[ He watches out of the corner of his eye as Elio crawls onto the bed between his legs, shifting a bit to give him better room. At the first touch of warm palms against his thighs, he has to swallow again, harder now, expectation making his body feel curiously jittery. He stops trying to crane his head enough to look and puts his chin on one forearm instead, staring at the wall behind the bed, the shadows tracking across it. Beyond the open balcony doors, Rome is pulsing still, the sounds of drunken shouts and laughter echoing up from below.
You tell me says Elio and spreads him open, his muscles tightening up a fraction at the sudden feeling of exposure. He groans and breathes out, a little faster than before, and then there's Elio's warm breath, burning hot it seems, and his tongue, oh, against his tailbone and downdowndown - ]
Aah! Oh --
[ He actually twitches beneath the other man as he feels that wet-hot-wet pressure of his tongue over the rim of his arsehole. It feels almost obscenely wet and he can't believe he's never - oh, fuck, that tip of his tongue, right there...
Voice sounding decidedly gruff and stuck somewhere in a register he doesn't normally frequent, Lucifer manages not one but two full sentences which is almost a prodigal achievement at this point: ]
Darling, you're too much for me. You're going to bloody kill me.
[ Said on a harsh exhalation as he twists his hips downwards, pressing his cock against the mattress and regretting it, instantly. Hold back. Hold back - ah. There. Disaster averted. He's breathing faster now, audibly so, and he can feel his long flight feathers fanning out across his buttocks and thighs as if to say, yes, please, the road is clear, go ahead and for once, he really can't disagree. ]
[ It's like its own world, between Lucifer's buttocks, like Elio has entered a whole other realm, everything smells like musk and body and he can't get enough of it, breathing heavily as he draws back to glance down at the rim of Lucifer's asshole again, seeing it shimmer with spit and twitch ever so slightly now. You're going to kill me, the other man says and at one and the same time, Elio wants it to be as true as he wants it never to come true, ever. He wants Lucifer to stay alive, eternally, live far beyond Elio's own life span, so they can meet again in Hell, right? He wants to meet him again. When all this is said and done.
Surely, that must be the gift. God isn't crueler than that, except Lucifer would say Elio hasn't seen the worst of him yet, wouldn't he? He'd say pawns and played.
Elio says blessing. ]
I want to drink you up.
[ His voice is breathy and hoarse when he leans down once more and rolls his tongue up a bit, just slowly dragging the very tip along the raised edges of the rim, feeling the puckered skin, feeling the muscles react to him as he licks over it. The taste is dark and full and he's half-hard at this point, it's a miracle, scale of the Red Sea. Lucifer's so hot, Elio's fingers are digging into his buttocks, keeping him spread and open and down, because he's squirming beneath his mouth and Elio needs him to still just a little bit to feel out all the right spots. Languidly, he starts lapping his tongue wetly over his entrance, just sloppily eating him up, tongue tip dipping into his opening on every other lick. Lucifer's feathers are all but walling him in.
Maybe that's where that otherworldly air comes from. Maybe it really does belong to somewhere else, this moment.
Oh, but how would it feel, just boring his tongue into him, penetrating him that way, just fucking him with the long, very wriggly slope of it? How would he sound, taste, feel? Elio is panting a bit as he cocks his head for another angle, dipping his tongue in just a bit deeper on the next swipe.
This is the feel of a gift, evidently. His, his, his. Giving and receiving, equally. ]
[ Oh, fucking Hell, this is - this is -- Lucifer squirms a little as Elio gets to work properly, running the tip of his tongue around the rim before positively lapping at it, oh, all over it. The nerve endings in his arsehole are basically composing a hymn to Elio right this fucking moment and Lucifer himself, well, he's trying not to drool into his pillow. He can feel the other man holding him down a little, just keeping him in place and he allows it, mostly because shifting around too much would mean friction which would mean instant orgasm and as is also true for, say, instant coffee, most instant things are equal parts embarrassing and unsatisfying.
So, in other words, he keeps himself in check.
All that tension, however, needs to go somewhere and in Lucifer's case, if it can't go to his cock, it goes to his wings. They rise up on both sides of him, not quite at an arch but certainly enough for the tips to criss-cross over the back of Elio's thighs. Elio, meanwhile, digs his tongue in at an angle that says deeper and oh, he really is going to kill him, is he actually going to -- ]
I - oh, you can - you should --
[ Apparently, the time for full sentences and average coherency has passed. Lucifer blinks, his curls sticking to his brow as he pushes his head against his forearm. He can't find the words for what he wants Elio to do, except - ]
Come inside.
[ It comes out as a hoarse whisper, his lips stuck against his own skin. And Elio holds him open, still, keeps him bared and fluttering and it could've been dangerous if they weren't them, if they weren't exactly them.
[ The thing about rimming, and there are many things, the smell of it, the wet glide of drool and the puffy, responsive skin of Lucifer's asshole, but the quintessential thing about rimming, Elio thinks, as he accepts the other man's invitation and finally just pushes his tongue all the way in (oh, he's so warm, he's burning hot, tight and hot and engulfing around the length of him) is how intimate it is. How close. Elio loves it, he craves it, he wants it so much he's hard again and it hasn't been ten minutes since he came. Lucifer's good, Lucifer's so good and there's a whole world out there that doesn't know, they don't know and they wouldn't believe and that's why Elio's the first person to do this to him. Because their faith in each other, and he thinks it's about time they use that word specifically, they've progressed, after all, has become unfaltering. It doesn't even stumble when it comes to showing off the parts of them considered dirtiest, darkest.
Elio can have even this.
