Title: The Bargain.
Author: lady_razzle
Pairing: Will Turner (Orlando Bloom PotC)/Lucifer (Viggo Mortensen, The Prophecy)
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Has neither happened, nor is likely to occur in the sequels.
Summary: PWP. What does a young man have that a fallen angel needs? Set just before the main events of PotC.
Warnings: Unbetaed. Violence, with a varying level of non-con. Angsty darkfic with vague het implications.
A/N: Big fat birthday present for the lovely moblo413, my angel and my perverted demon. Wishing you all the love in heaven and hell.



It was a dark and stormy night.

It had no right not to be.

The rain pummelled the palm trees and the wind pushed them back so they quivered and groaned with the strain. Lobster boxes rolled up the streets, defying gravity, until some obstacle would hinder them to leave them lying as wet kindling.

Dogs howled, babies screamed. And through it all the wind whistled through the avenues of the port as if it were looking for something long lost and sorely missed.

There was comfort to be taken in the dull, regular tone of a hammer hitting iron, something that remained under the control of man.

In this case, the man in question was Will Turner, who needed no particular comfort on that night, having spent more nights than he could count in the company of his swords and a curiously thoughtful donkey, and had long stopped finding himself made anxious by nature's fury.

The donkey cowered in a corner, hiding from the lightning with which he had yet to become truly comfortable, reduced to a pair of glittering eyes watching the flicker of his master's forge and the familiar sparks that followed each soft huff and swing of the hammer.

Will was otherwise alone, his own master sheltering in the warmth of a local tavern, and that was exactly how he liked it. Which wasn't to say he didn't crave company. He was eager for it, but there was only one kind of company he desired and that was definitively beyond his reach.
He sighed heavily and went back to hitting his anvil. He would undoubtedly need to beat his metaphorical hammer at some point, too, now he had begun on that train of thought, but he was confident it would wait.

It was, in fact, one of the quietest noises of the evening that disturbed Will the most. A rap on the door that was far too gentle to be a described as a knock broke his reverie and forced him back into the real world.

Will braced himself as he went to answer the door, well aware of the storm's volatile nature and ready to admit as little of the rain and debris as he could while inviting in his late-night customer.

When he opened the door, however, he found his efforts were not required. While not large, his visitor seemed to be holding the storm at his back. Will saw weather raging behind the cloaked figure but no more than a few droplets landed on his coat or wetted Will's doorstep.

Without so much as an introduction or an enquiry as to his business, Will stepped aside to allow the visitor in and shut the door behind him, trying not to pay too much attention to how, while the visitor was damp, he had avoided becoming the drowned wreck he should have been.

"You choose an ill night to walk abroad," Will pointed out nervously, searching for small talk with which to humanise the silent, hooded figure.

"Needs must, when the devil drives," came an amused whisper from beneath the hood.

"Well then, how may I be of service, My Lord?" Will asked, happy to learn that his customer had a voice, but by no means comforted.

The figure moved further into the forge, as Will wiped his hands on the cloth that was always tucked into his belt.

"I have work for you, blacksmith." The voice emerged once more from beneath the hood. It was soft and quiet but demanded attention by sheer dint of confidence. And, perhaps, there was something in the lilting tones that suggested great secrets were at the verge of divulgence, if only to the attentive.

The hood and thus, presumably, the face, angled toward the abandoned anvil.

"But you are making a sword. Complete your work and I will beg a moment by your fire."

Will looked back to his work as if seeing it for the first time.

"Sir, that can wait. Allow me to at least…"

"Finish," the soft voice instructed, not rising, not hardening, but somehow managing to retard all argument. Will ducked his head in acceptance and returned to his near-complete weapon.

It was, as was typical for Will's work, beautifully made. Basket-handled and three full feet long, handle tightly wrapped in wire and bound with leather. Will had had no real reason to make it, other than that was what the metal wanted to become, and he had long since stopped questioning the instructions he wordlessly received from inanimate materials.

All he had left to do was set the blade firmly into the hilt, which he had spent the evening taking great care over completing.

Will went on with his work, well-aware of the eyes on him and the thin wisps of steam that curled away from the darkness of his cloak.

Satisfied, after a time, Will turned the weapon over and slung it under his arm, trapping it between chest and bicep. He turned to his visitor and saw, with some relief, that the hood came down to reveal a human face. And a handsome one, despite framing with a beard and long, scruffy, ash-blonde hair. He was, as Will had suspected, studying Will closely.

