Author's Note: I know most think that Lucifer can only be hurt when Chloe is around. I tend to think that he can also be hurt by other celestial beings. As he is clearly hurt after fighting with Amenadiel and Uriel. Anyway it fits my story. If you are not okay with that, just imagine Chloe lurking somewhere nearby (maybe partying at Lux, who knows). I should also mention that I probably went a tad out of character... I hope I didn’t stray too far. It’s unbetaed (I seriously need to find me one of those ;) )
Disclaimer : I don’t own any of these characters, and I’m not making any money from this story.
Warnings : Non-consensual spanking of an adult.

Dinner from Hell

Lucifer was in a bad mood. A very bad mood. He had spent the last week working with the Detective chasing from lead to lead in their newest murder investigation. But every time they thought that they were onto something, they had run into a dead end. Every single time. And what had first seemed like an open-and-shut case had turned into a nerve-wrecking and stress-filled homicide investigation, that had them working god-awful hours and spending way too much time at the precinct in the company of Detective Douche.

Between helping the detective and running Lux, he had not found the time to sleep and eat properly, which made him short-tempered and insufferable. At least according to every person he’d talked to, including Dr. Linda, the Detective, Detective Douche and Maze.

Maze had fled three days ago. Telling him to get a grip and stop behaving like a child that’s missed his nap. She only showed up to bartend and kept their interactions to the barest minimum. He couldn’t blame her – he knew he was short with his associates whenever he missed out on his beauty sleep.

And as if he hadn’t already suffered enough this week, Mum had called and ordered him to have dinner with her and Amenadiel. A family dinner as she had called it and Lucifer had seriously considered begging the Detective to shoot him again to avoid it. He also gave serious thought to recruiting them to Hell because having to listen to Mum and Amenadiel drone on and on about his life choices and habits was the most horrible torture he had ever made somebody endure – it was a real shame that the Devil himself was the one suffering through it. He certainly wasn’t to blame for his snide comments and sarcastic contributions to their conversation – even a true martyr couldn’t have lived through this torment without complaint.

When Dinner from Hell had finally ended, Mum and Amenadiel sweet-talked him into having drinks at his apartment. He had obliged only because he had really wanted – and needed – a strong and expensive drink – the bourbon they had served at the restaurant had been an impertinence to fine taste.

All evening Mother had kept throwing him glances that unnerved him slightly – even scolding him in the middle of the restaurant for calling Amenadiel an overbearing prick. She seemed put out. But he opted for ignoring the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and continued teasing and taunting Amenadiel – he should be allowed to find at least a tiny bit of pleasure in this ordeal.

The pleasure of picking on his brother was however greatly diminished by said brother. Amenadiel was – as usual – a poor sparring partner – not rising to his taunts however vicious they got. Of course Amenadiel would be the poster boy for good behaviour and courtesy whenever their mother was in sight. The brave and noble son – God’s firstborn – their pride and joy. Lucifer’s tantalizing had reached a new peak as Mum interrupted.

“All right! That’s it!” Surprised Lucifer found himself at the receiving end of his mother’s glare. “If you’re just going to be cranky, you can take this abominable attitude and march yourself to bed!” Completely taken aback by his mother’s words – and fairly certain that he must have misheard – he just stared at her for a few seconds. He didn’t even know where to start complaining about his mother’s choice of words.

“Cranky?” he finally repeated as he had found his voice again. “I am not cranky! The devil does not get cranky.” He shuddered at using the word in combination with his name and title. Children got cranky – not the Lord of Hell.

“Oh, it seems that he does,” Charlotte replied. “And I am done listening to you verbally abusing your brother and me. – Off to bed now.” Lucifer looked from Mum to his brother – who was rather unsuccessfully trying to hide the smirk on his face – and back to his mother. He’d deal with Amenadiel later. Right now he needed to handle Mum. She looked as if she’d calmly suggested that they have drinks. And not at all like she had just ordered her son to bed – her grown-up son who’d ruled Hell for almost an eternity.

But he knew this look on her face – remembered it from a time long gone. And it had never boded well.

