[ It's later, midnight judging by the depth of the darkness coloring the skies outside his bedroom's windows. There are stars blinking down at him, a full moon, beautiful illustrations of time passing in a way that doesn't work outside Elio's own realm, of course. Once he steps out of his palace, the skies are ashen and the darkness much deeper than midnight, there's no difference between morning and evening, no sense of hours, minutes, seconds. Only eternity, stretching on and on. He likes that, too, but his own realm recognizes the clock, if nothing else then because it's beautiful to look at and easier for his system to adjust to. On Earth, time is a mentality as well. One he has found it difficult to rid himself of - so Hell has made sure he didn't have to.
Lucifer has.
Elio still has the Moonlight Sonata prickling in his fingers. In the end, he'd played the whole thing for his father, because as he'd let the music unfold inside the loop, he'd felt the top layer crack open, egg-like. Suddenly, halfway through the third movement, the door that the Lord of Hell himself has struggled with, fought and lost against and torn right off, opened and Elio had finished the sonata, only to leave it like that.
The thing is, he thinks, that he can't go deeper without Lucifer. He needs to be guided, to understand what he's looking at to isolate the elements that need tweaking. Elio's here to tweak, not to break down, after all, it's becoming clearer and clearer. And it's what Lucifer still struggles to accept, that everything's already here, right, everything they need in order to change Hell. Elio only shapes what's already present. The rest is Lucifer's own doing. The rest is all him.
Hanging his shirt away in the huge walk-in closet on the right, Elio starts in on the button of his pants, zipper, wriggles out of them easily, back on the door. No one comes here anyway that isn't allowed, Terry makes sure of that. Sometimes with Maze's help, because she doesn't trust him with the task.
Not trusting people to be fit for their tasks seems a common problem down here, doesn't it? Elio takes a deep breath, releases it, lets his pants fall to the floor. ]
[ He's had a bit of a fight with Grigori, a demon not of the Lilim but strong enough to grow arrogant. Perhaps he'd also become used to a Hell without its ruler - to be fair, Lucifer hasn't visited the deeper parts of the realm since he left for L.A., back when. It's been ages. Millenia.
So, when Grigori heard the tones of the Moonlight Sonata trailing down even to the deepest pits of Hell where the white rooms are, where souls are torn to pieces and spat out, the demon instantly began to sow dissent amongst its ranks. Naturally, all that gibberish made its way to Mazikeen who took it back to Lucifer once she realised that there were talks of somebody going rogue, of queen-napping.
Grigori, happily, put up a semi-decent fight and when Lucifer returns to his throne, he's got a nice, foot-long gash running up his left side, courtesy of the demon's stolen, Hell-forged blade. Good for him he didn't steal it from Maze, supposedly. With Lucifer, he mostly just lost the power of speech, sight and movement.
In Hell, it can always be worse.
Slumping a bit on his throne, Lucifer closes his eyes for a moment, the tones of Beethoven's masterpiece still echoing in his mind. Beautiful. Then, abruptly, his spine starts tingling and he looks up to see a door etched onto the cliff side further down, all alone, all pretty and white and French-looking. Elio's pet demon is clinging to the handle, looking thoroughly disgruntled. Lucifer tilts his head sideways, stares at the door for a moment, feeling something inside soften at the sight. It takes him another few seconds to properly identify the feeling, the tension in his shoulders and back dissipating a fraction. Then, he spreads his ashen wings and flies, ignoring the demon (lucky demon) and slipping in.
Right into Elio's bedroom, it seems.
He pauses. Stares at the glory in front of him.
Elio, naked, slim lines and soft-looking skin, the moonlight silvery as it flows in through the windows. ]
Oh.
[ He just stands there, his wings curved down his shoulders and his mouth a tiny bit agape. ]
[ After ten years, Elio's grown accustomed to how his castle works, how it will manifest itself when and to whom he wishes at any given time. Usually, it means Lucifer doesn't have to fly far to meet him, but this time Elio is left with a feeling that it won't matter how near or far the door shows itself, it's inside Lucifer's head, isn't it, the distance. It's his mindscape he has to cross, miles and continents and worlds' worth of it. Realms. Eons of history, too.
Elio isn't angry with him for leaving in the middle of his playing. The other man's fingertips against his nape said it all, it's not you, it's me, like Elio didn't know that already, silly Devil. But to have Lucifer confirm it and carry that responsibility on his own shoulders was nice, even if it meant he couldn't be with him, that he needed to go somewhere else to work on his issues. Because, in reality, what happened was this: Elio wanted to give him an expression of his love and Lucifer didn't want to - or rather, didn't know how to accept it.
That's the problem. So Elio isn't angry, he's worried. He's worried that they might have forever to solve it, yes, but forever might not be long enough.
Turning around in time with the door opening, Elio finds Lucifer entering with his wings out (he did fly, then, he did come, he did cross the distance) and his mouth gaping a bit at the sight of his queen, naked, like he hasn't seen that a million times already. Repetition doesn't seem to matter between them, every time is like the first time, same sense of wonder. Elio feels it, too. He knows.
Lucifer's wings are decked in ash and Elio's fingers are immediately itching to touch, to clean and card through and preen. It's the first thing that registers, the second being the huge gash down Lucifer's side, right through his shirt (sacrilege) and tearing skin open underneath, trickles of blood having colored the material of his ashen-white shirt pinkish red. Big splotches. Elio frowns, purses his lips as he lets his eyes run from the other man's torso to his face, his honest, open eyes. Oh. Elio loves that look.
Rather than saying, you're hurt or your wings are dirty, observations that Lucifer has no doubt already made, Elio smiles, cocking his head. ]
Every time you come here, Lucifer, I'm really proud of you.
[ A small shrug to go with the statement, to take the grandiosity out of the words. Elio spreads his arms out to both sides, as if to say, don't be mad at either of us for this, please. He knows Lucifer's struggling. He knows how allowing himself this, allowing himself Elio, too, is a uphill battle.
But he still fights. Meaning that he deserves to be recognized, not rushed. ]
[ He swallows heavily at Elio's words. Standing like that with his arms held wide, Lucifer would rather like to just give his pride a little toss to the side and snuggle the hell up. But he's also very well aware of the blood on his shirt, the gash in his bloody Gucci (well, down here, it's all just conjured up but it's the principle, obviously) and the ash in his wings. All that dirt, clinging to him - it reminds him of feeling stone-cold, of punishing Grigori without mercy, without anything but hardness and anger. It's why he belongs down here, of course, because he's the only angel capable of doing this job properly, of taking them apart when they need it, of making them bleed and howl and writhe.
Angel.
It's a nice thought, anyway.
I'm proud of you. ]
Well.
[ He gives Elio a shaky smile. Shrugs a little, his wings shrugging along with his shoulders, and nods towards the bathroom. ]
All the same, I really should learn to wash up before I come here, shouldn't I? I'm sorry about the mess. Again.
[ Always eager to provide a bit of unwanted emphasis, his wings proceed to shed, a handful of white-now-grey-and-bloodstained feathers dropping to the floor behind him. He glares at them balefully before looking back at Elio. He accidentally zeroes in on his crotch, first, which should make him feel uncouth but instead, there's just... hunger. Need. He tears his gaze away, upwards, catching Elio's warm gaze and jerking his head towards the bathroom, a stiff sort of nod. ]
Would you mind if I... ?
[ He's not really expecting a no, here, considering the state of his everything so he starts taking off his clothes - suit jacket, shirt (ow, gash, bloody Grigori), shoes. And onwards. Aside from the scratch, he's quite unscathed. Sweaty, dusty, but unharmed, over all.
The gash in his side has even healed a little, meaning it doesn't bleed anymore. It's not quite to the point of scabbing over - give it another hour or two. ]
[ Usually, Lucifer takes compliments much better than Elio does. Elio ducks and twirls and sidesteps praise, whereas Lucifer is somewhat of a sponge for it, right? He usually wants it so much it hurts a little, because what does it mean when someone's so keen on being told they're enough? That they're good, even? This time, though, Lucifer shrugs it off, verbally, and tells Elio he's sorry he looks such a mess again, would he mind...? And Elio shakes his head (you're not a mess, love, it means) and lets his arms drop to his sides while he nods towards the bathroom, too. ]
Go ahead.
[ Which Lucifer has, mind, he's getting fast undressed, shirt, suit jacket, trousers, shoes, baring expanses of skin, firm muscle, flatness of chest and curve of thighs, buttocks. Elio watches him - in return, because Lucifer went from eyeing his cock, still flaccid, to meeting his eyes, warm, patient in a single jerk of his head. Another jerk, and he was looking towards the bathroom longingly. All Elio thinks is, treat him kindly, expecting his shower stall to let Lucifer enjoy it, please. ]
Grab a shower and come join me in bed.
[ With that, he turns towards the bed, huge, round, middle of the room placement, like he wants that particular spot on display from every corner, as if he wants a full view of the room at large in turn, when he's lying there. He crawls on all fours into the very middle, letting himself sink down on one side, dark red silk sheets crinkling against his skin. Like that, he's facing the other man, resting his head in one palm, up on his elbow.
He observes Lucifer as he walks towards the bathroom, the way he moves, the way it requires extra strength in his chest and shoulder regions, lots of muscle power, to carry the extra weight of feathers and hollow bones on his back. There's a pleasant balance to his build, like the size of his wings mirror his whole height. Tall Lucifer. Tall, beautiful Lucifer who never makes you feel truly small. Elio smiles as the other man disappears through the door to the bathroom, letting himself fall down onto his back with a thump.
[ A part of him - and not just his penis, thanks - almost can't stand walking away from Elio and his offer of comfort because that's what it is, obviously, his words, his open-armed stance. Comfort. But he's dirty and bloody and evil-looking and he doesn't want to touch him like this, not when he's already gone and pulled him to Hell. His Elio, who's angelic like no human he's ever met. Jaw clenching, he walks to the shower, back straight and stance rigid. The water, however, is warm and soft as it hits his shoulders and back. He washes his wings off first, flapping them dry immediately after and folding them away. Then, he washes off the rest of the grime, the water stinging his wound mildly for a few heartbeats at most. Elio's shower treats him kindly, of course. You wouldn't expect anything less from this place, from being within the manifestation of the other man's desires and needs.