Hungrily, he bores into him with his tongue, just sticks it in as far as it'll go, feeling the tight rim of his asshole loosening gradually around the girth of it. Out the corner of his eye, the lights are catching in the champagne, throwing long rays of gold across the bed, challenged only by Lucifer's wings, arched above him and behind him and all around him and Elio draws back, pulls his tongue out with a wet noise, looking up at the bottle of Dom Perignon and remembering his own, I want to drink you up. Lucifer can't get drunk... presumably, unlike humans... The idea won't leave him, so Elio looks up at Lucifer, through the narrow pass between his wings and decides to share. They're sharing everything else right now anyway. ]
I really do want to drink you up, you know.
[ His lips feel puffy, like Lucifer's asshole. His tongue still burning. ]
I want to drink champagne out of you, get drunk off of you. [ Releasing the other man's one buttock, Elio stretches to grab the bottle off the nightstand. ] Please tell me if I would kill you.
[ When Elio's tongue actually slips inside him, Lucifer makes a noise at the back of his throat caught somewhere between a groan and a whine, screwing his eyes shut and panting heavily against his arm. Oh. Oh. He can feel his sphincter having to give just a little in response, the slick, wet sensation of Elio's tongue slipping against it, around it, beyond it, both incredible and... terrifying, in a way that he can't quite understand. Usually, sex is always a matter of repetition - good, great or even marvellous repetition but repetition all the same. He's never felt... well.
It's just... so intimate.
Shoulders heaving somewhat, he can't help but push back a little against Elio's mouth as the other man fucks him, just pressing his tongue inside as far as it'll go. Consequently, the resultant friction goes straight to his balls and he chokes down a moan, feeling strangely overwrought, like Elio's inside him on so many levels that he can't even understand what's happening. He feels him. All the way to his core, he feels him. He keeps wanting to reach backwards, to touch him -
The other man draws away. Suddenly, he's almost painfully empty, his arsehole clenching a bit in the wake of Elio's tongue. He frowns, forcing himself to concentrate. What, he wants to - he wants -
Oh.
His cock twitches against the bed. He blinks a couple of times, then glances over his shoulder at Elio, twisting a little to make eye contact. Is he serious? He is. He just grabbed the bottle.
Swallowing, Lucifer licks his lips. Turns slowly back onto his stomach, draws a deep breath and replies: ]
You'll kill me if you don't, I think.
[ He doesn't say please though there's a tint to his voice that projects it anyhow. With his vulnerability around Elio, he's actually quite uncertain as to what'll happen in terms of ingesting alcohol... through his arse. Will it do anything? Will he get drunk? It's an exciting idea and it's crazy, isn't it, that Elio manages to do this to him, to take him where he's never gone before on multiple levels. He's immortal. He's been around since before the literal dawn of time.
Because he doesn't know how to say any of that, he curls one wing around Elio's side and buttocks, sort of wrapping him up from behind, the longer feathers sliding gently over his naked skin, thighs, balls. Lines and circles. Beautiful Elio who gives him everything. ]
[ He won't kill him, Lucifer confirms. He'll kill him if he doesn't, rather, and Elio feels a tight knot of something gathering in his throat, something that exists simultaneously with his arousal, his hard-on in his overwrought body. Something very tender and very vulnerable, but if Lucifer can be vulnerable around him and not die from it, Elio can be vulnerable around him and not die, either. He wants it to be that way between them, he wants them to own each other so thoroughly that when they have to give each other up at some point, it'll be a quarter of their being, not a half, they're more on their own than just that, but definitely a quarter piece. A quarter piece.
The other man curls his wing around him, just holding him gently in that feathery grip and Elio turns his head briefly to press a kiss to the upper edge of Lucifer's wing, feeling the soft brush of feathers. He smells sweet and a little dusty, something else entirely than his crack that's all musk and darkness. But of course, Lucifer embodies both extremes. That's one of the things Elio loves so much about him, loves to bits and pieces.
Loves in bits and pieces.
Then, he nods once and leans down over the other man's backside again, one hand next to the rise of his buttocks, the other holding the champagne bottle, kind of weighing it. It's still mostly full, they've got alcohol enough to make it interesting. Leaning down, Elio kisses Lucifer's tailbone, before pressing the mouth of the bottle against the very same spot, beginning to pour down over his ass, most of it trickling between his buttocks that Elio spreads apart with one hand, watches the liquid shine him up. Pool over the rim of his asshole, before slowly sinking into him. He wonders what it feels like, that feeling of seeping, does the fizz tickle, does it sting, the alcohol? Slowly, he lets the bottle sink lower and lower down his ass crack, until he's more or less pouring directly into him, steadily, unhurried.
A couple of seconds more, though, and he can't wait any longer, discarding the bottle, uncaring about whether they're wetting the bed, and whispers alla nostra salute (to your health, to you, to you, to you, Lucifer) in a hoarse, needy voice as he spreads Lucifer's buttocks apart with both hands now, pressing his face in between. Elio's getting high from the smell, that dry champagne-scent and Lucifer's own. He locks his lips over the rim of his asshole, pushing his tongue inside to lick at that squelch of alcohol and then, just sucks. Drinking him up. ]
[ He feels that kiss against his wing - soft, light, un-presumptuous - almost more keenly than the rest, his nervous system sparkling in delight, spine tingling and feathers fluffing up. If he didn't wish to reveal himself to that extent, well, then he shouldn't have them out during sex, that's plain. Sex with Elio, in particular, seems to reduce him to nothing but innards and blood and bone and something too raw to be named. He swallows again, heavily. Then, Elio presses his lips to his tailbone, followed by the mouth of the bottle and seconds later, Elio's spreading his buttocks apart and there's wetness, curiously dry, sparkling, against his over-sensitive rim.