"I'm afraid my master is indisposed," Will said absently, only partly lying. "But I'm sure I can help…"

"I'm certain you can, Mr Turner." The smile that accompanied the assertion was genuine and suggested no sarcasm.

"You know my name," Will said. It wasn't really a question.

"I know much," the visitor said confidently. "About you and about your heritage."

"Indeed," Will replied slowly, increasingly suspicious of what was a very strange visitor and an even stranger introduction. "Do you know what I can do to help you on your way?" The implication of his waning willingness to accommodate the character was evident. The man looked Will up and down, smiling a toothy, lopsided smile.

"I want to know more," he replied. "I want to know how much of your father there is in you."

"You know my father," Will said, tying not to sound overly intrigued.

"We have met," the man purred, not fooled by Will's feigned disinterest. "Some years ago, he made a deal with me." He stepped forward and Will couldn't help but shift slightly away from his advance. "Though blindly he made this deal, I have known his every subsequent moment."

A darkness seemed to loom from behind the man, encroaching not from the edges, as one might be given to expect, but from between his shoulders, as if the lengthening shadows were great black wings, unfurling, stretching forward to embrace Will, surrounding him with an intangible shroud.

"Your business is with him, then, not with me," Will offered weakly.

"I am in your father's blood, and he in mine." It was a hiss now, increasingly so, an intense purr, terrifying and seductive. "He has fascinated me: his passion and his pain."

"My father is dead," Will argued faintly, his voice whipped away into a darkness that went much further than the walls and pushed the drumming of the rain away until it was a distant murmur. The only sound that remained within was the heavy huffs off his own ragged exhalations, the other man's breaths conspicuous by their absence.

"And thus I could not make him feel," agreed the demon, for no mortal being could so contort the universe and nothing divine would wield such intimidation against an innocent. "Even I, with all my attention, could not coax a true feeling out of his weary body. But you are alive, you are young." Will tried to take a step back but there was no more back. His thighs hit the anvil and he had nowhere left to run. The handsome creature bent lower over him, leaving a bare few inches between them, as he whispered appreciatively, "Your heart beats." His eyes were closed and he looked elated. "I can hear it. I smell you and I feel your blood in me."

Will turned his face away as the man leaned in further, drawing in a deep breath through his nostrils as he brought his lips close to Will's neck. Will could see the furnace, its flames burning taller and fuller than ever before, curling out of the small door to lick around the stonework, reaching out toward Will and his guest, each flame jet black and coruscating silver.

"What are you?" Will thought aloud. "What do you want with me?" Will gasped loudly as scorching hot lips brushed briefly over his skin.

"I am the most beloved of all God's tools," the voice whispered, creeping through Will's hair and sliding into his mind like the serpent's seductive reasoning. "Even since he has forgotten, and cast me down to shepherd all the careless mortals who stumble on the path to heaven and find forgiveness conditional. I am the lord of a kingdom larger than his, greater than his, greater than any you will ever know and what I want, is to share with you a single moment of this magnitude, a little taste of a hell you will learn not to fear. In return, I offer you whatever it is that opens those exquisite eyes to your soul. What do you desire, William?"

No matter how the insidious voice persuaded and seduced, Will wasn't about to confess something so intimate, so damning, to this terrifying stranger.

"I will not…"

"The chance to prove yourself? Is that all? Not even her heart, merely fair stake to win it?" The Devil threw his head back and laughed. Will went to move sideways and escape his grip, but strong hands seized his wrists and pushed them behind him, pressing his hands to the cold slab and holding them there as the laughter abruptly died. The sword dropped from Will's grip, useless as it had been since he had all but forgotten its presence, and fell to the floor with a musical clatter.

"How noble you are," the purr was restored to replace the incredulous tone of a moment previously. "Perhaps it is that purity of spirit that makes your blood so tempting. You delight me."

Lucifer crushed Will's body against the anvil with his own weight, causing the young man to yelp in surprise and momentary pain. Lucifer ducked his head and returned his scorching lips to Will's neck.
"You will get your wish," he promised. "You will have your chance to woo the young lady and prove yourself to her and to the world, as well as to yourself. But first you will prove yourself to me. Prove to me what you are willing to do for this chance."

The lips moved slowly up Will's neck and onto his jaw, a last kiss pressed to his chin before the fallen angel brushed his lower lips up over Will's own.

"If you bite me," he growled against Will's mouth. "I will rip out your tongue and serve it to your ladyfriend. Then I will defile her and use her body to grow a beautiful evil which will turn and eat her."

Will didn't bite.