He doubts that even a rodent like Michel would be an exception.
It's not that Elio is indiscriminate about his desires or his heart. He very, very obviously isn't - considering the fall he's taken to get here, not just literally but figuratively, too. No, it's not that. It's just that Elio isn't altogether petty and punishment always has at least a tiny tinge of that, of wanting to hurt because you can, because you think it's deserved and just. The thought ought to leave a sour taste in his mouth but of course, it doesn't because hurray, Dad, that's how he was fucking well made.
He washes off. Dries off, too, leaving Elio's soft towel on the floor to disappear as things go in his palace before padding out into the bedroom. On the way, he shrugs out his wings again because the other man likes them, meaning at least they're good for something other than taking him from Cliffside A to Cliffside Z and back. He joins Elio on his bed, getting on his knees against the slick, red silk and dropping down on his side next to him, his wings flopping out behind him, the tips trailing along the floor.
Shuffling in, he buries his nose against the back of Elio's neck and takes a deep breath, his shoulders falling immediately at the familiar scent, the warmth of it. He sighs. Smiles, happily, the slight sting in his side the only current reminder of what came before.
[ While Lucifer showers, Elio listens for him. The water running. The heavy flapping of his wings as he dries them off. Sounds he would never have thought would grow so achingly familiar, but now they're closer to his heart than the blood it pumps around his body. More home than his heart, that's one way to say I love you, isn't it? Elio smiles and rolls back onto his side, watching as the light in the room dims around him, growing fainter and golden, the stars outside standing out a bit more in the growing dusk of the bedroom now. Lucifer's Heaven... He frowns and notices that the water's stopped running, but even as the pad-pad-pad of Lucifer's bare feet, big feet, against the floorboards sound in the silence, he doesn't twist to look behind him. He'll let himself be surprised. Lucifer's good at that. Perfect, actually.
As the other man nuzzles in against his neck, audibly breathing him in, Elio relaxes back against the front of his heavy body, feeling his own lungs kind of collapse in on themselves in pure surrender. Oh. Oh, that's nice. He murmurs something inaudible and essentially unimportant (I feel you, here) before reaching up with one arm, curling it behind him and feeling for Lucifer's head, fingertips connecting with his temple carefully, searchingly, feeling out the line of his face to his jawline and back up into his hair, stubble and smooth skin and thick waves of black marking the route. Finally, Elio turns his head enough to look back at the other man behind him, enjoying the framework of white feathers behind him because he's kept his wings out, the way he knows Elio really appreciates. He tightens his grip in his hair a little, not harshly as such, but a little bit rough, a little bit uncoordinated, it's the angle, sorry. ]
Better? [ He's asking about the injury and the ash, of course, but he's also asking about Lucifer's head, the uphill battle. Whether he's ready to put down his weapons for the night now. He's safe with him, he could. Elio strokes his fingertips over the other man's scalp softly, evenly, meditatively. Caring. ] Or do I have to make more of an effort? I can, you know.
[ Turning his head more, his lips connect with the jut of Lucifers chin and he kisses it lightly, feeling the slight coarseness of his stubble, along with that fresh scent of newly washed and the heavier, underlying note of man. He hums and stretches his neck a bit, kissing his way up along the other man's jawline. More stubble. More fresh-but-musky scents tickling his nose. He breathes in deeply.
There's a reason Hell embraces him, he thinks. It's because Lucifer did, first. ]
[ He feels Elio relaxing against him and closes his eyes at the sensation of deft fingertips slipping over the contours of his face, into his hair. When the other man turns his head to kiss his jaw, he leans into the touch, angling his head a little to give him better access. ]
Mmm. I doubt that.
[ Slipping an arm around Elio's waist, Lucifer pulls him up against his front to get them properly chest-to-back, his still-flaccid cock resting snugly in the crevice between his buttocks. He's so incredibly comfortable like this, surrounded by softness and silk and the warmth of Elio's naked body. Tough to see, really, how he'd even begin to improve upon any of it. Shifting a little, he pulls his corresponding wing forward, covering Elio from shoulder to hip in shining, white feathers. They're dry, of course, already. Elio takes care of them for him and with the preen oil, they're as good as water proof.
Like that, he hums a little against the back of Elio's neck, mouthing at his hairline lazily, tasting his curls, his skin. Nibble, nibble. He does nothing whatsoever to discourage Elio from doing his own explorations - it's just that he's suddenly quite content and it's been... well. Any time at all spent away from Elio down here feels like years. Add to that the sound of his music following Lucifer across Hell - even when he'd been beating Grigori's face against the cliffside, he'd had those bloody triplets running in the background, like drops of water, hitting a surface somewhere far off in the distance - and honestly, he feels as if he's been missing him for longer than he cares to consider.
He should've stayed to listen. He knows that now, the same way he knows that the barrier still holds, that Elio's meant to be here, that Hell is changing and more importantly, that it's meant to do so. ]
[ He doubts that, Lucifer says and Elio smiles, lazily, letting himself be pulled in, embraced from behind by strong arms and a huge wing, spreading out over his body, shoulders to hip. His eyes fall closed, he's that content. It's that lovely. He loves these moments, devoid of arousal and sexual drive, but instead filled with comfort, care and love, like they're pouring all their softest innards out between them now. Here's my spleen and my lungs and my liver, take them, it means. I trust you with my heart. Elio's always craved that, has allowed it to take him to the heights and the depths of human relations, pretty much, but he doesn't regret a thing, because see where it's landed him. No, he doesn't regret Hell either. Hell just needs someone who believes in it. Like Lucifer needs someone who believes in him.
Watch him come around when you do. Watch him grow and prosper. Elio blinks his eyes open and lets his arm drop, aligning it along Lucifer's, tight and still unmistakably careful around Elio's waist, holding him so close, so close. His cock's resting snugly between Elio's buttocks. They couldn't be closer and still be outside each other's bodies.
Elio breathes out long and hard, twisting a little in the other man's grip to be able to turn his head without colliding with a certain Devil's nose and chin. Lucifer nibbling the skin at his hairline, nose just burying in completely. Elio's fingers flex over the skin on the man's forearm, fingertips digging in slightly, for the feel of him. He's staring into a wall of white and feathery textures.
Slowly, he reaches out and trails his fingertips softly through a patch of white feathers on the underside of Lucifer's wing, making sure to go in the right direction, not disturb the arrangement of rows too much. He's fixed them up nicely, they look beautiful right now and much less dreary than they would otherwise have, once the ash is washed out. It's close, too, this. Elio being allowed to touch and treasure, although Lucifer's relationship with his wings is so complex. ]
I could give your feathers some much needed attention.
[ It wouldn't be for any other reason than it's such a comfort and they're really so wonderfully comfortable already, Lucifer and him, that's the only way Elio can make more of an effort, right? If not for Lucifer's sake (though, always for Lucifer's sake), then for his own. His fingers are prickling. ]
[ The other man twists a little in his grip and Lucifer adjusts to his movements, letting him go where he likes, as he likes. He shudders lightly at the feel of Elio's fingers when he runs them over his arm and then, oh, his feathers. He opens his eyes. Stares at the back of Elio's head, his curls big and soft and squishy-looking. The wing that's draped over Elio's side shivers, the feathers parting slightly in response. A moment of silence because even after so many years, Lucifer still has to swallow before he can properly reply, still has to push himself across that particular threshold.
Regardless, it does come a lot easier, now. ]
What a lovely idea.
[ He smiles and shifts onto his shoulder, first, then lifting his wing away from Elio and using it for balance as he carries his weight on his side and elbow. He runs one hand down Elio's side, over ribs and stomach, splaying out his fingers over his abdomen. ]
The usual way, I presume?
[ Shifting away, he crawls onto his knees next to Elio, the red silk crinkling beneath him as he moves. They've done this many, many times at this point, enough that he doesn't waste his time, telling Elio that he doesn't have to, that it'll be sticky and gross, that it won't be worth anything. They've been together for too long - though he's having a hard time honouring that, what with disappearing on Elio for days on end and leaving his beautiful musical tribute hanging like a shadow between them. All the same, it has. Been too long.
He won't attempt to tell Elio what to do with his affections or where to direct them.
Instead, he looks at the other man expectantly, eyebrows raised a little, the smile on his face small but persistent. He keeps his wings from trailing all over Elio's body (don't want his feathers going up his nose or whatnot), keeping them raised at an arch above the bed, jutting from his shoulderblades. They're big enough to reach the floor. ]
[ Like everything else between them, their respective relationships to wing maintenance have undergone a certain development over the years. They've come a long way, Elio thinks, feeling unashamedly proud on both their behalves, considering how he can ask now, ask to touch them, ask to care for them, for Lucifer, too, without Lucifer making too much of a fuss about it. Without him trying to make Elio see that they and in extension him aren't worthy of the attention. They agree on that, now, at least. Somewhat. Despite the many struggles they're fighting otherwise, in other contexts, on other levels, Elio can say, let me love your wings and Lucifer replies, what way tonight, darling, basically.
Besides everything else that it is, sure, a decade in Hell is a good opportunity for personal growth. Elio still remembers Lucifer's horror as he had insisted on removing bullets from his wings that day, with a tweezer, right, acting like they were something horrible, his additional limbs, when the only horrible thing was what had happened to them.
As the other man rolls over, touching Elio one last, lingering time before crawling onto his knees and lifting his wings up to avoid them trailing all wildly over Elio's body, though Elio certainly wouldn't complain, Elio rolls onto his stomach and then, gets to his knees in a mostly fluid movement. They're sitting next to each other like that, parallels. The usual way, Lucifer wants to know. Elio looks him over, blatantly, how his wings are long enough to touch the floor, just brushing over the naked floorboards and they're so insanely beautiful, sometimes just thinking about them makes him feel blessed. Not a lot of people in the world get the chance of having a boyfriend with wings, they won't know what feathers feel like, they probably won't care either. But Elio cares. Oh, he cares. ]
Actually. [ He says, voice fond and he shifts to the side enough to reach out and run his hand down the side of Lucifer's nearest wing. ] I'd like you on your back. That way I can do the undersides.