“This is ridiculous,” he said snorting. Surely his mother was joking. He would not be sent to bed like a pre-schooler – or treated like one. She had obviously spent too much time with those human children of hers. He was an adult and his mother could not intimidate him with that look anymore. Furthermore he would definitely not be treated like that in front of his brother. The brother who had always viewed himself as the most noble and sensible of all his siblings; while Lucifer himself had always been prone to run into trouble. This would only cause Amenadiel to become even more insufferable. He had always hated being scolded in front of his brothers and sisters – a torment their Father had perfected. And apparently that feeling hadn’t changed. He felt like he had numerous times back in the Silver City. He tried to fight it – to push the feeling of dread right back where it came from. He did not have time to agonise over it right now.

His mother looked put-out – but then again she had been all evening. Still now there was determination in her eyes and Lucifer swore he could see something of her former strength and glory shining through. That ... frightened him – not that he’d ever admit it.

“I am not cranky and I will not be sent to bed like a child,” he declared. Surely his mother could be reasoned with. He only needed to take a rough approach.

“Do not test me, son,” Mum said sternly and this time the odd thing in her eyes made him cringe and had him fighting the urge to scramble to his bedroom in fear of further repercussions. He had not seen that look on his mother’s face in millennia – well, he hadn’t seen his mother’s face at all. But she could apparently still make him queasy without much effort. And that unnerved him. “I will put you there, if you continue to defy me. – And I can assure you, you will regret that.”

He squirmed in his seat on the couch, but made no move to stand up. Maybe she could make him feel like a child again, but that did not mean that he had to act like one. He would not be intimidated! He glanced at Amenadiel out of the corner of his eye. His brother wisely kept out of the dispute, obviously not wanting to be subject to their mother’s furious glare. He couldn’t blame him. He did not like it at all.

Mum, he remembered, could be just as strict as Dad was – and once her patience was drained it was best to duck for cover.

Lucifer looked down at his hands. He hated that she could reduce him to this! And he hated that he was still affected by her! He remembered vividly how she had dealt with her children once they had crossed her and while he didn’t think that she would do that to him now after so many centuries, he was still worried about her reaction. Maybe amends and appeasement were in order. He gave her his sweetest smile.

“Mum,” he started only to be cut off straight away by her furious glare.

“Lucifer, this is your last warning. Do as you’re told now.” She certainly didn’t seem as if she could be appeased. But one could always try. He kept his award-winning smile on his face and leant forwards.

“But, Mum, see...” His mother stood up so abruptly that he was actually startled into action. He could find no other plausible explanation. One moment he was lounging on the couch and the next he was backing away from his furious mother – never letting her out of his sight while he stumbled to his bedroom. And he was positively certain that Amenadiel would never let him live this down. He knew he wouldn’t if the roles were reversed. He needed to do some damage control – to keep up appearances at least.

“All right! All right! – See? I’m going, Mother. – Even if this is ridiculous and I am a grown man and not tired at all.”

“Sleep well, son,” Mum just said and motioned for Amenadiel to follow her to the kitchen to continue their conversation. “I do not wish to see you out of this room again tonight.” And then she vanished into his kitchen without waiting for a reply. He was left staring open-mouthed at Amenadiel, who threw him a gloating look behind their mother’s back before vanishing as well.

His anger returned in full force. His sleep-deprived mind finding every cause for rage and anger that had occurred last week while he stood rooted to the spot in the entrance to his bedroom. He couldn’t believe his mother! How dare she send him to bed like a toddler throwing a tantrum?! He had survived without her help for a very long time! He certainly did not need it now!

Seething he turned around, fighting the urge to storm into the kitchen – his kitchen! – to yell at her. The only thing keeping him was the thought that he really, really did not want to see them again. Neither Mum with her reprimanding glare nor Amenadiel’s smug look.

He looked around the room, kicking the edge of the carpet viciously, but designing himself to his fate. If he was going to stay here, he might as well get comfortable. He could always go out later once his family had left. And besides, a few hours of sleep did sound like a good idea.

The sound of his mother’s voice drifted softly from the kitchen. He could hear them – talking and laughing. Most likely about him and this absurd situation. And his anger surged again. He threw his shirt across the room, not at all satisfied by the soft noise it made when hitting the wall. His shoes soon followed crashing loudly into the wall and clattering to the floor. It did nothing to appease his anger.

“Lucifer, if I have to come in there, there will be trouble!” his mother called from the kitchen just as he was stripping out of his trousers leaving him in only his boxer briefs. Glowering at no-one in particular, he couldn’t suppress the biting sarcasm that bubbled up every time he was provoked or just got angry.

