I’m doing this with you,@emilyy_babexx4 Hahhaha okay ;D (Taken with GifBoom)
whoops i wrote a thing.
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Lilith looks up at him from the dirty ground, smiling, lips parted and tongue darting over the lower just once. “He’s pleased with you. With us.” Pale, pale fingers draw patterns over the outer wall between them and Lucifer’s Cage. Her nails, bitten short and ragged, scratch things against the rock.
Distantly, Alastair hears something, some low, calm voice, murmuring only for her.
“Dean Winchester—“
“He knows,” Lilith interrupts, rising to her feet. She dusts herself off primly, wiping her palms on the white dress, smearing it with soot and something old, something rust-colored.
Alastair’s mouth curls into a small, displeased sneer. Dean only just broke. This was his news to tell. “And how does he know already?”
Lilith presses her dirty fingers against Alastair’s chest, poking at him, prodding the underlying structure of bone and muscle in the shape he’s taken. She tilts her head up at him, smirking, and sing-songs, “Lucifer always knows what his children are up to. He felt it.”
On those final two words her fingers curve, nails hooking into Alastair’s skin. This is a centuries-old game of theirs, always skirting around the edges, touching, testing, hurting, but never relieving the tension.
Alastair runs his hand up her back, along her neck, up into her hair, asks, “Did he feel it or did daddy’s little girl come running the moment she heard Dean stop squealing?” and grabs a fistful of the blonde curls.
She laughs at him and draws a low, hissing inhale, white eyes drifting shut. On his shoulders now, her hands keep alternating between soft touches and the sharp bite of nails, teasing him. “Touchy today, aren’t we? I thought you’d be happy. You sang that seal right open, didn’t you? It only took you…how many centuries? Did you go through all of Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits?”
Lilith rises up on her toes, body arching against his, when Alastair jerks her head back. “You’ve been listening at the door again, haven’t you?” In his free hand is the same razor he’s been using on Dean for years now, the silver painfully bright and clean in the dark around the Cage. The tip can cleave through fat and tissue with hardly any pressure, but he’s too careful to let it so much as nick her when it runs up the front of her dress. That’s what she wants, what she’s always wanted, and he isn’t going to supply.
No matter how she rocks against him, that blade will never press down. Alastair leans down, pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat at her collarbones, teeth grazing over the skin.
“I’ve told you before, Lilith. If you want to play, you’ll just have to learn to ask nicely.”