Groaning loudly, he twitches beneath it, his arsehole fluttering in response to this new stimulation and then, then, Elio's pressing the bottle more fully against his arsehole, the liquid pouring down between his spread thighs, over his balls. He feels it going in, too, his body still a little open. It sizzles within him, an odd but brilliant sort of heat and a bloody amazing contrast to the soft wetness of Elio's mouth. About to say something, anything, and feeling quite incapable of coming up with the necessary verbal prowess, he's interrupted by Elio who gets there first, telling him to you and dedicating what feels like overly much to whatever he is, in comparison. The rebel. The fallen angel. The King of Hell.
Lost, yes. But somehow, Elio's managed to find him anyway.
He knows what comes next, of course, but all the same, when Elio puts his lips to him again, to the rim of his arsehole, and pushes his tongue inside him, he moans out loud, forehead pressed against his forearm. He does it again and again until it's nothing but a hoarse whimper, every stroke of Elio's tongue against his arsehole making his muscles quiver and his balls tighten. And then, almost suddenly, he comes.
Hard, overwhelmingly so, and with a touch of delirium (is that the alcohol, actually affecting him? Is it? Is it?), he spends himself all over the sheets, spurting and spurting. He's gasping uncontrollably, feeling his arsehole contracting wetly around Elio's tongue, and there's white noise in his head, white noise and nothing else.
[ He feels it before it happens, he feels the clenching of Lucifer's rim around his tongue as he fucks him with it, pushing into him, long, wet penetrative forward thrusts, feels his muscles tighten up and hears him, most importantly, oh, his beautiful voice, moaning repeatedly, it's like song. It's like song and it's amazing, Elio's cock jerking between his thighs. When the other man comes, and Elio feels him, feels all of him tighten and release, tighten, release, it's such a completely natural continuation, finish to what they're doing that it would have been a crime if it hadn't played out exactly like this, Lucifer twisting and thrusting and the bed soaked through.
For a couple of seconds longer, just until the other man's peaked and begun the long descend, Elio keeps licking into him, long, broad swipes, drinking up champagne and Lucifer's own flavors and he groans harshly against him, keeping his buttocks spread, letting him stay open. Open isn't dangerous between them, open is the only way they know, together. Elio treasures it. He's never met anyone before who took his openness and mirrored it back, rather than running with it and leaving him with the ruins.
Lucifer's the only one, isn't he? Lucifer's the only one.
After a long moment, Elio finally pulls back, everything feeling wet and oversensitive and throbbing, his face, his crotch, everything in between. Slowly, he sits up, his skin slightly sweaty and his hair in disarray, completely, like he's falling apart at the seams a little bit. Mirroring Lucifer now, rather than the other way around. He looks down at him, his huge wings, the expanse of his back, his champagne-dripping backside. He looks magnificent. Elio reaches out and rests his palm, flat and soothing, over the small of the other man's back, just to let him feel his nearness. Not really going anywhere, it means. Still here, still yours. You showed me your innermost, and I'm still yours.
Even so, he's left to shift a bit, because he's really very hard again and it takes a second for him to decide to give the other man his front, to let him feel him, but then Elio does lean up and carefully, no kneeing anyone in the balls, crawls in over him, in between his wings, just softly lying down, stretched out over the whole long length of Lucifer's backside. He's hard and muscular and amazing. Feathers everywhere he looks to either side. Elio breathes out, long and heavy, kissing what he can reach of Lucifer's neck. ]
[ The orgasm seems to draw out for minutes (hours, days, time works differently in pleasure and in Hell, what do you know) before he blinks again, hard, feeling sweat clinging to his eyelashes. He raises his head very slowly, his muscles complaining immediately, clearly prepared to just call it a day and settle in for the night. He's about to turn his head when Elio releases his buttocks (his arsehole feels overly wet and sensitive, the muscle there working a little still in the wake of his climax), resting his palm soothingly on the small of his back.
This man is never not considerate.
It amazes Lucifer time and again.
He spreads his wings a little to the sides as the other man shifts between his legs, anticipating the movement of his body a split second before he lies down along his back, his weight warm and solid. He kisses Lucifer's neck and Lucifer, in turn, reaches up with a shaky hand and runs his fingers through Elio's curls, his movements just the slightest bit uncoordinated. Drunk. He's actually... a little bit drunk.
Bloody hell. ]
Utterly.
[ He shifts. Against the small of his back, he can feel how hard the other man is, again, just from... well. Lucifer's licked arse before and he finds it rather rewarding, too, so that part doesn't surprise him but all the same, it's... well, it's him, isn't it. Right now, Elio's pleasure seems to be all about him and the thought makes his chest tighten almost dangerously, like his immortal heart's threatening to give out.
So, to counteract that burst of vulnerability, Lucifer spreads his thighs a little and wriggles his arse upwards against Elio's thighs and crotch. Speaks, voice hoarse and his hand in Elio's hair pausing in its stroking: ]
[ Lucifer's wings spread out to either side, these long blankets of feathers, covering the bed, Elio has woken up beneath them more than once and they're more than just feathers, unlike duvets, for example, they're protection, just looking at them makes him feel immediately and instinctually safer. Like Lucifer does. Elio kisses his neck again, feels the way his hand is trembling a bit where it's gliding through Elio's curls and Elio turns his chin up, pushes back against his palm, inviting the point of contact. More. More.
I'm definitely relaxed enough, says the other man and wriggles his ass upwards, pressing against Elio's thighs and crotch and making his cock jerk just at the implication, have me, it means. You can have me. Elio will never cease to be amazed that in this world, there's someone who's willing to give themselves to him, he's lost so many, after all, been left so many times, it had begun seeming a feeble, feverish dream. Something not belonging to reality.
