovers in the back of her mind, making her truly conscious of the world around her. She’s only beginning to wake up to this truth, and it’ll probably take her a long while to get the hang of it, but Dorothy isn’t in Kansas anymore and never will be.
He appears into her room - like he always does - without an advance warning. That calculating look that’s disguised to appear mellow and unthreatening is on his face again. He’s crossed his arms over his chest and there’s actual warmth when he looks at her. Why? Why does the devil care about her at all?
To him she looks like sulking child, unable to accept that her life has changed forever. Still he finds her interesting to behold; how his breath hasn’t really changed her that much. She’s still as willful as ever, and ready to do anything for the ones she loves. He finds himself hoping he will become the centre of her world now that she’s forsaken her old life.
“Joanna,” he calls her by her birth name, but it sounds wrong now, tainted.
“Don’t call me that,” she responds, disillusioned by the sound of his deceptive, yet comforting voice. How could she – the girl who knew for certain that heaven exists – have chosen to side with the devil, as she lay dying? How could she feel pity for this creature that looks at her kindly, his true face hidden behind a mortal meat sack, as they call their hosts? Had she really feared death so much?
Lucifer walks closer to her, laying his hands on her shoulders and claiming eye contact. There’s not a threatening bone in his body and he appears completely unarmed. Jo finds herself contemplating attacking him, but she discards the thought almost immediately. They are joined now at a level she does not understand, so killing him might mean eternal damnation. All she can do now was bide her time and see.
“What should I call you then?” he asks softly, taking in every aggressive look she throws at him. He’s like the calmest parent, witnessing the defiance of a child and looking onwards with an amused glare. Well, she is a child compared to him, so she can’t be that much off with her estimate.
Her head falls, as she finds herself incapable of looking into her savior’s eyes. Whenever she tries to mount her anger and self-loathing, looking at his serene face always calms her down in seconds. The moments she spends apart throw her into chaos and disarray, but when he comes back things feel better, clearer. What has he done to her?
“I don’t know. Call me your dog, or pet, if that’s what I am to you. But I’m not Joanna Harvelle anymore,” she responds, defeated and bitter.
He seems amused by her comment and he removes one hand from her shoulder to lift up her chin. The touch feels electrifying, it makes her feel alive. He gains her full attention so easily.
“Why would you think that? Have I mistreated you somehow?” he asks and waits for her answer, already knowing that she cannot say anything that might prove him wrong. He came to her in her dying hour, asked her if she wanted to die and then gave her an option. And she took his hand. All the blame was hers.
“No,” Jo answers with obvious defeat. Then she feels his soft hand rise to her cheek. It is warmer than her cool skin and feels extremely comforting. “Good,” he says, rubbing his thumb against her dirty cheek.
“Now, we should get you to a shower,” he continues and points his gaze towards the bathroom in the corner.
He is right, of course. She is an absolute mess and in desperate need of a hot shower. It won’t wash away her sins, but it might help her feel better, so she nods at his suggestion. It isn’t until he begins to unbutton her blouse with effortless grace that she realizes he used a plural.
Jo withdraws from him, crossing her arms over her front, which he has already nearly exposed. She is flustered and can’t find the words, but his frown tells her all she needs to know. “I didn’t mean together,” she hurries to correct, uncomfortable with the thought.
“I think you’ve been alone enough. It wasn’t my intention to abandon you like this right away, when I promised I would take care of you,” he answers without a hint of being offended by her words. She can’t read him one bit, and that is probably the way he likes it.
“I can clean myself,” Jo says with great difficulty and lifts up her chin defiantly. He doesn’t seem to take notice of her rejection though; simple pulls the shirt from his back, revealing his beautiful physique for her eyes. He then drops the shirt on the floor and begins his approach slowly, like he is approaching a wounded animal that could bolt out at any time.
“Why are you so afraid? Do you think I will hurt you?” He asks with honesty and worry. Worry sounds like a taint in his beautiful voice, something alien that doesn’t belong there. Yet he is worried for her, like a teacher worries for his pupil, a father for his child, a man for his lover.
Jo forgets to resists for a moment, as he closes the space between them and stands in front of her, bare and warm. He is not what he is supposed to be, more precisely another motherfucking angel that doesn’t give a shit about anything. He’s everything god should’ve been; Jo finds herself thinking and gasps at the thought of her betrayal.
Lucifer moves her hair behind her ear, his fingertips feeling so incredibly good against her skin. He then moves the rest of her hair out of his way and takes each hand away from her chest one by one. Jo shivers when he begins to unbutton her blouse again, but she cannot deny his words. He’s supposed to be the prince of lies, but all he’s given her is the truth she never wanted to face.
The open blouse reveals her small physique; creamy flawless skin, her small perfectly shaped breasts covered in black lace and the muscles on her flat tummy, hardened by exercise and the fight for survival. She’s been hunting for such a short while that there are no scars on her, and the ones ripped by the hellhounds have healed since she drank his essence. He takes one sleeve of her blouse into his hand and peels it from her arm, and then moving onto the other side. Jo looks at him, so vulnerable and full of hidden wildfire. He sees beyond her shell, into her core and its most pleasing shine. The blouse falls on the floor.
The way he moves is mesmerizing to her, for everything Lucifer does, he does with utmost grace. He’s a being worthy of perfection, and yet he stands there in front of her and looks at her, like she’s the one, who’s special and worthy. He smiles gently and focuses on opening his jeans next. It feels like it takes him forever, but eventually he’s opened the buttons and the jeans fall to his ankles. He simply steps out of them, and kicks them away, now standing in front of her wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers.