“Oh really? I’m shaking in my shoes over here!” And just for good measure he picked one of his shoes back up and hurled it at the closed kitchen door. Only the shoe never hit the door. It hit his mother standing in the doorway. Right in the chest.

‘Oh, Father, help me,’ he thought, his eyes going wide. Unable to move or speak, he watched his Mum with trepidation. He registered Amenadiel behind Mum who looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. And if the situation wasn’t so dire, he’d surely have laughed at the dumb expression on his brother’s face. But for now he had more pressing matters that demanded his attention. His mother marching towards him with a wooden spoon in her hand being the predominant one. Where on earth had she got that so quickly? And why? There was that pesky sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach again reminding him that he knew exactly what his mother was about to do, but again he pushed it back down. Surely she was just trying to scare him.

He raised his hands in what he hoped to be a placating manner. It proved futile as his mother continued to stalk towards him with long strides. And bloody hell he already regretted hurling that shoe!

“Mum, I’m sorry,” he pleaded trying a coy smile and taking a few steps back until he bumped against his bed.

“Oh, you will be!” his mother threatened. He suddenly felt terribly vulnerable only clad in underpants watching his mother’s approach with wide eyes. And he really hoped the wooden spoon was just for decorative reasons. A similar scene from a time long gone flashed before his eyes, but just like the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach he pushed it back down. This would not happen now.

Unable to retreat any further, he had no other means left but to bargain. At least bargaining was the devil’s specialty.

“Mum, could we please just talk about this?” he asked sweetly. “Like adults?” For some reason that only seemed to increase his mother’s wrath. She grabbed his left arm and forcefully pulled him forwards away from his bed. He looked at her frantically trying to determine what she was planning to do. And praying that it wasn’t what he’d feared. He wasn’t left in suspense for long as she wielded the spoon and brought it down sharply in the middle of his butt raising him up on his toes. Momentarily shocked into silence, he gaped at her incredulously and she smacked him again. – And then the pain registered in his brain.

“Mum!” he exclaimed loudly as he found his voice again and tried to twist away from her instrument of torture. His mind frantically searching for something – anything – to say in his defence.

“Don’t you ‘mum’ me, young man!” she reprimanded holding his arm in a vice-like grip and peppering his backside with several sharp smacks. He wanted to bristle at being called ‘young man’, he really did, but the next smack fell onto the unprotected back of his left leg and a very unmanly shriek left his mouth. Amenadiel was never going to let him forget this. He needed to get away from her! Stop her somehow! Before she made it even worse.

“You have been asking for this all evening!” And just like any other time he found himself in some kind of predicament, he just couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.

“When? When exactly did I ask for this?” he asked struggling in her grasp while simultaneously twisting his butt out of his mother’s reach and shielding it with his right hand. It only resulted in the two of them turning in small circles – looking ridiculous, that he was certain. And still that wicked spoon found its target again and again. He must look absurd fending off that vicious object and dancing around the woman wielding it while wearing only boxer briefs and socks. And he cringed internally knowing that Amenadiel was right next door and could definitely hear everything that took place right now. His brother only needed to open the door and see all of ... that!

His mother must have finally come to her senses since she let go off his arm. He quickly took a step back out of her reach, embarrassingly both of his hands crept to his backside to shield it from further harm (and also to rub away the sting – it hurt!) and threw Mum an outraged look. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown that shoe, but certainly Mother was overreacting. They could have just talked about this – like adults. Not to mention that he felt horribly embarrassed standing in the middle of his bedroom clad in nothing but boxer briefs while his mother looked as if she still wished to strangle him.

Fortunately he was kept from fretting about his humiliation any further as his mother latched onto his ear – his bloody ear! – and twisted it. He stooped hurriedly following her pull to lessen the sharp pain. He didn’t dare shake off her hand. He’d done that once and he still shuddered at the memory.

“Ow! Mum!” he exclaimed loudly and to his great sorrow his embarrassment didn’t end there. No, trust Mum to make it loads worse! Keeping his ear in a grip, that had him wincing every time she moved, she sat on his bed pulling him down across her lap in one go. His hands shot out to cushion his fall and his face turned beet-red – and the colour did not stem solely from the blood rushing to his head because of his new upside-down position.