But Lucifer is very real and all solid muscle against him and Elio breathes out hard, muttering I want before pushing himself up on his side a little to stretch for the nightstand, the drawer coming fully equipped with a Bible and the lube that they always bring themselves, because being prepared is part of the game, right? He unscrews the lid and sloppily slicks up his palm, reaching down to stroke his cock a few times, leaving it glistening and wet.
The lube goes back with the Bible, it seems the perfect match, really.
He shifts carefully, it's almost painful, how sensitive he is, his first orgasm still present in his system, lets the head of it slip up between the other man's buttocks, where he's still soaking wet and lax from Elio's mouth. Elio can still taste him. Him and the champagne. It should be interesting. Should be incredible. Licking his lips, Elio rubs his cock head over Lucifer's rim a couple of times, just feeling how wide he is now. When he speaks, his voice is dark, throaty. He presses his forehead in against the side of Lucifer's neck, smells him everywhere, from his own breath to Lucifer's hair tickling his nose. ]
I want you so much, Lucifer.
[ And that said, as if it explains everything and maybe it does, Elio starts pushing in, slowly and carefully, just edges in the head of his cock inch by inch, until that sensation of popping into place, the first few inches of the shaft going easier. Smoother. Oh. Oh, he's so warm, so tight. Elio groans, the sound prolonged as he starts pushing in, movement never losing its care, because Elio doesn't. Not around Lucifer, never. ]
[ He senses more than sees Elio stretching to reach for the nightstand, mostly because he really doesn't want to ruin the mood by accidentally getting an eyeful of the nasty little book taking up space in the drawer. Great place for the lube, though. The best. Eyes falling shut, he rests his chin against his arm and shifts his wings a little to accommodate Elio's movements. He listens to the slick sound of the other man working his cock and shifts, his spent cock giving a dedicated little twitch, such a trooper, really.
He isn't certain he can take another orgasm, though, so he's not going to chase it.
Instead, he waits as Elio settles between his thighs again, leaning in over him and rubbing the head of his cock up against the sensitive rim of his arsehole. He sucks in a ragged breath, pushing back a little against the pressure. His cock feels massive like this, furnace-hot. At the touch of his forehead against Lucifer's neck and the heat of his breath, skimming over his skin - warm, smells like him, like musk and sex and sweat - Lucifer smiles and nudges him back, tilting his head a little to do so. I want you so much says Elio and then, Lucifer which feels like a rarity somehow. Elio taking his name in his mouth and releasing it.
He closes his eyes more firmly, breathes out deeply (maybe a little shakily, too) and relaxes just as Elio starts pushing in, the wide girth of his cock popping past his rim with a sharp spark of pleasure-pain. He feels his body stretching in response, opening up obscenely wide, as the other man pushes in the rest of the way carefully (always, always careful). Lips pressed together, he takes a few, uneven breaths before pushing back, slowly, taking him in, letting Elio take up space within him.
A gift, he thinks, but not of anybody else's making. This is theirs, Elio's and his, just two bodies and two minds, sharing whatever space they can. ]
[ Although Elio has never topped all that much with his male partners, which comes down to choice of people, his own show of character, maybe, there can be a whole array of reasons for that, he knows, he's always loved it. It's like his general, almost desperate need to be let in put in its most physical form, actually having someone letting him slip inside their bodies, nesting there, enjoying a moment of oneness. Where there's no end to him and no beginning to the one he's allowed inside of. Still, topping Lucifer is another experience altogether, it's much more intense, much closer, warmer, not just due to Lucifer's general body temperature, but because their feelings... They align. They match. And Elio refuses to believe it's only some handy trick of God's, no, it's their own continuous decision to open up to each other, it's that feeling, isn't it? Lucifer opening up to him, breathing out and thus, creating room inside for Elio to claim, take, fill up with his cock, the sensation of tight walls and heat and the slight squelch of residual champagne all together making him dizzy. Oh, it's beautiful.
What they have created together is beautiful. It's worth something, all on its own, blessings or gifts aside. They're worth something, by their own merits. Even God wouldn't have it any different, he's sure and Lucifer most certainly wouldn't.
This will become extremely important at some point, he can tell. When, inevitably, they need to part again. At that time, it'll matter that they chose this for themselves and they will choose the natural separation, too. Elio knows, Elio knows, and he pushes the thought away in order to bury into Lucifer to the base, groaning low in his throat and staring at the perfect gray behind his eyelids as his balls draw up slightly, very first surge of pleasure leaving him trembling. He balances himself on either side of Lucifer's head, keeps his body weight off him enough to be able to move smoothly, pulling back out, slow, slow dragging motion, and then in again. Out, in.
It's beautiful. His breathing is stuttering out of him, his hips straining to go faster.
Elio only holds back another moment, just to give Lucifer time to adjust, then he thrusts inside him harder, upping the pace a little, really moaning now, his whole body feeling oversaturated.
[ Elio's groaning as he sinks into him, pulling out slowly before pushing back in and oh, it's always quite something, being fucked, particularly with his arsehole all hypersensitive and spent. Lucifer's gone long stretches without, let's face it, because on Earth, very few men truly care about your pleasure enough to make it worth your while and in Hell, well, there's Maze with a strap-on. Easy math, you'd think.
There's also the fact that taking someone into your body like this, the vulnerability of it, is...
He swallows. Sways in his back a little for a better angle to Elio's thrusts and pushes back to meet him, taking him in deeper and feeling drunker all the while, not just from the champagne rushing unfiltered through his bloodstream but from the implications, too. Of the way Elio seemingly melts into him, moaning as he chases his own pleasure, their breaths mingling somewhere in the air around them as Lucifer pants, hips working, the other man's cock hitting his prostate like this. It's almost too much, the fullness, the sharp jab of pleasure at each instroke, but it makes him hard again so obviously - and to no one's surprise, probably - his body is very much on board.