The lips on his were bruising, demanding, and the tongue that was suddenly thrust into his mouth was enough to make him choke. He closed his eyes and hoped it would be over soon, as a hand was pressed into his groin and fingers tightened, stroking his cock firmly into waking.
Will moaned despite himself, sagging against the strong body that refused to let him fall.

After a final thrust into his mouth, the invading tongue retreated and the mouth was abruptly pulled away.

"This is your only chance," Lucifer said soberly, holding Will's half-shut gaze. "Refuse me now, if you will. There will be no time later."

Will was on fire, no matter how strange the unfamiliar intrusion felt, no matter how he wanted to cough and choke and spit away the taste of submission.

He found himself hungry; aching for another taste of whatever it was that felt so wonderfully the opposite of divine. Will, for all the purity of his wishes and his eagerness for love, felt lust burning in his blood, as if his blood were not his own.

Lucifer opened his mouth over Will's and sighed quietly, almost genteelly, bringing his lips together until he was breathing a rapid, cool stream into Will's open mouth. Will breathed in deeply, drawing in the breath that enchanted and enraptured him. His eyes rolled back and his eyelashes fluttered madly as he submitted to the demonic thrall.

His lip quivered faintly as the lord of the underworld caught it briefly between his own. He barely noticed as the hand on his shoulder pushed downward, barely felt the buckle of his knees or the jarring pain as they hit the floor. His head hit the anvil behind him and his eyes opened enough to see the smile creeping over Lucifer's lips before a thumb dragged over Will's lower lip and his mouth was pulled open.

A moment later came the very real feeling of a large, heavy heat pushing between his lips. He wanted to struggle, to move away from the humiliation, the disturbing and unusual feeling of another man's cock stretching his lips. The unforgiving predator held Will with a hand tight in his hair, thrusting into his mouth, bumping into his palate, engorged cockhead digging into his throat.

Will swallowed reflexively, realising it was that or vomiting, and was rewarded with a groan like the rumbles of thunder that had pummelled the outside world for so many hours.
Back then he had ignored it, but now it was within his walls, moaning and growling, echoing around his skull as the sensory assault continued.

The pressure was abruptly removed and Will fell to his hands and knees, coughing and gagging, the unfamiliar and unpleasant taste filling his senses adding to the just-suppressed urge to vomit.

The weight of the other man returned, however, to lean over him, resting his full weight on Will's slight frame, pulling his shirt out from his britches and dragging it up over his back. Will lifted his hands to help pull it off over his head, not out of eagerness for nudity but rather out of a desperate need to not be restricted by it. The last thing he needed was to be restrained by fabric as well as the inexplicable emotional bondage under which he arched into the Dark Lord's touch, sitting back on his haunches to feel the ethereal touches of fingertips that were firm and gentle and teasing and demanding all at once.

Will was close to a frenzy, leaning his back against the most beloved angel's strong frame, when the seraphim whistled into his ear and spoke.

"William," he purred. "Your blood is so pure, like your father's. Your honesty bewitches me. You bewitch me."

"I do not mean it," Will argued faintly with a voice that was gravelly and broken with poorly understood desire. "My blood is just…"
His words died in a choked squeal of sorts as the hand of evil slid under the tense fabric of his trousers, tight as they were around his unwelcome erection, and squeezed.

Will felt his britches pushed down to his knees, felt strong hands kneading his backside, firm fingers pushing into his hipbones and down toward his now unrestrained cock as it jutted away from him in shameless expectation. He could not see the appreciative looks that his naked form earned from his dominant partner, but he felt them toasting his skin, just as he felt cooler air cutting a path down his spine as the hunter laughed at his own good fortune.

"God has no interest in this," came, again, the insidious purr that crept up on him and filled his mind with painful sins. "God doesn't want you. You're dirty, you were always dirty, since your mother squeezed you out and left you, screaming, to face the cruel realities of life. This," was hissed, and followed by a descent of fingertips from the small of his back, over a small dimple and into the valley between his buttocks. "This is merely the ostentation, the decoration of your already complex lifetime of sin." There was a pause and a sucking sound, a hand between Will's shoulderblades, forcing him back to hands and knees. "This is just dust added to dust."

Two fingers pushed unexpectedly into Will's arsehole. He yelped, tightening around them hard enough to cause a lesser being to gasp in pain or pull away, but the touch remained, increasing in speed, pushing and twisting, causing Will to call out, a sharp cry that became a drawn-out moan vibrating through his chest, jarring with each violent inward thrust.