[ A couple of soft strokes of Lucifer's wing and he releases it again, giving the other man all the room and opportunity to move that he needs. He actually has no idea how he'll lie down for the wings themselves, but he's pretty sure it's manageable. They just haven't... done it that way before. Elio likes the mental image, however, he likes the vulnerability of it. Showing your belly, pretty much. He likes that they can do that with each other at this point, completely unafraid.
[ He hums in response to the way Elio touches his wing, those easy, unbothered strokes of his hand. It feels nice. Steady. It takes him a beat to realise that Elio hasn't actually replied in the affirmative - he wants him... on his... oh. Oh. Well, that's probably do-able. Lucifer arches an eyebrow at him for a couple of seconds before he simply shrugs and gets to it, the other man moving aside to give him space. He turns on his knees until he's got his back to the pillows and the windows further back and pulls in his wings, making them disappear, before he lies down on his back, stretching out his legs.
Then, without further ado, he unfolds them again.
Floomp, goes the air, and he feels himself rising at least half a hand away from the mattress, his extra shoulder-bones shooting outwards, propelling him up. His wings feel curiously long like this, cumbersome in an unusual way. He frowns. Shifts a little on his back, his feathers tightening in response on either side of him. The arches actually stick out farther than the edge of the bed and he sort of wriggles his way down the mattress, feathers rustling, until they're fully supported by the bed.
He's got his naked arse resting on the back feathers, though.
Like.
Lips twisting, he spreads the feathers a little to take his weight off them. He accidentally flaps his longest primaries in process, making him take off partially from the mattress, his upper body rising a couple of inches into the air before he catches himself and stops, flopping back down onto his back. He stares upwards at the ceiling. Then, his gaze finds Elio's, eyes wide. ]
There's something slightly odd about this position, darling.
[ He shifts again. Thinks. Then, it clicks.
He's on his back.
Meaning everything's basically facing upwards and the wings feel like weights, pulling him down towards the floor and many, many millennia ago, he fell a bit like this, endlessly, wings flapping and body fighting for purchase.
He swallows. Spreads out his arms in invitation, not really knowing how else to convey what this feels like. Please, it means. Come. ]
[ If nothing else, Lucifer always faces these things with a healthy optimism.
He accepts the invitation with only a quirk of his eyebrow, turning around and hiding his wings away before lying down on his back, only unfurling them again once he's found a comfortable position. Some shifting about, arranging his feathers a bit in accordance with the fact that his body weight's pressing down on them and he seems to find a position that works, somewhat, he did have to almost take off the mattress for it, looking up at Elio with wide eyes and telling him that it's odd, which means not totally comfortable, of course, and Elio can imagine, because it's a little dangerous, too. Other beings with feathers don't show their undersides to just anyone. And besides, upside-down is the way you fall, Elio gets that, he gets it.
So, when Lucifer holds out his arms, inviting right back, Elio smiles, eyes soft and loving and showing all his understanding openly, and inches over on his knees to the side of his legs, splaying his fingers, all ten of them, out over Lucifer's stomach, balancing himself against the taut muscle there before leaning in over him and straddling his thighs. He remembers straddling Lucifer the first time they did anal, taking his cock so far up that there was no room left in him. His breathing changes there for a second at the memory, picking up pace, as Elio also wriggles himself in place across Lucifer's lap, running his hands flatly up the other man's sides. He's not here to tickle him, he's here to touch, soothe, be present.
Then, he leans down, bending his neck and stretching to reach, fingers gripping the other man's upper arms for support as he leans in to kiss him, lightly, just the brush of his own mouth against Lucifer's. ]
I want to make you feel good, like this. Just like this.
[ Their faces are still so close that all he can really make out of Lucifer's features is his huge, brown eyes and the strong line of his nose. Their lips brush lightly as he speaks, like an extra sense of kissing without actually kissing. Elio breathes out, in.
Before kissing him again, lips warm and wanting and parted. No, other feathered things don't just show this side of themselves to anyone. ]
[ Elio's smile goes all the way past his nervous heart, beating like a rabbit caught in a hunter's snare, and settles in his body like a heavy warmth, the kind that feels like sunbeams on a hot summer's noon. He breathes out slowly, shakily, relaxing into the touch of his palm against his stomach, first, and then his weight as he settles across his thighs. He look at him, at a loss for words, and that's obviously a good thing, seeing as Elio proceeds to lean down and kiss him, his lips warm and damp. Lucifer sighs. Parts his lips in turn and kisses him, focusing on the softness of his lips and the wetness between them as he presses his tongue gently inside the other man's mouth. He very pointedly doesn't think about the way the air feels when it fails to carry you, the way the world ripples as you cross dimensions forcibly, like there's a giant hand on your chest, forcing you through, forcing you downdowndown.
Blink.
His wings have actually tensed, the flight feathers curving upwards along with his secondaries, like he's trying to catch himself.
Sighing into the kiss, he tilts his head to the side and presses deeper, feeling out Elio's tongue, the heat of his mouth. He drinks up his taste, letting it override his mind a little, trying to drown out the memories. Of course, he hasn't forgotten. He'll never be able to (meaning, he isn't supposed to forget). But even like this, even with this... baggage weighing him down, Elio wants to make him feel good, he wants to give him so much.
Like, affection. Acceptance. Understanding.
Unconditional.
Lucifer runs both hands down Elio's sides, stroking the thin skin along his hipbones with his thumbs. He follows the soft curves downwards into his groin, giving his flaccid cock a gentle squeeze, before stroking his thighs. He's so smooth down here, so warm. Lucifer's tasted this specific area of his body - and multiple others - enough times for his own cock to give an interested twitch in response. This doesn't have to be sexual, of course; it's a simple greeting, you might say. Hello again and I missed you. ]
[ They kiss and it's soft, gentle, no presumptuousness, no aggression, the way it always is with them and Elio craves it, craves the way Lucifer never drags him along forcibly, always asks, even wordlessly, even like this, with their tongues engaged and the heat of his mouth beckoning to him, sucking him in. Elio breathes out harshly through his nose, angling his head to meet the other man better, feeling his hands travel down his sides, thumbs stroking his hip bones before his touch climbs inward. Groin. Cock, squeeze, oh, Elio smiling playfully into the kiss as he feels the other man's cock jerk a bit in response. Even his cock's not assuming anything, it's just a gesture. I want you, it means, it's been too long. And it always has, somehow. Even on long nights of love-making, fifteen minutes after the last round, definitely too long.
Still, Elio feels the tenseness in Lucifer's shoulders, imagines it's from his wings, not the other way around this time. His wings are reminded of something in this position, weighing them down, bound for the ground somehow, even with a bed and a whole dimension between here and there. He frowns, draws out of the kiss after another moment of indulging, lips feeling wet, tingly. Between his thighs, Lucifer stroking them lazily now, his cock's filled a bit in response to the nearness, this complete sense of abandonment and intimacy.
That was the point, of course.
He pushes himself slightly upright, looking down at Lucifer between his legs, all of him, flat chest, flat stomach, strong shoulders, neck, face, eyes. Elio blinks, cocks his head as he lets his gaze follow the way the other man's wings are flaring out on either side of his head, huge structures of lightness and power. A deep breath, through his mouth this time, all the way into his lungs and he reaches out, stretching only a little bit, to reach the nearest patch of feathers by Lucifer's hip. Carding his fingers through the rows, one after the other, a careful, slow touch. By the lower edge, the feathers are spreading apart for his knees, allowing him to sit comfortably. ]
You look amazing like this. [ Leaning up more, balancing his weight on one hand against Lucifer's left shoulder, Elio reaches further up, starts the motion by the other man's neck and eases his slightly bent fingers through the intricate arrangement of feathers, righting a few stray ones underway, although he really has done a good job last time, they look pristine. Lucifer does. A little bit of preen oil and he'll be shining. Again.
No matter how far he fell. Elio glances sideways at Lucifer's face again. ] You're tense, though. Should I carry on?
[ As the other man pushes himself upright and looks him over, Lucifer realises that he's basically spread out beneath him like this, everything neatly on display. The thought makes him swallow, the motion a little harsher than necessary. The first, careful touch of fingers against his primaries makes his breath catch in his throat and when he licks his lips, he can taste Elio clearly, his shoulder relaxing slightly at the familiarity. You look amazing he says and if he'd been less thrown by the position, Lucifer would've probably preened in response; he does smile, however, pushing his feathers into his touch a little, trying to encourage him in some other way. He's not opposed, after all.
It's just time.
As Elio runs his fingers through the feathers near his neck, he closes his eyes and cranes his neck sideways slightly, his wing stretching with him, giving the other man as much space as possible. He takes a moment to answer. His throat feels a bit dry. ]
Please, yes.
[ He curls his hands over Elio's thighs, just holding them there, letting them rest. Then, eyes still shut, he adds, keeping his voice forcibly steady: ]
Let me know if the angle's awkward for you.
[ He strokes Elio's thighs again before sliding his hands around his hips, finding purchase right above his buttocks. Round, firm - his arse is a beautiful thing, honestly. He's aware of the other man's cock having hardened slightly and his own's definitely trying to respond in kind, a little less than halfway there. If Elio keeps doing that with his fingers, though, it's only a matter of time. Apparently, his feathers and his dick have developed some sort of unspoken arrangement after he met Elio - he's reasonably certain angels aren't meant to get a stiffy during feather preening but then again, it's not like he'd ask any of them.
Then, inevitably, he imagines having that conversation with Amenadiel and just. Well.
[ Lucifer wants to know whether the angle's awkward and he's honestly only asking that because he can't see himself right now, not the way Elio does and he probably never will, though Elio is ready to fight that uphill battle to help him along, right? He looks so beautiful, spread out like this, open and bared. Elio wants to touch every single part of him, wants to stroke his wings, preen them thoroughly, give them all his attention, while also running his hands down his front, chest, abdomen, he can feel the way Lucifer's hardening, too, because Elio is. Mirroring dicks, they do that a lot, the two of them. Well, and because he really likes having his feathers touched this way, of course. Who wouldn't, really? It must be nice, must be like getting the most extensive back-rub in the world.