It makes him hard and it makes his chest feel curiously light.
He reaches for Elio's hands on either side of his head and twists their fingers together, holding onto him and meeting each thrust, feeling the hard length of the other man's cock sliding deep inside, then out, then in, hollowing him out just to take its place again and again and again. It feels like insanity, like the best sort of abandonment and within long, he's moaning too, hoarser now.
He climaxes again, just like that, his arse clenching madly around Elio's cock and his eyes falling shut, muscles trembling all the way down his back. ]
[ It becomes a rhythm, a recognizable one, although he'd be hard-pressed to name it, to count it in time, it's just there, how he sinks into Lucifer's body, filling him up and leaving him room again, going in, going out and he's panting. Lucifer's panting, too. They're both gasping for it, this rhythm, like it's natural to them, to who they are. Elio fucks him steadily, feeling his climax built up slowly, but surely, the edge coming closer and closer and closer until he's dangling from it, one hand gripping some rock, ready to fall. He's fallen before, it's never been this good, this perfect, this beautiful, though.
Lucifer's interlaced their fingers, grabbing his hands hard while he pushes back, taking Elio's thrusts and seeking his own pleasure at the same time, moaning every time Elio pushes over his prostate. They've both come already, it's just a matter of counting down, counting, counting, the rhythm.
When Lucifer comes, first, his asshole clamping down around Elio's cock, it's too much, it's out of time and place and he's falling again, straight down, into him, sinking into his ass all the way as he spends himself, feeling the other man tremble against him, feeling himself tremble, too. They're taking this one together, they're going to land in a pile and their arms are going to be tangled up, their legs, Lucifer's wings around him and - Oh. He moans, desperately, his hips jerking sharply to chase that last second worth of pleasure.
He's so beautiful, like this, Lucifer, Elio staring down at the back of him, the back of his head, shoulders, broad, back, strong, wings, beautiful. Beautiful.
Finally, he sinks down onto his elbow, keeping himself half off the other man's back as a courtesy, breathing raggedly into his temple, making hair sway against his lips. He smells of sex and man and him. He smells like home.
[ One moment, two - and Elio follows him straight over the edge, falls with him, and they fell with him too back then, didn't they, but not like this. Never like this. This time, the landing is soft and warm, it's naked skin and the sensation of fullness as well as Elio's breath against the back of his head, ragged and affected and spent. He blinks both eyes open and glances sideways at Elio's elbow as he sinks down upon it, holding himself up still with his other hand because he's courteous like that, because he'd never presume. Even like this. Even with the both of them, flat on the ground.
With a long, outdrawn exhalation, Lucifer shifts a little. Elio's still buried within him and his arsehole feels thoroughly stretched like this, with his cock holding him open. They're locked together, though, aren't they. For the time being. Frowning, Lucifer reaches for Elio's hand and urges him down on top of his back, inviting him to rest, to lie down and let him take his weight. His wings rise on either side of them, folded along his back (maybe a little like a floating swan, maybe, ugh, he's basically the only angel with wings like fucking water fowl), the tall arches blocking Elio from sight, keeping him hidden behind walls of feathers.
The other man will slip out of him in due time, of course, but for now, Lucifer chooses to simply cherish the moment just as it is, the two of them, exactly as close as they'll ever get. He hasn't thought about his latest text message from L.A. for a good while, though he's aware of it, peripherally, like he's aware of the implications. Five years ago, he would've run from them. He would have tried, at least, knowing full well that he was basically just asking to properly feel the smack-down, that twisted notion of care that he associates with Dad in lieu of anything softer.
He's aware, too, that he's grown since.
Consequently, he keeps his little human hidden away within himself for as long as he can. And stays. ]
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no subject
You tell me says Elio and spreads him open, his muscles tightening up a fraction at the sudden feeling of exposure. He groans and breathes out, a little faster than before, and then there's Elio's warm breath, burning hot it seems, and his tongue, oh, against his tailbone and downdowndown - ]
Aah! Oh --
[ He actually twitches beneath the other man as he feels that wet-hot-wet pressure of his tongue over the rim of his arsehole. It feels almost obscenely wet and he can't believe he's never - oh, fuck, that tip of his tongue, right there...
Voice sounding decidedly gruff and stuck somewhere in a register he doesn't normally frequent, Lucifer manages not one but two full sentences which is almost a prodigal achievement at this point: ]
Darling, you're too much for me. You're going to bloody kill me.
[ Said on a harsh exhalation as he twists his hips downwards, pressing his cock against the mattress and regretting it, instantly. Hold back. Hold back - ah. There. Disaster averted. He's breathing faster now, audibly so, and he can feel his long flight feathers fanning out across his buttocks and thighs as if to say, yes, please, the road is clear, go ahead and for once, he really can't disagree. ]
no subject
Surely, that must be the gift. God isn't crueler than that, except Lucifer would say Elio hasn't seen the worst of him yet, wouldn't he? He'd say pawns and played.
Elio says blessing. ]
I want to drink you up.
[ His voice is breathy and hoarse when he leans down once more and rolls his tongue up a bit, just slowly dragging the very tip along the raised edges of the rim, feeling the puckered skin, feeling the muscles react to him as he licks over it. The taste is dark and full and he's half-hard at this point, it's a miracle, scale of the Red Sea. Lucifer's so hot, Elio's fingers are digging into his buttocks, keeping him spread and open and down, because he's squirming beneath his mouth and Elio needs him to still just a little bit to feel out all the right spots. Languidly, he starts lapping his tongue wetly over his entrance, just sloppily eating him up, tongue tip dipping into his opening on every other lick. Lucifer's feathers are all but walling him in.