He pulls her even closer from the front of her jeans; the gesture is almost playful and extracts a small moan from her, as his fingers begin to work on her jeans. He opens them and begins to pull them down, kneeling in front of her. Her jeans are a bit too flattering, so he needs to pull at them to release her, but this just gives her a chance to see how arousing it looks and feels to have him kneeling so close to her. She wants to sink her hands into his dirty blonde hair and pull.
Once the jeans are at her ankles she steps out of them and he lifts his head to look at her, hovering above him, speechless with excitement. Lucifer leans in and kisses her front lightly, but she can feel his lips and the way his stubble gently prickles her skin through the soft fabric of her underwear. Then he stands up and takes her hand in his, pulling her towards the bathroom in his wake.
A moment later she’s standing in front of him and his fingers are working to open her bra. They fall to the ground and he pulls off the rest of her underwear next. The air feels humid and cruel; its touch makes all the little hairs on her skin shoot up in unison, but when Lucifer brushes away her thick hair and reveals her neck for his touch, she forgets all about it. He kisses the nape of her neck and whispers to her, “Go wash yourself.”
Surprised, ashamed and aroused at the same time she moves and pulls the shower curtain between them. He doesn’t want her after all? She thinks about this rejection in pain and releases the water that begins to drip on her head and then turns into a waterfall. The steady fall of the water drops feels relaxing and when she turns the tap, the warmth of hot water embraces her. The water pooling at her feet becomes dirty in seconds, while she moves her arms across her body, rubbing the stains and dirt away. Her wet hair becomes glued to her head and shoulders.
Her heart jumps with joy when she hears him move the curtain out of his way and enter the small space she’s in. He’s tall and strong, and their hairs on his chest feel familiar when he presses against her from behind. Jo’s shaven clean and she always thought she’d like her man shaven too, but her proves her wrong. His hand reaches for the soap and holds it beneath the falling water, until its surface is wet.
He presses his face against her cheek, that rough stubble prickling her. Then he moves one arm beneath her armpit and over her stomach and holds her still as he begins to spread the soap on her. It feels good – no fuck that - it feels amazing when he rubs the soap on her naked skin. Her arousal only becomes more potent when his moves his second hand between her legs and teases her entrance with his fingers. He rubs her clit while cleaning her skin. The contrast of the two actions feels amazing; her nipples harden, and he smiles against her, moving the soap to her breasts.
The soap falls off his hands soon after, as she turns in his arms, still slippery from the soap, and stands on her toes to reach his lips. He takes in the kiss, sliding his tongue in her mouth and pushing her against the wall. Washing her has gotten him visibly aroused, and his arousal is pressing against her stomach, as they kiss. She lifts her leg around his waist, but cannot hold onto him with her soapy skin, until he cups her ass with his hand, helping her stand.
Jo runs her hand across his chest, stroking the hair there, rubbing his nipples with her fingers. She wants him so bad it hurts, but he hasn’t entered her yet. He offers her his fingers that are still covered in her scent and taste, and Jo devours those fingers greedily, sucking and scraping them clean with her teeth. Her soft rose lips were meant to be kissed, which is why he captures her alluring mouth into another steamy kiss.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs into her ear when their lips part. Jo’s eyes are closed, and she’s enjoying the feel of his lips and stubble against her swan neck, so simply moans her approval of his claim. A moment later she feels the tip of his length pressing against her entrance and she braces herself when he thrusts into her.
She’s loud in her approval of his actions and quite foul-mouthed too, but he doesn’t mind. The friction between them existed even when they were incompatible as angel and mortal, but it’s exploded to new heights since he breathed his breath of life into her mouth. She’s his now, just like Lillith was his. He’ll teach her everything about sin and she’ll love him.
Even now she’s so much like Lillith that it hurts. When he stole Lillith from God, God made sure to curse them when he chained Lucifer. That is why the price of his freedom what her life; because God believed it would keep him locked up. But the years separated them and Lillith forsook her master to preserve her own life.
She’s singing his praise, tight, wet and ecstatic with his touch. He didn’t think her flesh was anything special until now; she’s so beautiful when she surrenders to this pleasure, to him. Jo arches her back and her nails draw his blood, but it isn’t enough; he can tell when he looks at her. Thrusting deeper into her, he has his release in silence and harmony, feeling her surprise.
She looks at him through the veil of her wet hair, almost disappointed, until he begins to kneel, releasing her leg and guiding it on his shoulder. Her eyes are wide and innocent, but that wildfire lights there when he brings his lips against her swollen clit. His tongue snakes from his mouth and what she always assumed would be vile and displeasing, feels better than her toys. She sinks her hands in his hair, like she wanted to, and closes them to fists, urging him to go deeper faster. As if knowing exactly what she wants, he guides his lips, his tongue and his fingers inside her until she drowns in his affection.
He catches her when she nearly falls, because he legs lose their standing. Her heart is beating louder, while his remains silent. Jo buries her head in his arms, enjoying the feel of safety in their protection. He’s cleaned her up good, she thinks to herself, smiling at the thought.
Lucifer lifts her up and carries her to the bed, tucking her inside the covers. He sits by her, petting that delicious skin he wants in his mouth again as soon as possible. He can tell she’s beginning to like her collar, just as he predicted. This is the perfect opportunity to fix past mistakes, and she’s more than he could’ve wished for in a child and a lover.
-fin