Shaking his head in response, it isn't awkward, it's perfect, Elio feels Lucifer's hands slide around his waist to the small of his back, holding him like that, keeping him anchored and it helps, Elio can move more easily like this, no fear of stumbling or slipping. You can feel it, can't you - Lucifer's strong, Lucifer can carry him. The thought, along with his touch, makes him go harder and he shifts a bit, feeling that heaviness in his crotch, balls tightening, the whole area heating up, buzzing in expectation. Although it's not always the case, they often end up having sex after he's fixed Lucifer's wings, because often they're in the mood for it.
It's that kind of intimacy.
Leaning in, he presses a kiss to the corner of Lucifer's mouth while his hand strokes down over a whole wing-side, just brushing down the worst disarray and enjoying the texture of all those feathers, a whole wall of them, and Elio feels for the little unevennesses, where he needs to untangle and brush out and fix with his fingertips. Finally, he shifts back up, his abdominal muscles working in response, looking down at the other man again and finally releasing his shoulder. Lucifer's holding him, he doesn't need to hold himself. ]
If you support me, I can reach your preen glands.
[ He holds up both his hands to show that it'll be a two-hand job, before stretching, getting his chest good and properly in Lucifer's face, perfect height, as he seeks out first the preen gland on his left wing, near the arch, then the right, simultaneously. Just rubbing his palms over them, feeling the oil smear all over his fingers. The texture pretty much makes him go hard the rest of the way. His breathing is heavy at this point, too. He isn't hiding it either.
Slowly he eases back into Lucifer's lap, running his fingers through a downward line of feathers on either wing along the way, keeping the movement slow to be able to apply the oil in easy motions. ]
[ Supporting himself against his shoulder, Elio leans down and kisses the corner of his mouth briefly, fingers running through the feathers on one side, Lucifer's skin prickling in response. When he pulls away, Lucifer wants to grab at him, to keep him close, to keep them as physical as possible but of course, he leaves Elio to it, to set his own rules. When it comes to preening, Lucifer tends to follow Elio, not the other way around.
Elio shows him both hands, telling him that he's about to reach for his preen glands and oh, oh, that's probably going to kill him at least a little bit. His cock fills at the thought, more than half-hard now, Elio's touch translating itself into his bloodstream as pure, undiluted heat. Obligingly, Lucifer keeps his hold on the other man steady as he leans down again, shutting his eyes firmly. One, deep breath - and - oh --
Feathers rustling, he can actually feel his toes curling as pleasure shoots into his back from his arches, muscles tightening briefly all the way down his body. Elio keeps going, easing back into his lap and running his fingers down his wings on both sides and the oil slicks up his touch, making it a smooth glide, slow, intensely so.
Leaning his head back against the pillow, Lucifer swallows heavily again, his throat bobbing. He looks up at Elio, who's warm and hard and gloriously sexual, the muscles in his upperbody working beneath his skin while he rubs the oil into Lucifer's feathers. Lucifer's cock jerks between them, pressed up against Elio's crotch and Lucifer shifts his hips, then, because he can't quite keep still, his cock sliding up against Elio's balls briefly. He groans. His biggest primaries are no longer tight or tense, hanging limply on either side of the bed and the feathers Elio's already touched are standing up a little, too, because yeah, cock, feathers, like he said.
Shifting again, just small movements, restless, he runs his gaze slowly over the other man, taking him in, inch by inch, his eyes growing darker. Hell, the man is so beautiful. It's insane to think that he's here, now, that a part of him belongs to this place full of demons and nightmares and regret.
Lucifer tightens his grip on him, then gasps as Elio untangles a clump of feathers somewhere on his left wing. His wing twitches. ]
Fuck, that's nice. Oh.
[ He shuts his eyes and twists a little on his back, his feathers fluffing up along his shoulder arches. ]
[ Pleasuring Lucifer is a lot of different things, there isn't only one way and Elio loves that, he loves the variety of what they do together, everything from long, warm showers (no sex) and brief, steaming showers (sex) to this, preening, playing the piano, when the other man isn't running from it. Contrary to all other pleasures that Elio can give him, now that he's here, in Hell, however, sex is still the one that translates most easily, the one they both understand, not only like a second language, but a primary one. Their love language, common. So Elio savors the way Lucifer is going increasingly hard for his hands in his feathers, he savors the way the other man throws his head back, swallowing hard, so his throat bobs and makes Elio think of other things going down there. Oh. Oh. He exhales hard as the other man wriggles his cock up against Elio's balls, pressing back briefly, until Lucifer wriggles away again, evidently not able to lie still with Elio's hands spread out, all fingers extended, coating his feathers in oil and untangling little disorderly patches, fixing him up. Making him look exactly as perfect as he is, shining golden and light. You just never get used to that glow, do you? Elio hasn't and it's been years.
Beneath his touch, Lucifer's feathers are standing up, erect little things, like soft, miniature reflections of his cock and Elio runs his fingers through the rows, gently catching one particular feather between his fingers and rubbing at it slowly. Repeats on the opposite wing. Then, he reaches up for more oil, accidentally getting his palm full of the stuff, feeling it drip thickly between his fingers. His cock jerks.
Elio pauses.
When he looks down, Lucifer has his eyes closed, but he's a whole display of hard nipples and smooth skin, chest, flat stomach, cock straining not too far from Elio's own, they could frot easily. Lucifer has big hands. They could. Fingers of his right hand still buried in the feathers on Lucifer's right wing, Elio leans down enough to press his forehead to the other man's. His voice, when he speaks, is dark and hoarse. ]
Giving you this makes me so hard for you. [ As does how you are giving me yourself in return, implied. Elio takes a deep breath, shifts as well, they can both play the shifting game now, pushing forward until his cock connects with Lucifer's, slipping up against the massive girth of his shaft. Not slick enough, but warm, heavy, hard. Shit. ] Can I use your preen oil for lube? I've got my hand full.
[ But of course he doesn't just go ahead. It might be some kind of sacrilegious act, it might freak Lucifer out completely, Elio doesn't know and Elio never presumes, so he waits, drawing back enough to show his slick, oil-glinting palm in Lucifer's face, more or less. ]
[ Though he's a bit busy enjoying the sight of naked, naked Elio and the glorious preening he's bestowing upon him, Lucifer does notice the way his feathers are glittering from the oil, the shine they give out. At certain angles, his newly-preened feathers tend to look almost crystalline, the sharp flight tips gleaming like metal. He's always... well. He used to love them. He can admit as much, probably because Elio has chosen to love them, too, in the present.
When Elio leans down to press their foreheads together, Lucifer reaches for him, curving one hand against the back of his neck lightly, not to keep him bend in over him but to touch, plain and simple. Elio's doing all the touching, otherwise. If he just lies here like a delighted turkey or whatever, he'll soon gain a reputation as a lazy, undeserving lover and that would be a Hell he's simply not prepared to unleash upon himself.
Also, Elio.
Who's asking him about... uh.
Uh.
There's a long pause during which Lucifer breathes the other man's scent in, his feathers twitching still in the wake of all that stimulation. His cock just went from mostly-there to concrete, basically, and he's trying to come up with a reasonable response to Elio's perfectly respectable question (not to mention, how sweet is that, the fact that he asks, that he cares enough to do so). Except, his mind just short-circuited. At the thought.
Preen oil.
On cocks.
Blinking rapidly for a couple of seconds, Lucifer finally just reaches for Elio's hand with his other hand and strings their fingers together, coating his own palm in preen oil as a consequence. He squeezes Elio's hand gently, then leans up on his elbows because he can't bloody well speak right now and kisses the other man, tasting his mouth with his tongue, filling him up. He balances against the bed with his alulae, his breathing rapid and light, one hand still curled against the back of Elio's neck and slides their cocks together again, mirroring Elio's prior movement.
[ In every perceivable way, Lucifer reaches for him, one hand coming up to grab him by the back of his neck, though it's a caress, not a hold. It's to touch, not to prevent him from moving away, which makes all the difference. Elio sighs and follows the movement of Lucifer's other hand with his eyes, coming up to interlace with Elio's fingers, preen oil slicking up his palm at the movement, smeared all over his fingers and it's so unmistakable, so clear, even without a single word exchanged between them. Elio breathes in deeply, just before the other man pushes up on his wings and takes his mouth, kissing him, all tongue, filling him up, stealing his taste and Elio cocks his head to the side, gives him access. It's true that giving Lucifer all this makes him hard, but giving himself in turn makes him even harder and he feels how the other man's cock is responding as well as Lucifer slides it up against Elio's own, their shafts pushing together, heads rubbing up against each other, they need steering on this, probably, but just the touch, just that moment of connect and want and give and take is perfect. It's perfect. Elio breathes out again into the kiss, softer this time, angling his head and pushing back, taking, too, tongue running over Lucifer's, tongue tip and slope and wetness and tight heat. Oh.
With his other hand, he never stops carding through Lucifer's feathers, keeps his movements even and constant, like a meditative rhythm, just brushing through row upon row of feathers, knowing exactly what he leaves them looking like, all golden-white, shining.
A murmur of arousal against the other man's open mouth and Elio releases his hand a bit reluctantly, only to close his fingers around Lucifer's wrist and more or less drag his hand down between them until the back of it connects with someone's cock, a bit of Elio's, a bit of Lucifer's own, at this point not even size really tells them apart that much. Frotting is like that, it doesn't matter, there's only the slide, the touch, the rhythm. Fingers, slick, palm, pressure. When he pulls out of the kiss, he's panting harshly, his voice almost rusty in its quality and Elio leans down enough to press his mouth open against the thin skin beneath Lucifer's ear, earlobe slipping over his nose. He whispers: ]
I want to keep touching your wings.
[ Meaning, keep my hands free, please and take us there yourself all in one and Elio reaches out, spreads all ten fingers wide out over both wings, a hand on each of them, and starts stroking them softly, long, even movements of palm and slightly bent fingertips, digging in. ]
[ Elio guides his hand down between their bodies and Lucifer's almost delirious from the taste of him combined with his rhythmic stroking through his feathers. Thus, it takes him a second - or a couple, really, he's never pretended to be the fastest bird on the perch - to understand what Elio's asking for, though he does hammer the point home by whispering in his ear, doesn't he, oh, the heat of his breath, the rough edge in his voice... Lucifer groans, loudly. ]
No complaints, darling, no complaints.