Maybe that's where that otherworldly air comes from. Maybe it really does belong to somewhere else, this moment.
Oh, but how would it feel, just boring his tongue into him, penetrating him that way, just fucking him with the long, very wriggly slope of it? How would he sound, taste, feel? Elio is panting a bit as he cocks his head for another angle, dipping his tongue in just a bit deeper on the next swipe.
This is the feel of a gift, evidently. His, his, his. Giving and receiving, equally. ]
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So, in other words, he keeps himself in check.
All that tension, however, needs to go somewhere and in Lucifer's case, if it can't go to his cock, it goes to his wings. They rise up on both sides of him, not quite at an arch but certainly enough for the tips to criss-cross over the back of Elio's thighs. Elio, meanwhile, digs his tongue in at an angle that says deeper and oh, he really is going to kill him, is he actually going to -- ]
I - oh, you can - you should --
[ Apparently, the time for full sentences and average coherency has passed. Lucifer blinks, his curls sticking to his brow as he pushes his head against his forearm. He can't find the words for what he wants Elio to do, except - ]
Come inside.
[ It comes out as a hoarse whisper, his lips stuck against his own skin. And Elio holds him open, still, keeps him bared and fluttering and it could've been dangerous if they weren't them, if they weren't exactly them.
But they are.
They are. ]
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Elio can have even this.
Hungrily, he bores into him with his tongue, just sticks it in as far as it'll go, feeling the tight rim of his asshole loosening gradually around the girth of it. Out the corner of his eye, the lights are catching in the champagne, throwing long rays of gold across the bed, challenged only by Lucifer's wings, arched above him and behind him and all around him and Elio draws back, pulls his tongue out with a wet noise, looking up at the bottle of Dom Perignon and remembering his own, I want to drink you up. Lucifer can't get drunk... presumably, unlike humans... The idea won't leave him, so Elio looks up at Lucifer, through the narrow pass between his wings and decides to share. They're sharing everything else right now anyway. ]
I really do want to drink you up, you know.
[ His lips feel puffy, like Lucifer's asshole. His tongue still burning. ]
I want to drink champagne out of you, get drunk off of you. [ Releasing the other man's one buttock, Elio stretches to grab the bottle off the nightstand. ] Please tell me if I would kill you.
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It's just... so intimate.
Shoulders heaving somewhat, he can't help but push back a little against Elio's mouth as the other man fucks him, just pressing his tongue inside as far as it'll go. Consequently, the resultant friction goes straight to his balls and he chokes down a moan, feeling strangely overwrought, like Elio's inside him on so many levels that he can't even understand what's happening. He feels him. All the way to his core, he feels him. He keeps wanting to reach backwards, to touch him -
The other man draws away. Suddenly, he's almost painfully empty, his arsehole clenching a bit in the wake of Elio's tongue. He frowns, forcing himself to concentrate. What, he wants to - he wants -
Oh.
His cock twitches against the bed. He blinks a couple of times, then glances over his shoulder at Elio, twisting a little to make eye contact. Is he serious? He is. He just grabbed the bottle.
Swallowing, Lucifer licks his lips. Turns slowly back onto his stomach, draws a deep breath and replies: ]
You'll kill me if you don't, I think.
[ He doesn't say please though there's a tint to his voice that projects it anyhow. With his vulnerability around Elio, he's actually quite uncertain as to what'll happen in terms of ingesting alcohol... through his arse. Will it do anything? Will he get drunk? It's an exciting idea and it's crazy, isn't it, that Elio manages to do this to him, to take him where he's never gone before on multiple levels. He's immortal. He's been around since before the literal dawn of time.
Because he doesn't know how to say any of that, he curls one wing around Elio's side and buttocks, sort of wrapping him up from behind, the longer feathers sliding gently over his naked skin, thighs, balls. Lines and circles. Beautiful Elio who gives him everything. ]
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The other man curls his wing around him, just holding him gently in that feathery grip and Elio turns his head briefly to press a kiss to the upper edge of Lucifer's wing, feeling the soft brush of feathers. He smells sweet and a little dusty, something else entirely than his crack that's all musk and darkness. But of course, Lucifer embodies both extremes. That's one of the things Elio loves so much about him, loves to bits and pieces.
Loves in bits and pieces.
Then, he nods once and leans down over the other man's backside again, one hand next to the rise of his buttocks, the other holding the champagne bottle, kind of weighing it. It's still mostly full, they've got alcohol enough to make it interesting. Leaning down, Elio kisses Lucifer's tailbone, before pressing the mouth of the bottle against the very same spot, beginning to pour down over his ass, most of it trickling between his buttocks that Elio spreads apart with one hand, watches the liquid shine him up. Pool over the rim of his asshole, before slowly sinking into him. He wonders what it feels like, that feeling of seeping, does the fizz tickle, does it sting, the alcohol? Slowly, he lets the bottle sink lower and lower down his ass crack, until he's more or less pouring directly into him, steadily, unhurried.
