[ 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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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. ]