[ He sounds exactly as out of breath as he feels, his voice thin and shaky. Elio, meanwhile, cards his fingers trough his wings, both of them at once, and Lucifer's eyes are drooping with each downward stroke, his lips trembling and his balls so tight that he almost can't bear it. It makes him feel completely devoid of resistance, like all the tension from earlier is draining from him along with the sweat on his brow and the shivers ghosting through his feathers. At the same time, there's that well-known urgency gathering in his muscles, his lower body, the need for moremoremore getting progressively wilder and once he figures out how to actually focus on his fingers, he folds his hand around their cocks, the sensitive undersides pressed together in his grip.
Throwing his head back against the pillow and closing his eyes, he starts stroking them both in turn, unconsciously mirroring the rhythm of Elio's hands against his feathers. The first stroke sends a hot spark of pleasure rushing through his lower body, the feel of Elio's cock, hard and warm between his fingers, making his breath stumble. Lips parted, every third or fourth breath coming out more like a moan, he starts working them, pushing his hips upwards a little. He's definitely close already, fuck, he's so close.
Close and warm and embraced, too, whether he deserves it or not. ]
[ No complaints, Lucifer says, his voice breathy and thin. Elio loves the quality of it, always has, he loves hearing him sing, loves hearing him moan and he arches his back when the other man finally closes his fingers around their cocks, both of them, and starts stroking them. In turn and in time, Elio notices, wondering momentarily whether he's doing it on purpose, keeping up with Elio's carding through his feathers, hitting that same pace. Up, down, slowly at first, then gradually faster as Elio's hands start feeling the heat, too. The heat between them. How hard Lucifer is, which means Elio isn't alone in this either and he wants to say something about that, thank you for coming with me, but in reality, Elio came with him first, right? They're striking a balance like this, then. Resetting the scales. This time, it's Lucifer who's following along, eagerly and, as he says, without complaint.
You should kiss me and then you should carry me off, Elio had bid Earth goodbye, a decade ago.
Not only does time pass differently in Hell, by a whole other count, but in its own way it also seems to stop, like nothing's changed since that day, except so much has. Lucifer is letting him love his wings unconditionally, both hands, fingertips dragging through a feathery carpet. Left and right. He swallows hard and kisses his way down along Lucifer's jawline, stubble, chin, stubble, lips, softer, so wonderfully soft and Elio kisses him breathlessly, also half-moaning, because they match.
Kiss me and carry me off.
Pushing his tongue in between Lucifer's lips, coaxing the other man's tongue into his mouth in turn, he sucks on it greedily, it's as harsh as they ever get with each other, this. Meanwhile, his hips are falling into the rhythm of Lucifer's hand, big hand, slick, warm, small trembling forward thrusts, trying to get more of that pressure, the sense of slide and friction, oh. His balls are so hard it hurts and he feels slightly hazy from it. Panting wetly, Elio pulls back out of the kiss, looking down at Lucifer's face for a moment while managing to coordinate his limbs only barely. And he doesn't have two extras, he doesn't have wings.
Except, in a way he does. ]
You're letting me love all of you. [ It comes out in pants. He stretches as much as he can, angling himself enough to the side to be able to press his own face in against the left upper arch of Lucifer's wing, more or less burying his face in feathers. Elio closes his eyes and kisses whatever he can reach. Between them, his cock is jerking in Lucifer's grip, the build-up hard and fast. The underside pressing against the underside of Lucifer's cock feels oversensitive and aching.
The rest is a mutter. ] And I want to, Lucifer, I want to so much.
[ Elio leans down over him, planting kisses along his jawline, chin, and lips, just so, and he's preciously breathless, his panting mirroring Lucifer's and for a moment, right before Elio pushes his tongue inside his mouth, they're simply breathing each other in, sharing and taking, and it's perfect, it feels completely separate from everything. Lucifer kisses him back, then, for as long as he gets before the other man pulls away again, leaving his lips wet and swollen and his mouth feeling gapingly empty. Opening his eyes with an effort, he looks up as Elio tells him - I want to and love and things that he isn't supposed to hear, not in general and certainly not down here.
And yet.
And yet.
Gasping, he works their cocks a little faster but without any roughness, curling his free hand against the back of Elio's head as the other man leans down further, pressing his face against his feathers. He holds him close, keeping him where he is, his feathers actually straining upwards, trying to meet him in kind. As Lucifer strokes their cocks faster, his own climax building up more and more, he thinks somewhat crazily, I love you and thank you and he'd articulate some of it but he can't, it's just not -- ]
Aah! Oh, love, you - you -
[ He comes, hard enough to make his vision blacken around the edges. Around them, the room suddenly brightens, light burning from within his feathers, casting brilliant rays across the walls, the floors, the ceiling. It's really, really hard for him to think enough to even wonder at it; instead, he concentrates his last, two remaining brain cells on maintaining the pace, to take Elio with him once more, to give him... to give him...
He strokes the other man's hair mindlessly, his grip around their cocks slick from preen oil and his own cum. Precum, too. His muscles are trembling, his wings slack and gleaming against the bed and he can feel Elio, not just against them but inside them. ]
[ It's not the least awkward angle he's tried, but like sex in general and sex with Lucifer in particular, it doesn't matter. It's close and soft and Lucifer holds his head down, presses him gently against his wing and Elio closes his eyes, feeling as much as hearing how the other man comes, hard, spurting cum between their bodies, emptying himself and laying himself totally bare like that, while he gasps and writhes slightly and his wings emit a sudden burst of light that cuts straight through Elio's eyelids, as if illuminating him from within, such a warm, healthy glow that he actually feels himself heating up from it. He remembers the Northern Lights when they were in Canada, he remembers the pier in Los Angeles, he remembers all the times that Lucifer has given him pieces of himself and those pieces are always in the shape of light, because that it what he is like. Light. Glowing and shining and a beautiful necessity, especially down here. Especially here.
Feeling the other man's grip grow slicker from cum now, too, the heat inside him as well as the easiness of the slide pushes Elio over the edge the rest of the way. Moaning harshly, still feeling Lucifer's hand against the back of his head, loving and tender and it means all those things he still can't say, but that Elio waits for only because he knows it'll want out one day, not because it changes anything between them, he thrusts harshly up against the underside of Lucifer's big, spent cock, into his grip, coming all over the other man's stomach that way, leaving himself all over him. The muscles in Elio's thighs are trembling and his back feels cramped, but it's too good to break the spell for. It's too good, it's too -
The light is still playing all over the walls, crawling over the ceiling, reflecting in the windows, in his eyes. Elio slowly stills, remaining where he is while breathing in and out harshly. His hands have flattened against Lucifer's feathers, not even really stroking anymore.
Then, finally, he pushes back, straightening up gradually, his body feeling heavy and relaxed. Elio looks down at Lucifer, at the mess he's made of him, but also the glory he embodies, just like this. Exactly like this. He cocks his head and smiles, running his overheated palms down over Lucifer's chest. His voice is a little bit raw. ]
You lit everything up there for a moment. [ He isn't only talking about the orgasm, though that, too, of course. It's always like this. ] It was perfect.
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Lucifer has.
Elio still has the Moonlight Sonata prickling in his fingers. In the end, he'd played the whole thing for his father, because as he'd let the music unfold inside the loop, he'd felt the top layer crack open, egg-like. Suddenly, halfway through the third movement, the door that the Lord of Hell himself has struggled with, fought and lost against and torn right off, opened and Elio had finished the sonata, only to leave it like that.
The thing is, he thinks, that he can't go deeper without Lucifer. He needs to be guided, to understand what he's looking at to isolate the elements that need tweaking. Elio's here to tweak, not to break down, after all, it's becoming clearer and clearer. And it's what Lucifer still struggles to accept, that everything's already here, right, everything they need in order to change Hell. Elio only shapes what's already present. The rest is Lucifer's own doing. The rest is all him.
Hanging his shirt away in the huge walk-in closet on the right, Elio starts in on the button of his pants, zipper, wriggles out of them easily, back on the door. No one comes here anyway that isn't allowed, Terry makes sure of that. Sometimes with Maze's help, because she doesn't trust him with the task.
Not trusting people to be fit for their tasks seems a common problem down here, doesn't it? Elio takes a deep breath, releases it, lets his pants fall to the floor. ]
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So, when Grigori heard the tones of the Moonlight Sonata trailing down even to the deepest pits of Hell where the white rooms are, where souls are torn to pieces and spat out, the demon instantly began to sow dissent amongst its ranks. Naturally, all that gibberish made its way to Mazikeen who took it back to Lucifer once she realised that there were talks of somebody going rogue, of queen-napping.
Grigori, happily, put up a semi-decent fight and when Lucifer returns to his throne, he's got a nice, foot-long gash running up his left side, courtesy of the demon's stolen, Hell-forged blade. Good for him he didn't steal it from Maze, supposedly. With Lucifer, he mostly just lost the power of speech, sight and movement.
In Hell, it can always be worse.
Slumping a bit on his throne, Lucifer closes his eyes for a moment, the tones of Beethoven's masterpiece still echoing in his mind. Beautiful. Then, abruptly, his spine starts tingling and he looks up to see a door etched onto the cliff side further down, all alone, all pretty and white and French-looking. Elio's pet demon is clinging to the handle, looking thoroughly disgruntled. Lucifer tilts his head sideways, stares at the door for a moment, feeling something inside soften at the sight. It takes him another few seconds to properly identify the feeling, the tension in his shoulders and back dissipating a fraction. Then, he spreads his ashen wings and flies, ignoring the demon (lucky demon) and slipping in.
Right into Elio's bedroom, it seems.
He pauses. Stares at the glory in front of him.
Elio, naked, slim lines and soft-looking skin, the moonlight silvery as it flows in through the windows. ]
Oh.
[ He just stands there, his wings curved down his shoulders and his mouth a tiny bit agape. ]
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Elio isn't angry with him for leaving in the middle of his playing. The other man's fingertips against his nape said it all, it's not you, it's me, like Elio didn't know that already, silly Devil. But to have Lucifer confirm it and carry that responsibility on his own shoulders was nice, even if it meant he couldn't be with him, that he needed to go somewhere else to work on his issues. Because, in reality, what happened was this: Elio wanted to give him an expression of his love and Lucifer didn't want to - or rather, didn't know how to accept it.