A couple of seconds more, though, and he can't wait any longer, discarding the bottle, uncaring about whether they're wetting the bed, and whispers alla nostra salute (to your health, to you, to you, to you, Lucifer) in a hoarse, needy voice as he spreads Lucifer's buttocks apart with both hands now, pressing his face in between. Elio's getting high from the smell, that dry champagne-scent and Lucifer's own. He locks his lips over the rim of his asshole, pushing his tongue inside to lick at that squelch of alcohol and then, just sucks. Drinking him up. ]
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Groaning loudly, he twitches beneath it, his arsehole fluttering in response to this new stimulation and then, then, Elio's pressing the bottle more fully against his arsehole, the liquid pouring down between his spread thighs, over his balls. He feels it going in, too, his body still a little open. It sizzles within him, an odd but brilliant sort of heat and a bloody amazing contrast to the soft wetness of Elio's mouth. About to say something, anything, and feeling quite incapable of coming up with the necessary verbal prowess, he's interrupted by Elio who gets there first, telling him to you and dedicating what feels like overly much to whatever he is, in comparison. The rebel. The fallen angel. The King of Hell.
Lost, yes. But somehow, Elio's managed to find him anyway.
He knows what comes next, of course, but all the same, when Elio puts his lips to him again, to the rim of his arsehole, and pushes his tongue inside him, he moans out loud, forehead pressed against his forearm. He does it again and again until it's nothing but a hoarse whimper, every stroke of Elio's tongue against his arsehole making his muscles quiver and his balls tighten. And then, almost suddenly, he comes.
Hard, overwhelmingly so, and with a touch of delirium (is that the alcohol, actually affecting him? Is it? Is it?), he spends himself all over the sheets, spurting and spurting. He's gasping uncontrollably, feeling his arsehole contracting wetly around Elio's tongue, and there's white noise in his head, white noise and nothing else.
Something hazy, transparent and sacrosanct. ]
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For a couple of seconds longer, just until the other man's peaked and begun the long descend, Elio keeps licking into him, long, broad swipes, drinking up champagne and Lucifer's own flavors and he groans harshly against him, keeping his buttocks spread, letting him stay open. Open isn't dangerous between them, open is the only way they know, together. Elio treasures it. He's never met anyone before who took his openness and mirrored it back, rather than running with it and leaving him with the ruins.
Lucifer's the only one, isn't he? Lucifer's the only one.
After a long moment, Elio finally pulls back, everything feeling wet and oversensitive and throbbing, his face, his crotch, everything in between. Slowly, he sits up, his skin slightly sweaty and his hair in disarray, completely, like he's falling apart at the seams a little bit. Mirroring Lucifer now, rather than the other way around. He looks down at him, his huge wings, the expanse of his back, his champagne-dripping backside. He looks magnificent. Elio reaches out and rests his palm, flat and soothing, over the small of the other man's back, just to let him feel his nearness. Not really going anywhere, it means. Still here, still yours. You showed me your innermost, and I'm still yours.
Even so, he's left to shift a bit, because he's really very hard again and it takes a second for him to decide to give the other man his front, to let him feel him, but then Elio does lean up and carefully, no kneeing anyone in the balls, crawls in over him, in between his wings, just softly lying down, stretched out over the whole long length of Lucifer's backside. He's hard and muscular and amazing. Feathers everywhere he looks to either side. Elio breathes out, long and heavy, kissing what he can reach of Lucifer's neck. ]
Are you dead?
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This man is never not considerate.
It amazes Lucifer time and again.
He spreads his wings a little to the sides as the other man shifts between his legs, anticipating the movement of his body a split second before he lies down along his back, his weight warm and solid. He kisses Lucifer's neck and Lucifer, in turn, reaches up with a shaky hand and runs his fingers through Elio's curls, his movements just the slightest bit uncoordinated. Drunk. He's actually... a little bit drunk.
Bloody hell. ]
Utterly.
[ He shifts. Against the small of his back, he can feel how hard the other man is, again, just from... well. Lucifer's licked arse before and he finds it rather rewarding, too, so that part doesn't surprise him but all the same, it's... well, it's him, isn't it. Right now, Elio's pleasure seems to be all about him and the thought makes his chest tighten almost dangerously, like his immortal heart's threatening to give out.
So, to counteract that burst of vulnerability, Lucifer spreads his thighs a little and wriggles his arse upwards against Elio's thighs and crotch. Speaks, voice hoarse and his hand in Elio's hair pausing in its stroking: ]
I'm definitely relaxed enough, if you want.
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I'm definitely relaxed enough, says the other man and wriggles his ass upwards, pressing against Elio's thighs and crotch and making his cock jerk just at the implication, have me, it means. You can have me. Elio will never cease to be amazed that in this world, there's someone who's willing to give themselves to him, he's lost so many, after all, been left so many times, it had begun seeming a feeble, feverish dream. Something not belonging to reality.
But Lucifer is very real and all solid muscle against him and Elio breathes out hard, muttering I want before pushing himself up on his side a little to stretch for the nightstand, the drawer coming fully equipped with a Bible and the lube that they always bring themselves, because being prepared is part of the game, right? He unscrews the lid and sloppily slicks up his palm, reaching down to stroke his cock a few times, leaving it glistening and wet.
The lube goes back with the Bible, it seems the perfect match, really.
He shifts carefully, it's almost painful, how sensitive he is, his first orgasm still present in his system, lets the head of it slip up between the other man's buttocks, where he's still soaking wet and lax from Elio's mouth. Elio can still taste him. Him and the champagne. It should be interesting. Should be incredible. Licking his lips, Elio rubs his cock head over Lucifer's rim a couple of times, just feeling how wide he is now. When he speaks, his voice is dark, throaty. He presses his forehead in against the side of Lucifer's neck, smells him everywhere, from his own breath to Lucifer's hair tickling his nose. ]
I want you so much, Lucifer.
[ And that said, as if it explains everything and maybe it does, Elio starts pushing in, slowly and carefully, just edges in the head of his cock inch by inch, until that sensation of popping into place, the first few inches of the shaft going easier. Smoother. Oh. Oh, he's so warm, so tight. Elio groans, the sound prolonged as he starts pushing in, movement never losing its care, because Elio doesn't. Not around Lucifer, never. ]
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He isn't certain he can take another orgasm, though, so he's not going to chase it.
