[ Elio picks up the pacing, his whole palm brushing through Lucifer's feathers and his cock pushing into him, the urgency growing plainer and plainer. Thank you he says, again and again, until he's so lost in it that he can't get the words out and Lucifer smiles shakily while he works himself back on Elio's cock, pleasure shooting through him at every thrust. He can feel the other man leaning into him, letting him carry his weight and it's so lovely, all of it, he can't remember ever...
No, not ever.
Gasping, partially from the revelation of it all, partly from the way Elio happens to positively pound his prostate at the next in-stroke, he finally just lets himself take it, take it, whatever this is. Whatever any of it means. He thinks about Elio on his balcony that first evening, lost and distanced from the world, falling by his own admission. He thinks about carrying him skywards, about putting his Devil face against his shoulder and getting everything back. Then, with a drawn-out moan, he's there, spending himself harshly over the sheets, his arsehole contracting again and again around Elio's cock. It goes on forever, seemingly, and for just a second, he's afraid he's actually taken off from the bed, feeling weightless all over, lights bursting behind his eyelids.
Outside, the sky's lighting up above the lake. He can't see it, obviously, with his eyes closed but he can sense it because it's his, like the stars and the glittering dust scattered between them. It's aurora polaris, purple and green, fractions of sunlight echoing off certain layers, particles, in the atmosphere. Ugh. Sure, sure, he's an angel - if not a very good one - and when he has a really, really great orgasm, it's a proper, cosmic phenomenon. Fuck off. Honestly.
Besides, he's fairly certain he might in fact be dying, his body pulling him through his climax, his muscles shaking along with his wings.
[ He turns his head slowly, staring unseeingly at the big window panels that show the sky, the stars, midnight's fallen and he isn't really seeing any of it, because his body is lost from the world and there's just the pleasure surging through him at every forward thrust, the tightness of Lucifer's body accepting him in turn and Lucifer working himself onto him in time. They're playing each other, they're playing, they're... Then, Lucifer comes, strangled moan, long and hard and his asshole clenches rhythmically around Elio's cock as his climax breaks on him and Elio moans, too, only seconds later, working himself into him again and again and again while he spends himself. It takes forever, it doesn't stop and outside the windows, Northern Lights flash across the sky, pulsing in time with Lucifer's body and Elio remembers the pier, he remembers the lights at night, sitting in Lucifer's arms and looking out over LA from the safest possible distance.
Then, after what feels like literal forever, his muscles quite simply give and he collapses down between Lucifer's wings, trembling slightly, both him and the wings, honestly, breath tumbling out of him in pants. He's still inside him. It'll only be a moment and he'll lose hardness and slip out, but until then, they're still sharing, it's still his. All of him. Everything Lucifer is. Wings and Northern Lights and those three words he gave him, freely.
You are everything.
Running both his hands now up Lucifer's shoulders, caressing the sweaty, burning hot skin there, thumbs brushing over what he can grasp of his upper arms, folded beneath the other man's chin, Elio turns his face back in against the side of Lucifer's face, stubble and jawline and earlobe. He sighs, murmurs: ]
Let me stay here for a while.
[ On your back, he means, here, between your wings, halfway inside of you.
And let me stay, he means, maybe more importantly, in your life. ]
[ Moments later, he feels Elio speeding up his thrusts, everything turning a tad more desperate, a tad more focused, too. When he comes, Lucifer's arse is still clenching slightly in the aftershocks of his climax and he feels him so acutely, just then, the pulsing of his cock, the width and girth of it. He breathes in very slowly, the air trembling down his lungs, while Elio spends himself inside him. Has anyone actually done that before? He doubts it. Lucifer rarely bottoms at all, to men. It's hard to find anyone who'd take it for what it is.
Elio does, though. Elio, who collapses on top of him between his wings, his breath hot and damp against his skin and his beautiful hands solid against his upper arms. When he speaks against the side of his face, Lucifer angles his chin into the line of his jaw, his soft, overheated skin. ]
For as long as you like, darling.
[ His voice is mostly air, out of breath as he is. His wings are spread out wide on either side of him, tips brushing over the floor lazily. Elio's still inside of him, it'll be another little moment yet before he slips out. It's nice. Lucifer gives him a little squeeze for good measure and it actually makes his arsehole feel sore, wow, wonders of wonders. Still vulnerable, then, still open. In every possible way, as it were.
He frees one hand, finally, and reaches up, stroking his fingers through Elio's hair. He digs in a little until he can feel the heat of his skin, his scalp and further down, the back of his neck.
Then, he simply stays like that and lets the moment run to its natural conclusion. ]
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no subject
No, not ever.
Gasping, partially from the revelation of it all, partly from the way Elio happens to positively pound his prostate at the next in-stroke, he finally just lets himself take it, take it, whatever this is. Whatever any of it means. He thinks about Elio on his balcony that first evening, lost and distanced from the world, falling by his own admission. He thinks about carrying him skywards, about putting his Devil face against his shoulder and getting everything back. Then, with a drawn-out moan, he's there, spending himself harshly over the sheets, his arsehole contracting again and again around Elio's cock. It goes on forever, seemingly, and for just a second, he's afraid he's actually taken off from the bed, feeling weightless all over, lights bursting behind his eyelids.
Outside, the sky's lighting up above the lake. He can't see it, obviously, with his eyes closed but he can sense it because it's his, like the stars and the glittering dust scattered between them. It's aurora polaris, purple and green, fractions of sunlight echoing off certain layers, particles, in the atmosphere. Ugh. Sure, sure, he's an angel - if not a very good one - and when he has a really, really great orgasm, it's a proper, cosmic phenomenon. Fuck off. Honestly.
Besides, he's fairly certain he might in fact be dying, his body pulling him through his climax, his muscles shaking along with his wings.
Oh. ]
no subject
Then, after what feels like literal forever, his muscles quite simply give and he collapses down between Lucifer's wings, trembling slightly, both him and the wings, honestly, breath tumbling out of him in pants. He's still inside him. It'll only be a moment and he'll lose hardness and slip out, but until then, they're still sharing, it's still his. All of him. Everything Lucifer is. Wings and Northern Lights and those three words he gave him, freely.
You are everything.
Running both his hands now up Lucifer's shoulders, caressing the sweaty, burning hot skin there, thumbs brushing over what he can grasp of his upper arms, folded beneath the other man's chin, Elio turns his face back in against the side of Lucifer's face, stubble and jawline and earlobe. He sighs, murmurs: ]
Let me stay here for a while.
[ On your back, he means, here, between your wings, halfway inside of you.
And let me stay, he means, maybe more importantly, in your life. ]
no subject
Elio does, though. Elio, who collapses on top of him between his wings, his breath hot and damp against his skin and his beautiful hands solid against his upper arms. When he speaks against the side of his face, Lucifer angles his chin into the line of his jaw, his soft, overheated skin. ]
For as long as you like, darling.
[ His voice is mostly air, out of breath as he is. His wings are spread out wide on either side of him, tips brushing over the floor lazily. Elio's still inside of him, it'll be another little moment yet before he slips out. It's nice. Lucifer gives him a little squeeze for good measure and it actually makes his arsehole feel sore, wow, wonders of wonders. Still vulnerable, then, still open. In every possible way, as it were.
He frees one hand, finally, and reaches up, stroking his fingers through Elio's hair. He digs in a little until he can feel the heat of his skin, his scalp and further down, the back of his neck.
Then, he simply stays like that and lets the moment run to its natural conclusion. ]