That's the problem. So Elio isn't angry, he's worried. He's worried that they might have forever to solve it, yes, but forever might not be long enough.
Turning around in time with the door opening, Elio finds Lucifer entering with his wings out (he did fly, then, he did come, he did cross the distance) and his mouth gaping a bit at the sight of his queen, naked, like he hasn't seen that a million times already. Repetition doesn't seem to matter between them, every time is like the first time, same sense of wonder. Elio feels it, too. He knows.
Lucifer's wings are decked in ash and Elio's fingers are immediately itching to touch, to clean and card through and preen. It's the first thing that registers, the second being the huge gash down Lucifer's side, right through his shirt (sacrilege) and tearing skin open underneath, trickles of blood having colored the material of his ashen-white shirt pinkish red. Big splotches. Elio frowns, purses his lips as he lets his eyes run from the other man's torso to his face, his honest, open eyes. Oh. Elio loves that look.
Rather than saying, you're hurt or your wings are dirty, observations that Lucifer has no doubt already made, Elio smiles, cocking his head. ]
Every time you come here, Lucifer, I'm really proud of you.
[ A small shrug to go with the statement, to take the grandiosity out of the words. Elio spreads his arms out to both sides, as if to say, don't be mad at either of us for this, please. He knows Lucifer's struggling. He knows how allowing himself this, allowing himself Elio, too, is a uphill battle.
But he still fights. Meaning that he deserves to be recognized, not rushed. ]
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Angel.
It's a nice thought, anyway.
I'm proud of you. ]
Well.
[ He gives Elio a shaky smile. Shrugs a little, his wings shrugging along with his shoulders, and nods towards the bathroom. ]
All the same, I really should learn to wash up before I come here, shouldn't I? I'm sorry about the mess. Again.
[ Always eager to provide a bit of unwanted emphasis, his wings proceed to shed, a handful of white-now-grey-and-bloodstained feathers dropping to the floor behind him. He glares at them balefully before looking back at Elio. He accidentally zeroes in on his crotch, first, which should make him feel uncouth but instead, there's just... hunger. Need. He tears his gaze away, upwards, catching Elio's warm gaze and jerking his head towards the bathroom, a stiff sort of nod. ]
Would you mind if I... ?
[ He's not really expecting a no, here, considering the state of his everything so he starts taking off his clothes - suit jacket, shirt (ow, gash, bloody Grigori), shoes. And onwards. Aside from the scratch, he's quite unscathed. Sweaty, dusty, but unharmed, over all.
The gash in his side has even healed a little, meaning it doesn't bleed anymore. It's not quite to the point of scabbing over - give it another hour or two. ]
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Go ahead.
[ Which Lucifer has, mind, he's getting fast undressed, shirt, suit jacket, trousers, shoes, baring expanses of skin, firm muscle, flatness of chest and curve of thighs, buttocks. Elio watches him - in return, because Lucifer went from eyeing his cock, still flaccid, to meeting his eyes, warm, patient in a single jerk of his head. Another jerk, and he was looking towards the bathroom longingly. All Elio thinks is, treat him kindly, expecting his shower stall to let Lucifer enjoy it, please. ]
Grab a shower and come join me in bed.
[ With that, he turns towards the bed, huge, round, middle of the room placement, like he wants that particular spot on display from every corner, as if he wants a full view of the room at large in turn, when he's lying there. He crawls on all fours into the very middle, letting himself sink down on one side, dark red silk sheets crinkling against his skin. Like that, he's facing the other man, resting his head in one palm, up on his elbow.
He observes Lucifer as he walks towards the bathroom, the way he moves, the way it requires extra strength in his chest and shoulder regions, lots of muscle power, to carry the extra weight of feathers and hollow bones on his back. There's a pleasant balance to his build, like the size of his wings mirror his whole height. Tall Lucifer. Tall, beautiful Lucifer who never makes you feel truly small. Elio smiles as the other man disappears through the door to the bathroom, letting himself fall down onto his back with a thump.
Forever wank material, of course. ]
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He doubts that even a rodent like Michel would be an exception.
It's not that Elio is indiscriminate about his desires or his heart. He very, very obviously isn't - considering the fall he's taken to get here, not just literally but figuratively, too. No, it's not that. It's just that Elio isn't altogether petty and punishment always has at least a tiny tinge of that, of wanting to hurt because you can, because you think it's deserved and just. The thought ought to leave a sour taste in his mouth but of course, it doesn't because hurray, Dad, that's how he was fucking well made.
He washes off. Dries off, too, leaving Elio's soft towel on the floor to disappear as things go in his palace before padding out into the bedroom. On the way, he shrugs out his wings again because the other man likes them, meaning at least they're good for something other than taking him from Cliffside A to Cliffside Z and back. He joins Elio on his bed, getting on his knees against the slick, red silk and dropping down on his side next to him, his wings flopping out behind him, the tips trailing along the floor.
Shuffling in, he buries his nose against the back of Elio's neck and takes a deep breath, his shoulders falling immediately at the familiar scent, the warmth of it. He sighs. Smiles, happily, the slight sting in his side the only current reminder of what came before.
Home at last. ]
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As the other man nuzzles in against his neck, audibly breathing him in, Elio relaxes back against the front of his heavy body, feeling his own lungs kind of collapse in on themselves in pure surrender. Oh. Oh, that's nice. He murmurs something inaudible and essentially unimportant (I feel you, here) before reaching up with one arm, curling it behind him and feeling for Lucifer's head, fingertips connecting with his temple carefully, searchingly, feeling out the line of his face to his jawline and back up into his hair, stubble and smooth skin and thick waves of black marking the route. Finally, Elio turns his head enough to look back at the other man behind him, enjoying the framework of white feathers behind him because he's kept his wings out, the way he knows Elio really appreciates. He tightens his grip in his hair a little, not harshly as such, but a little bit rough, a little bit uncoordinated, it's the angle, sorry. ]
Better? [ He's asking about the injury and the ash, of course, but he's also asking about Lucifer's head, the uphill battle. Whether he's ready to put down his weapons for the night now. He's safe with him, he could. Elio strokes his fingertips over the other man's scalp softly, evenly, meditatively. Caring. ] Or do I have to make more of an effort? I can, you know.
[ Turning his head more, his lips connect with the jut of Lucifers chin and he kisses it lightly, feeling the slight coarseness of his stubble, along with that fresh scent of newly washed and the heavier, underlying note of man. He hums and stretches his neck a bit, kissing his way up along the other man's jawline. More stubble. More fresh-but-musky scents tickling his nose. He breathes in deeply.
There's a reason Hell embraces him, he thinks. It's because Lucifer did, first. ]
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Mmm. I doubt that.
[ Slipping an arm around Elio's waist, Lucifer pulls him up against his front to get them properly chest-to-back, his still-flaccid cock resting snugly in the crevice between his buttocks. He's so incredibly comfortable like this, surrounded by softness and silk and the warmth of Elio's naked body. Tough to see, really, how he'd even begin to improve upon any of it. Shifting a little, he pulls his corresponding wing forward, covering Elio from shoulder to hip in shining, white feathers. They're dry, of course, already. Elio takes care of them for him and with the preen oil, they're as good as water proof.
Like that, he hums a little against the back of Elio's neck, mouthing at his hairline lazily, tasting his curls, his skin. Nibble, nibble. He does nothing whatsoever to discourage Elio from doing his own explorations - it's just that he's suddenly quite content and it's been... well. Any time at all spent away from Elio down here feels like years. Add to that the sound of his music following Lucifer across Hell - even when he'd been beating Grigori's face against the cliffside, he'd had those bloody triplets running in the background, like drops of water, hitting a surface somewhere far off in the distance - and honestly, he feels as if he's been missing him for longer than he cares to consider.
He should've stayed to listen. He knows that now, the same way he knows that the barrier still holds, that Elio's meant to be here, that Hell is changing and more importantly, that it's meant to do so. ]
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Watch him come around when you do. Watch him grow and prosper. Elio blinks his eyes open and lets his arm drop, aligning it along Lucifer's, tight and still unmistakably careful around Elio's waist, holding him so close, so close. His cock's resting snugly between Elio's buttocks. They couldn't be closer and still be outside each other's bodies.
Elio breathes out long and hard, twisting a little in the other man's grip to be able to turn his head without colliding with a certain Devil's nose and chin. Lucifer nibbling the skin at his hairline, nose just burying in completely. Elio's fingers flex over the skin on the man's forearm, fingertips digging in slightly, for the feel of him. He's staring into a wall of white and feathery textures.
Slowly, he reaches out and trails his fingertips softly through a patch of white feathers on the underside of Lucifer's wing, making sure to go in the right direction, not disturb the arrangement of rows too much. He's fixed them up nicely, they look beautiful right now and much less dreary than they would otherwise have, once the ash is washed out. It's close, too, this. Elio being allowed to touch and treasure, although Lucifer's relationship with his wings is so complex. ]
I could give your feathers some much needed attention.
[ It wouldn't be for any other reason than it's such a comfort and they're really so wonderfully comfortable already, Lucifer and him, that's the only way Elio can make more of an effort, right? If not for Lucifer's sake (though, always for Lucifer's sake), then for his own. His fingers are prickling. ]
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Regardless, it does come a lot easier, now. ]
What a lovely idea.
[ He smiles and shifts onto his shoulder, first, then lifting his wing away from Elio and using it for balance as he carries his weight on his side and elbow. He runs one hand down Elio's side, over ribs and stomach, splaying out his fingers over his abdomen. ]
The usual way, I presume?
[ Shifting away, he crawls onto his knees next to Elio, the red silk crinkling beneath him as he moves. They've done this many, many times at this point, enough that he doesn't waste his time, telling Elio that he doesn't have to, that it'll be sticky and gross, that it won't be worth anything. They've been together for too long - though he's having a hard time honouring that, what with disappearing on Elio for days on end and leaving his beautiful musical tribute hanging like a shadow between them. All the same, it has. Been too long.
He won't attempt to tell Elio what to do with his affections or where to direct them.