Instead, he waits as Elio settles between his thighs again, leaning in over him and rubbing the head of his cock up against the sensitive rim of his arsehole. He sucks in a ragged breath, pushing back a little against the pressure. His cock feels massive like this, furnace-hot. At the touch of his forehead against Lucifer's neck and the heat of his breath, skimming over his skin - warm, smells like him, like musk and sex and sweat - Lucifer smiles and nudges him back, tilting his head a little to do so. I want you so much says Elio and then, Lucifer which feels like a rarity somehow. Elio taking his name in his mouth and releasing it.
He closes his eyes more firmly, breathes out deeply (maybe a little shakily, too) and relaxes just as Elio starts pushing in, the wide girth of his cock popping past his rim with a sharp spark of pleasure-pain. He feels his body stretching in response, opening up obscenely wide, as the other man pushes in the rest of the way carefully (always, always careful). Lips pressed together, he takes a few, uneven breaths before pushing back, slowly, taking him in, letting Elio take up space within him.
A gift, he thinks, but not of anybody else's making. This is theirs, Elio's and his, just two bodies and two minds, sharing whatever space they can. ]
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What they have created together is beautiful. It's worth something, all on its own, blessings or gifts aside. They're worth something, by their own merits. Even God wouldn't have it any different, he's sure and Lucifer most certainly wouldn't.
This will become extremely important at some point, he can tell. When, inevitably, they need to part again. At that time, it'll matter that they chose this for themselves and they will choose the natural separation, too. Elio knows, Elio knows, and he pushes the thought away in order to bury into Lucifer to the base, groaning low in his throat and staring at the perfect gray behind his eyelids as his balls draw up slightly, very first surge of pleasure leaving him trembling. He balances himself on either side of Lucifer's head, keeps his body weight off him enough to be able to move smoothly, pulling back out, slow, slow dragging motion, and then in again. Out, in.
It's beautiful. His breathing is stuttering out of him, his hips straining to go faster.
Elio only holds back another moment, just to give Lucifer time to adjust, then he thrusts inside him harder, upping the pace a little, really moaning now, his whole body feeling oversaturated.
His heart even more so. ]
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There's also the fact that taking someone into your body like this, the vulnerability of it, is...
He swallows. Sways in his back a little for a better angle to Elio's thrusts and pushes back to meet him, taking him in deeper and feeling drunker all the while, not just from the champagne rushing unfiltered through his bloodstream but from the implications, too. Of the way Elio seemingly melts into him, moaning as he chases his own pleasure, their breaths mingling somewhere in the air around them as Lucifer pants, hips working, the other man's cock hitting his prostate like this. It's almost too much, the fullness, the sharp jab of pleasure at each instroke, but it makes him hard again so obviously - and to no one's surprise, probably - his body is very much on board.
It makes him hard and it makes his chest feel curiously light.
He reaches for Elio's hands on either side of his head and twists their fingers together, holding onto him and meeting each thrust, feeling the hard length of the other man's cock sliding deep inside, then out, then in, hollowing him out just to take its place again and again and again. It feels like insanity, like the best sort of abandonment and within long, he's moaning too, hoarser now.
He climaxes again, just like that, his arse clenching madly around Elio's cock and his eyes falling shut, muscles trembling all the way down his back. ]
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Lucifer's interlaced their fingers, grabbing his hands hard while he pushes back, taking Elio's thrusts and seeking his own pleasure at the same time, moaning every time Elio pushes over his prostate. They've both come already, it's just a matter of counting down, counting, counting, the rhythm.
When Lucifer comes, first, his asshole clamping down around Elio's cock, it's too much, it's out of time and place and he's falling again, straight down, into him, sinking into his ass all the way as he spends himself, feeling the other man tremble against him, feeling himself tremble, too. They're taking this one together, they're going to land in a pile and their arms are going to be tangled up, their legs, Lucifer's wings around him and - Oh. He moans, desperately, his hips jerking sharply to chase that last second worth of pleasure.
He's so beautiful, like this, Lucifer, Elio staring down at the back of him, the back of his head, shoulders, broad, back, strong, wings, beautiful. Beautiful.
Finally, he sinks down onto his elbow, keeping himself half off the other man's back as a courtesy, breathing raggedly into his temple, making hair sway against his lips. He smells of sex and man and him. He smells like home.
They've landed, haven't they? They're here. ]
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With a long, outdrawn exhalation, Lucifer shifts a little. Elio's still buried within him and his arsehole feels thoroughly stretched like this, with his cock holding him open. They're locked together, though, aren't they. For the time being. Frowning, Lucifer reaches for Elio's hand and urges him down on top of his back, inviting him to rest, to lie down and let him take his weight. His wings rise on either side of them, folded along his back (maybe a little like a floating swan, maybe, ugh, he's basically the only angel with wings like fucking water fowl), the tall arches blocking Elio from sight, keeping him hidden behind walls of feathers.
The other man will slip out of him in due time, of course, but for now, Lucifer chooses to simply cherish the moment just as it is, the two of them, exactly as close as they'll ever get. He hasn't thought about his latest text message from L.A. for a good while, though he's aware of it, peripherally, like he's aware of the implications. Five years ago, he would've run from them. He would have tried, at least, knowing full well that he was basically just asking to properly feel the smack-down, that twisted notion of care that he associates with Dad in lieu of anything softer.
He's aware, too, that he's grown since.
Consequently, he keeps his little human hidden away within himself for as long as he can. And stays. ]