“Mum? What are you doing?” he asked carefully. But before he could dwell on his new position – or try to stand back up – Mum had put a surprisingly heavy hand on his back keeping him firmly in place and the spoon fell onto his butt again – and it hurt! Like hell! He thoroughly regretted his earlier smart-arsed comment. And to make matters even worse, Mum started scolding him.

“You do not get smart with me, Lucifer!” she lectured as she smacked him soundly, never ceasing in her rhythm. She obviously planned to make him regret his choice of words some more. “You have been in a horrible mood all evening!”

“And is it a crime now to be in a bad mood every once in a while?” he replied flippantly, hating himself for his words the moment they had left his mouth. In reply his mother smacked him with even more vigour, peppering his backside with sharp smacks that had him biting his tongue and drumming his feet softly on the floor to distract himself from the building fire in his backside. She just kept on smacking, the spoon falling unrelentingly again and again. And suddenly he was wincing with every smack, trying to move his butt out of the firing range by squirming from left to right.

“You would do well to remember that I am your mother!” Another hearty smack made him involuntarily kick his leg. “I will not have my children mouthing off at me!” Another flurry of smacks and he was biting his hand to stifle the sounds of distress that his mother’s administration of the spoon of doom caused. How come she didn’t seem to be tiring at all?

“Ow! Mum! Would you stop already, I’m a grown man!” he tried reasoning, but to no avail.

“And I will most certainly not stand by and let my son throw a shoe at me in a tantrum worthy that of a three-year-old! If you insist on acting like a child, then you’re gonna be treated as such!”

“Well, in my defence,” he wheezed out. “I planned to hit the door with the shoe.”

Why on earth did he have to say that? The Detective was probably right; he did have no sense of self-preservation. But at least his mother’s merciless smacking had ceased for the moment.

Thank Dad for that.

Although if the eerie silence oozing from Mum was not indication enough for her displeasure, the hand gripping the waistband of his boxer briefs certainly was, bringing a whole new level of suck to this situation.

“Do you want to lose these, son?” she asked way too calmly for her proposed course of action. And he hated to admit it – and would definitely deny it afterwards – but he panicked.

“No! – No! Please! I’m sorry, Mum!” he pleaded blushing furiously. His struggle increased, his hand reaching back to grab the waistband. “I’ll behave! – I promise! No more smart comments!” He let out a shaky breath as his mother left his underwear in place and picked the wooden spoon back up. Dignity be damned, but it would have been more than he could bear, if he’d received a bare-arsed smacking – over his mother’s knee. Even the devil couldn’t sugar-coat that.

“Very well then. I will hold you to your word. Let’s continue.”

“We’re not done?” What had he got himself into? How far had he fallen to end up like a child over his Mum’s knee? While his big brother listened next door? “Amenadiel can hear us!” He was clearly not getting out of this, so he tried for some damage control.

“Of course he can,” Mum replied doling out another smack that had him wincing. “You subjected him to your poor behaviour as well. He had to sit through your grouching and taunts all evening. And now you take offense when he hears how you’re reprimanded?”

“But... he’ll mock me!” he exclaimed feeling just like he had once upon a time in the Silver City whenever he’d caused enough trouble to warrant a smacking.

“He won’t. – Now tell me what has brought this upon?”

“Mum, please,” he begged. “Not like this. Can’t I at least bend over the bed?” He made a half-hearted attempt at pushing himself up.

“No, you’ll stay right here, son. I believe the punishment should fit the crime and this is what you get for throwing such an impressive temper tantrum,” his mother replied and resumed smacking. Lucifer hissed, the spoon falling on already tender skin. He might have superior healing powers but his Mum had always known how to dish out a proper smacking and he thoroughly regretted his earlier behaviour. Because if his memory was anything to go by, he would not get up from this utterly embarrassing position until he was truly repentant. “You will get your backside soundly spanked across my knee to help you remember that I will not condone your despicable and childish behaviour today.” He blushed furiously again at her words and hung his head in shame, while the spoon fell again and again. “Now tell me, son, why are you getting this spanking?”

“Because I flung my shoe at you.” He kissed any remaining traces of his manhood goodbye, because he knew that there would be no easy way out of this – his only choices containing an unpleasant and a highly unpleasant one. He chose to go the unpleasant route, which meant swallowing his pride and admitting his mistakes to minimise the damage about to be done to his already extremely chastised backside.

“That’s right, Lucifer. – You do not let your temper get the best of you again. Or we will be right back in this position. – Do you understand?”