Instead, he looks at the other man expectantly, eyebrows raised a little, the smile on his face small but persistent. He keeps his wings from trailing all over Elio's body (don't want his feathers going up his nose or whatnot), keeping them raised at an arch above the bed, jutting from his shoulderblades. They're big enough to reach the floor. ]
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Besides everything else that it is, sure, a decade in Hell is a good opportunity for personal growth. Elio still remembers Lucifer's horror as he had insisted on removing bullets from his wings that day, with a tweezer, right, acting like they were something horrible, his additional limbs, when the only horrible thing was what had happened to them.
As the other man rolls over, touching Elio one last, lingering time before crawling onto his knees and lifting his wings up to avoid them trailing all wildly over Elio's body, though Elio certainly wouldn't complain, Elio rolls onto his stomach and then, gets to his knees in a mostly fluid movement. They're sitting next to each other like that, parallels. The usual way, Lucifer wants to know. Elio looks him over, blatantly, how his wings are long enough to touch the floor, just brushing over the naked floorboards and they're so insanely beautiful, sometimes just thinking about them makes him feel blessed. Not a lot of people in the world get the chance of having a boyfriend with wings, they won't know what feathers feel like, they probably won't care either. But Elio cares. Oh, he cares. ]
Actually. [ He says, voice fond and he shifts to the side enough to reach out and run his hand down the side of Lucifer's nearest wing. ] I'd like you on your back. That way I can do the undersides.
[ A couple of soft strokes of Lucifer's wing and he releases it again, giving the other man all the room and opportunity to move that he needs. He actually has no idea how he'll lie down for the wings themselves, but he's pretty sure it's manageable. They just haven't... done it that way before. Elio likes the mental image, however, he likes the vulnerability of it. Showing your belly, pretty much. He likes that they can do that with each other at this point, completely unafraid.
It's called growth, of course. ]
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Then, without further ado, he unfolds them again.
Floomp, goes the air, and he feels himself rising at least half a hand away from the mattress, his extra shoulder-bones shooting outwards, propelling him up. His wings feel curiously long like this, cumbersome in an unusual way. He frowns. Shifts a little on his back, his feathers tightening in response on either side of him. The arches actually stick out farther than the edge of the bed and he sort of wriggles his way down the mattress, feathers rustling, until they're fully supported by the bed.
He's got his naked arse resting on the back feathers, though.
Like.
Lips twisting, he spreads the feathers a little to take his weight off them. He accidentally flaps his longest primaries in process, making him take off partially from the mattress, his upper body rising a couple of inches into the air before he catches himself and stops, flopping back down onto his back. He stares upwards at the ceiling. Then, his gaze finds Elio's, eyes wide. ]
There's something slightly odd about this position, darling.
[ He shifts again. Thinks. Then, it clicks.
He's on his back.
Meaning everything's basically facing upwards and the wings feel like weights, pulling him down towards the floor and many, many millennia ago, he fell a bit like this, endlessly, wings flapping and body fighting for purchase.
He swallows. Spreads out his arms in invitation, not really knowing how else to convey what this feels like. Please, it means. Come. ]
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He accepts the invitation with only a quirk of his eyebrow, turning around and hiding his wings away before lying down on his back, only unfurling them again once he's found a comfortable position. Some shifting about, arranging his feathers a bit in accordance with the fact that his body weight's pressing down on them and he seems to find a position that works, somewhat, he did have to almost take off the mattress for it, looking up at Elio with wide eyes and telling him that it's odd, which means not totally comfortable, of course, and Elio can imagine, because it's a little dangerous, too. Other beings with feathers don't show their undersides to just anyone. And besides, upside-down is the way you fall, Elio gets that, he gets it.
So, when Lucifer holds out his arms, inviting right back, Elio smiles, eyes soft and loving and showing all his understanding openly, and inches over on his knees to the side of his legs, splaying his fingers, all ten of them, out over Lucifer's stomach, balancing himself against the taut muscle there before leaning in over him and straddling his thighs. He remembers straddling Lucifer the first time they did anal, taking his cock so far up that there was no room left in him. His breathing changes there for a second at the memory, picking up pace, as Elio also wriggles himself in place across Lucifer's lap, running his hands flatly up the other man's sides. He's not here to tickle him, he's here to touch, soothe, be present.
Then, he leans down, bending his neck and stretching to reach, fingers gripping the other man's upper arms for support as he leans in to kiss him, lightly, just the brush of his own mouth against Lucifer's. ]
I want to make you feel good, like this. Just like this.
[ Their faces are still so close that all he can really make out of Lucifer's features is his huge, brown eyes and the strong line of his nose. Their lips brush lightly as he speaks, like an extra sense of kissing without actually kissing. Elio breathes out, in.
Before kissing him again, lips warm and wanting and parted. No, other feathered things don't just show this side of themselves to anyone. ]
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Blink.
His wings have actually tensed, the flight feathers curving upwards along with his secondaries, like he's trying to catch himself.
Sighing into the kiss, he tilts his head to the side and presses deeper, feeling out Elio's tongue, the heat of his mouth. He drinks up his taste, letting it override his mind a little, trying to drown out the memories. Of course, he hasn't forgotten. He'll never be able to (meaning, he isn't supposed to forget). But even like this, even with this... baggage weighing him down, Elio wants to make him feel good, he wants to give him so much.
Like, affection. Acceptance. Understanding.
Unconditional.
Lucifer runs both hands down Elio's sides, stroking the thin skin along his hipbones with his thumbs. He follows the soft curves downwards into his groin, giving his flaccid cock a gentle squeeze, before stroking his thighs. He's so smooth down here, so warm. Lucifer's tasted this specific area of his body - and multiple others - enough times for his own cock to give an interested twitch in response. This doesn't have to be sexual, of course; it's a simple greeting, you might say. Hello again and I missed you. ]
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Still, Elio feels the tenseness in Lucifer's shoulders, imagines it's from his wings, not the other way around this time. His wings are reminded of something in this position, weighing them down, bound for the ground somehow, even with a bed and a whole dimension between here and there. He frowns, draws out of the kiss after another moment of indulging, lips feeling wet, tingly. Between his thighs, Lucifer stroking them lazily now, his cock's filled a bit in response to the nearness, this complete sense of abandonment and intimacy.
That was the point, of course.
He pushes himself slightly upright, looking down at Lucifer between his legs, all of him, flat chest, flat stomach, strong shoulders, neck, face, eyes. Elio blinks, cocks his head as he lets his gaze follow the way the other man's wings are flaring out on either side of his head, huge structures of lightness and power. A deep breath, through his mouth this time, all the way into his lungs and he reaches out, stretching only a little bit, to reach the nearest patch of feathers by Lucifer's hip. Carding his fingers through the rows, one after the other, a careful, slow touch. By the lower edge, the feathers are spreading apart for his knees, allowing him to sit comfortably. ]
You look amazing like this. [ Leaning up more, balancing his weight on one hand against Lucifer's left shoulder, Elio reaches further up, starts the motion by the other man's neck and eases his slightly bent fingers through the intricate arrangement of feathers, righting a few stray ones underway, although he really has done a good job last time, they look pristine. Lucifer does. A little bit of preen oil and he'll be shining. Again.
No matter how far he fell. Elio glances sideways at Lucifer's face again. ] You're tense, though. Should I carry on?
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It's just time.
As Elio runs his fingers through the feathers near his neck, he closes his eyes and cranes his neck sideways slightly, his wing stretching with him, giving the other man as much space as possible. He takes a moment to answer. His throat feels a bit dry. ]
Please, yes.
[ He curls his hands over Elio's thighs, just holding them there, letting them rest. Then, eyes still shut, he adds, keeping his voice forcibly steady: ]
Let me know if the angle's awkward for you.
[ He strokes Elio's thighs again before sliding his hands around his hips, finding purchase right above his buttocks. Round, firm - his arse is a beautiful thing, honestly. He's aware of the other man's cock having hardened slightly and his own's definitely trying to respond in kind, a little less than halfway there. If Elio keeps doing that with his fingers, though, it's only a matter of time. Apparently, his feathers and his dick have developed some sort of unspoken arrangement after he met Elio - he's reasonably certain angels aren't meant to get a stiffy during feather preening but then again, it's not like he'd ask any of them.
Then, inevitably, he imagines having that conversation with Amenadiel and just. Well.
In this case, ignorance is clearly bliss. ]
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Shaking his head in response, it isn't awkward, it's perfect, Elio feels Lucifer's hands slide around his waist to the small of his back, holding him like that, keeping him anchored and it helps, Elio can move more easily like this, no fear of stumbling or slipping. You can feel it, can't you - Lucifer's strong, Lucifer can carry him. The thought, along with his touch, makes him go harder and he shifts a bit, feeling that heaviness in his crotch, balls tightening, the whole area heating up, buzzing in expectation. Although it's not always the case, they often end up having sex after he's fixed Lucifer's wings, because often they're in the mood for it.
It's that kind of intimacy.
Leaning in, he presses a kiss to the corner of Lucifer's mouth while his hand strokes down over a whole wing-side, just brushing down the worst disarray and enjoying the texture of all those feathers, a whole wall of them, and Elio feels for the little unevennesses, where he needs to untangle and brush out and fix with his fingertips. Finally, he shifts back up, his abdominal muscles working in response, looking down at the other man again and finally releasing his shoulder. Lucifer's holding him, he doesn't need to hold himself. ]
If you support me, I can reach your preen glands.
[ He holds up both his hands to show that it'll be a two-hand job, before stretching, getting his chest good and properly in Lucifer's face, perfect height, as he seeks out first the preen gland on his left wing, near the arch, then the right, simultaneously. Just rubbing his palms over them, feeling the oil smear all over his fingers. The texture pretty much makes him go hard the rest of the way. His breathing is heavy at this point, too. He isn't hiding it either.
Slowly he eases back into Lucifer's lap, running his fingers through a downward line of feathers on either wing along the way, keeping the movement slow to be able to apply the oil in easy motions. ]
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Elio shows him both hands, telling him that he's about to reach for his preen glands and oh, oh, that's probably going to kill him at least a little bit. His cock fills at the thought, more than half-hard now, Elio's touch translating itself into his bloodstream as pure, undiluted heat. Obligingly, Lucifer keeps his hold on the other man steady as he leans down again, shutting his eyes firmly. One, deep breath - and - oh --
Feathers rustling, he can actually feel his toes curling as pleasure shoots into his back from his arches, muscles tightening briefly all the way down his body. Elio keeps going, easing back into his lap and running his fingers down his wings on both sides and the oil slicks up his touch, making it a smooth glide, slow, intensely so.
