[ 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
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]