The fingers slammed hard into Will's body a final time before they were wrenched free. There was a sound, fabric rustling and hitting the floor with a damp thump. Will's fingernails scraped the dirty floor as a beard-framed tongue flicked over the base of his spine, lips sucking at his flesh and the prickles of a scruffy beard scraping the soft skin.

The lips, whiskers and still shockingly hot tongue mapped a die-straight line along Will's spine. At the base of Will's neck, Lucifer's mouth opened and he set his teeth around Will's neck, biting into him, not quite hard enough to break the skin. Will heard the growl in the back of his skull and down his back. He gasped, shivering as he was completely dominated.

Will felt the rivulets of saliva trickling down the sides of his neck, but it could have been his own blood for all he cared.

"Just like your father," the quiet whisper pondered absently. "You taste just like him. But your heart beats where his is stone."

Will felt a wetness lave his ear, teeth pinching at the edge of the shell. Lucifer laughed soundlessly, but Will felt the shudder and the gust of air over the wet flesh. He heard the words of the Devil. "It's amazing."

Will felt a second, thicker pressure at his entrance, slick with saliva, with the fluid that leaked from his partner's desperately hard and frighteningly large cock. Will gritted his teeth, a low, strained moan escaping between the gaps in his unusually well-maintained teeth as the engorged flesh stretched him.

"Ah, my William."

Will's fingernails carved endless chevrons into the dirt as he rocked with the increasingly enthusiastic thrusts. He shuddered and moaned, hissing and gasping with the pain. As violently uncomfortable as it was, as much as he wanted to roll away and escape the awkward pressure, Will wanted more. He wanted to feel more of the sparks that jolted under his skin and shot through his stomach with each firm inward thrust.

"Oh, God," Will moaned, throwing his head back. His hair was grasped in a powerful grip, tugged back, pulling his hands up from the floor and forcing Will up to sit in Lucifer's lap. Lucifer dug his fingers into the base of Will's neck, his fingertips hooking over the upper edge of his collarbone.

"No, William," he spat, grinding his teeth in genuine fury. "He doesn't hear you. He's busy." With every word he gave a short, hard thrust upward into Will's tight, previously virginal body, and Will gave an answering yelp, halfway between agony and ecstasy. "He's busy asking too much of too many, rejecting those who try and fail."

There was a hand squeezing Will's balls, stroking his cock hard and fast, all but abusing him, and suddenly he was coming.
He opened his mouth wide and cried out, his eyes breaking tears as his senses overloaded, his whole body painfully tense.

Resigned to everything being shocking and strange, Will was remarkably accepting of the feeling of another man's seed, hotter and even more plentiful than his own, being released inside him. But the roar that accompanied this possessive act was terrifying in itself. It was animal. Not animalistic, or man made animal by metaphor, but a truly primal, visceral roar of dominance, climax and possession.

Will lay flat on the floor, panting in the aftermath, his clothes torn and wet with come, rivulets of semen running down the sides of his thighs, making his skin itch in a way that made him glad he could still feel normal things.

The weight of Satan was heavy on his back, sickeningly tender fingertips brushing his curls from his sweat-sheened brow. He closed his eyes tightly and tried not to think about anything at all.

"I love your flaws," Lucifer said, denying him the opportunity to imagine himself in another place, or cast the experience away as a dream. "Innocent, stupid humans and their endearing imperfections. Your weaknesses keep my corridors full."

Will was pulled onto his back by a hand that was impossible to resist, though not forceful or violent.

"If she does not want you, my door is always open," Lucifer said, with something vaguely approaching fondness. "I will keep a special place for you, if you want to come home."

There was no adage in refusing the kiss that Will's partner now offered, and he allowed himself to indulge for a moment in the intimate embrace, before the man pulled away, holding Will's lower lip for an extended second before pushing himself to his feet. Will rolled to his side and watched the impressive figure wrapping his cloak around his shoulders. He said nothing as the man turned to the anvil and picked up the recently completed sword from where it lay, abandoned in the dust.

He turned to look over his shoulder, through translucent shadow wings, at his shivering, supine victim of lust.
"You will have your chance."

The door opened to the storm and the figure walked out, taking the shadows with him and letting the fire return to its familiar crimson hue. The dulling of the storm dropped away and the rain returned to beat with a nightmarish volume on windows closed against a jet-black night.

By morning the encounter dulled to a lingering ache and a troublesome, indistinct dream that would, for years after, wake him hard and furiously desirous.

The donkey was never the same again.

The End.