Leaning his head back against the pillow, Lucifer swallows heavily again, his throat bobbing. He looks up at Elio, who's warm and hard and gloriously sexual, the muscles in his upperbody working beneath his skin while he rubs the oil into Lucifer's feathers. Lucifer's cock jerks between them, pressed up against Elio's crotch and Lucifer shifts his hips, then, because he can't quite keep still, his cock sliding up against Elio's balls briefly. He groans. His biggest primaries are no longer tight or tense, hanging limply on either side of the bed and the feathers Elio's already touched are standing up a little, too, because yeah, cock, feathers, like he said.
Shifting again, just small movements, restless, he runs his gaze slowly over the other man, taking him in, inch by inch, his eyes growing darker. Hell, the man is so beautiful. It's insane to think that he's here, now, that a part of him belongs to this place full of demons and nightmares and regret.
Lucifer tightens his grip on him, then gasps as Elio untangles a clump of feathers somewhere on his left wing. His wing twitches. ]
Fuck, that's nice. Oh.
[ He shuts his eyes and twists a little on his back, his feathers fluffing up along his shoulder arches. ]
Oh, yes!
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Beneath his touch, Lucifer's feathers are standing up, erect little things, like soft, miniature reflections of his cock and Elio runs his fingers through the rows, gently catching one particular feather between his fingers and rubbing at it slowly. Repeats on the opposite wing. Then, he reaches up for more oil, accidentally getting his palm full of the stuff, feeling it drip thickly between his fingers. His cock jerks.
Elio pauses.
When he looks down, Lucifer has his eyes closed, but he's a whole display of hard nipples and smooth skin, chest, flat stomach, cock straining not too far from Elio's own, they could frot easily. Lucifer has big hands. They could. Fingers of his right hand still buried in the feathers on Lucifer's right wing, Elio leans down enough to press his forehead to the other man's. His voice, when he speaks, is dark and hoarse. ]
Giving you this makes me so hard for you. [ As does how you are giving me yourself in return, implied. Elio takes a deep breath, shifts as well, they can both play the shifting game now, pushing forward until his cock connects with Lucifer's, slipping up against the massive girth of his shaft. Not slick enough, but warm, heavy, hard. Shit. ] Can I use your preen oil for lube? I've got my hand full.
[ But of course he doesn't just go ahead. It might be some kind of sacrilegious act, it might freak Lucifer out completely, Elio doesn't know and Elio never presumes, so he waits, drawing back enough to show his slick, oil-glinting palm in Lucifer's face, more or less. ]
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When Elio leans down to press their foreheads together, Lucifer reaches for him, curving one hand against the back of his neck lightly, not to keep him bend in over him but to touch, plain and simple. Elio's doing all the touching, otherwise. If he just lies here like a delighted turkey or whatever, he'll soon gain a reputation as a lazy, undeserving lover and that would be a Hell he's simply not prepared to unleash upon himself.
Also, Elio.
Who's asking him about... uh.
Uh.
There's a long pause during which Lucifer breathes the other man's scent in, his feathers twitching still in the wake of all that stimulation. His cock just went from mostly-there to concrete, basically, and he's trying to come up with a reasonable response to Elio's perfectly respectable question (not to mention, how sweet is that, the fact that he asks, that he cares enough to do so). Except, his mind just short-circuited. At the thought.
Preen oil.
On cocks.
Blinking rapidly for a couple of seconds, Lucifer finally just reaches for Elio's hand with his other hand and strings their fingers together, coating his own palm in preen oil as a consequence. He squeezes Elio's hand gently, then leans up on his elbows because he can't bloody well speak right now and kisses the other man, tasting his mouth with his tongue, filling him up. He balances against the bed with his alulae, his breathing rapid and light, one hand still curled against the back of Elio's neck and slides their cocks together again, mirroring Elio's prior movement.
For want of a better, more verbal reply. ]
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With his other hand, he never stops carding through Lucifer's feathers, keeps his movements even and constant, like a meditative rhythm, just brushing through row upon row of feathers, knowing exactly what he leaves them looking like, all golden-white, shining.
A murmur of arousal against the other man's open mouth and Elio releases his hand a bit reluctantly, only to close his fingers around Lucifer's wrist and more or less drag his hand down between them until the back of it connects with someone's cock, a bit of Elio's, a bit of Lucifer's own, at this point not even size really tells them apart that much. Frotting is like that, it doesn't matter, there's only the slide, the touch, the rhythm. Fingers, slick, palm, pressure. When he pulls out of the kiss, he's panting harshly, his voice almost rusty in its quality and Elio leans down enough to press his mouth open against the thin skin beneath Lucifer's ear, earlobe slipping over his nose. He whispers: ]
I want to keep touching your wings.
[ Meaning, keep my hands free, please and take us there yourself all in one and Elio reaches out, spreads all ten fingers wide out over both wings, a hand on each of them, and starts stroking them softly, long, even movements of palm and slightly bent fingertips, digging in. ]
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No complaints, darling, no complaints.
[ He sounds exactly as out of breath as he feels, his voice thin and shaky. Elio, meanwhile, cards his fingers trough his wings, both of them at once, and Lucifer's eyes are drooping with each downward stroke, his lips trembling and his balls so tight that he almost can't bear it. It makes him feel completely devoid of resistance, like all the tension from earlier is draining from him along with the sweat on his brow and the shivers ghosting through his feathers. At the same time, there's that well-known urgency gathering in his muscles, his lower body, the need for moremoremore getting progressively wilder and once he figures out how to actually focus on his fingers, he folds his hand around their cocks, the sensitive undersides pressed together in his grip.
Throwing his head back against the pillow and closing his eyes, he starts stroking them both in turn, unconsciously mirroring the rhythm of Elio's hands against his feathers. The first stroke sends a hot spark of pleasure rushing through his lower body, the feel of Elio's cock, hard and warm between his fingers, making his breath stumble. Lips parted, every third or fourth breath coming out more like a moan, he starts working them, pushing his hips upwards a little. He's definitely close already, fuck, he's so close.
Close and warm and embraced, too, whether he deserves it or not. ]
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You should kiss me and then you should carry me off, Elio had bid Earth goodbye, a decade ago.
Not only does time pass differently in Hell, by a whole other count, but in its own way it also seems to stop, like nothing's changed since that day, except so much has. Lucifer is letting him love his wings unconditionally, both hands, fingertips dragging through a feathery carpet. Left and right. He swallows hard and kisses his way down along Lucifer's jawline, stubble, chin, stubble, lips, softer, so wonderfully soft and Elio kisses him breathlessly, also half-moaning, because they match.
Kiss me and carry me off.
Pushing his tongue in between Lucifer's lips, coaxing the other man's tongue into his mouth in turn, he sucks on it greedily, it's as harsh as they ever get with each other, this. Meanwhile, his hips are falling into the rhythm of Lucifer's hand, big hand, slick, warm, small trembling forward thrusts, trying to get more of that pressure, the sense of slide and friction, oh. His balls are so hard it hurts and he feels slightly hazy from it. Panting wetly, Elio pulls back out of the kiss, looking down at Lucifer's face for a moment while managing to coordinate his limbs only barely. And he doesn't have two extras, he doesn't have wings.
Except, in a way he does. ]
You're letting me love all of you. [ It comes out in pants. He stretches as much as he can, angling himself enough to the side to be able to press his own face in against the left upper arch of Lucifer's wing, more or less burying his face in feathers. Elio closes his eyes and kisses whatever he can reach. Between them, his cock is jerking in Lucifer's grip, the build-up hard and fast. The underside pressing against the underside of Lucifer's cock feels oversensitive and aching.
The rest is a mutter. ] And I want to, Lucifer, I want to so much.
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And yet.
And yet.
Gasping, he works their cocks a little faster but without any roughness, curling his free hand against the back of Elio's head as the other man leans down further, pressing his face against his feathers. He holds him close, keeping him where he is, his feathers actually straining upwards, trying to meet him in kind. As Lucifer strokes their cocks faster, his own climax building up more and more, he thinks somewhat crazily, I love you and thank you and he'd articulate some of it but he can't, it's just not -- ]
Aah! Oh, love, you - you -
[ He comes, hard enough to make his vision blacken around the edges. Around them, the room suddenly brightens, light burning from within his feathers, casting brilliant rays across the walls, the floors, the ceiling. It's really, really hard for him to think enough to even wonder at it; instead, he concentrates his last, two remaining brain cells on maintaining the pace, to take Elio with him once more, to give him... to give him...
He strokes the other man's hair mindlessly, his grip around their cocks slick from preen oil and his own cum. Precum, too. His muscles are trembling, his wings slack and gleaming against the bed and he can feel Elio, not just against them but inside them. ]
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Feeling the other man's grip grow slicker from cum now, too, the heat inside him as well as the easiness of the slide pushes Elio over the edge the rest of the way. Moaning harshly, still feeling Lucifer's hand against the back of his head, loving and tender and it means all those things he still can't say, but that Elio waits for only because he knows it'll want out one day, not because it changes anything between them, he thrusts harshly up against the underside of Lucifer's big, spent cock, into his grip, coming all over the other man's stomach that way, leaving himself all over him. The muscles in Elio's thighs are trembling and his back feels cramped, but it's too good to break the spell for. It's too good, it's too -
The light is still playing all over the walls, crawling over the ceiling, reflecting in the windows, in his eyes. Elio slowly stills, remaining where he is while breathing in and out harshly. His hands have flattened against Lucifer's feathers, not even really stroking anymore.
Then, finally, he pushes back, straightening up gradually, his body feeling heavy and relaxed. Elio looks down at Lucifer, at the mess he's made of him, but also the glory he embodies, just like this. Exactly like this. He cocks his head and smiles, running his overheated palms down over Lucifer's chest. His voice is a little bit raw. ]
You lit everything up there for a moment. [ He isn't only talking about the orgasm, though that, too, of course. It's always like this. ] It was perfect.
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