“Yes!” he hissed and owed his way through the next smacks. Tears were pooling in his eyes already and he couldn’t suppress squirming with every smack. It hurt! And he really wished that Mum would soon be finished before he lost even the last shred of dignity and started bawling.

“I am disappointed by your behaviour today, son,” she went on lecturing. Her words jabbing a sword in his heart which made the assault on his backside seem like a walk in the park. “I taught you better.”

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t keep the tears at bay any longer. Relinquishing any hope to get out of this with at least a tiny part of his dignity still intact, he gave in and let the tears fall freely.

“Mum, please! – I learned my lesson!” he begged hoarsely. “I won’t do it again!” And somehow crying felt good – as if the strain of the last week just fell off him. He was tired, exhausted even, and only wanted this to end so that he could curl up in his bed and sleep for three days straight.

“I do hope so, son.” A particular vicious smack fell onto the back of his leg and he howled. Another thing he’d deny later, of course. But it hurt! Who’d have thought his boxers provided so much protection. And still Mum was not relenting. She just kept on smacking him until the first sob escaped his throat and there was no more energy left to even squirm. Then she finally stopped and put her chosen instrument of torture down. He stayed bend over her knee trying to catch his breath and still the tears that were streaming down his face. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands and forearms.

Mum let him stay across her knee while stroking his back soothingly for a few moments. Then she nudged him lightly and he pushed himself up and stood in front of her, feeling thoroughly chastised and roughly eight years old. Wishing desperately for some clothes to put on, he shuffled his feet looking at the ground and fighting the blush that again threatened to creep up his neck, silently wishing Mum would leave him alone now.

He saw her standing up from the bed thinking his wish would come true. But she pulled back the covers on his bed and straightened his pillow with quick, efficient moves. Watching her carefully, he didn’t know what to say or do.

“Lie down, now,” she said and motioned for him to get under the covers. This time the blush won.

“This really is not necessary, Mum,” he hedged looking at anything but her. As if she hadn’t shamed him enough in one evening.

“Lucifer, I’m sure your butt will tire of your defiance sooner than my arm will,” she sighed exasperated. “Just get into bed. You are tired and a good night’s sleep will help.”

And he did. The first reason being that he did feel tired and the second that he really did not want a second round with that spoon. He threw it a hateful look while lying down on his stomach. It would make great firewood, he thought. His mother put the blanket over him and sat down by his hip. He hid his face in the pillow. Wasn’t it humiliating enough that his Mum had smacked him and tucked him in? Now she needed to stay to prolong his torture? Mum’s chuckle made him look back up questionably.

“You used to do the exact same thing, when you were a boy,” she explained smiling. “Hiding your face after you’ve been punished.” Her hand gently stroked his neck and hair.

“Well, I can’t say that I am thankful for this swell little trip down memory lane,” he said jokingly. “It hurts.”

“And you deserved every last smack, my son,” she murmured. Her hand kept massaging his head and neck and for once he let her. Because it felt nice. He was worn-out and tired – and all this unmanly crying had made his eyes hurt. “You behaved atrociously today.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. – You can offer your apologies to Amenadiel tomorrow.”

“What?” His head shot up from the pillow again and he gave his mother an outraged look. “Have I not suffered enough? He’s going to tease me inexorably about this anyway! Why do I have to contribute to his ammunition?” Surely his mother must be joking. He studied her closely; she seemed quite determined and he feared that this was another dispute he would lose.

“Do I need to get the spoon again?” She actually had the nerve to pat his bottom in warning. He cringed but despite the threat he couldn’t agree with Mum that Amenadiel deserved an apology. The whole evening had been a complete disaster and he did not wish to start the next day in a similarly unpleasant manner. “Fine. Have it your way then.” And Mum rose from her seat on his bed.

“No!” he quickly consented grabbing his mother’s hand and pulling her back. “I’ll apologise!” She sat back down next to him and he heaved a sigh of relief. “But if he teases me, the deal is off.”

“He won’t,” Mum reassured calmly as she put her hand back in his hair and resumed her calming massaging. “Sleep now, son. – Everything’s fine. You’re forgiven.” Under her soothing hands it took no time at all until the exhaustion of the last days caught up with him and he drifted off to sleep. Dimly noticing when Mum left the room and returned to the kitchen. And he was fairly certain that he heard her say, “Wipe that smirk off your face or you will be next.”