[ 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.
[ He feels Elio spill against his hand and keeps up the momentum for as long as he can, pulling everything he can from him before they both still, Elio first, then him. Pause. They're breathing heavily and the glow from his wings hasn't dimmed much at all, light bouncing and cascading off the walls as if Elio'd decided to manifest a couple of huge disco balls in his bedroom. No such luck, of course. It's just Lucifer's wings, once more doing inexplicable things. He sighs, leaning his head back as Elio sits up once more, eyes falling shut again. He releases their cocks, his own hypersensitive by how and ambivalent about the sudden lack of stimuli. He dries off his hand in the sheets - white streaks on red silk, that'll be cute - and curves his hands against Elio's narrow hips.
He feels slack all over, basically. His wings, despite the glow, have mostly gone splat against the bed. When Elio touches his chest, it feels like more of the same in the most amazing of ways; like there's very little difference here, now, between their hands, their bodies. His feathers feel loved. There's no other way to describe whatever's happening to them, the way they seem to be singing. ]
That's because you're perfect, Elio.
[ He runs his hands up Elio's back slowly, spreading his palms out and stroking the soft skin there, fingertips pressing an idle rhythm against his skin that he recognises about ten seconds later as the beginnings of the Moonlight Sonata, 1st movement. This time, he doesn't stop, doesn't attempt to correct himself. He simply keeps his eyes closed, breathing evening out slowly but surely, the glow from his wings dimming only gradually.
He thinks about the loops, then. About Elio, playing the piano for him, about running away from it because it felt like too much, like they're turning this place - Hell, his - into something it shouldn't be, something that carries memories along with it, memories of love and life and warmth. But maybe that's just what Elio does and maybe he needs to accept that part of the other man.
Return the favour.
His feathers feel like gold.
Blinking his eyes open, he looks up at Elio, gaze heavy, still, and just a bit heated. When he speaks, however, his voice is quiet. Contemplative, almost. ]
[ There's a normal afterglow and then there's theirs. All the touching, like they're both clinging to the sensations of what went before and just waiting for a chance to go again, once more, with feeling. Lucifer dries his hand off in the sheets and they'll be dirty, but dirty is good, it's hot, and then closes his fingers around Elio's hips, drawing his palms up over his back, spreading out his fingers and... Oh. Playing him, playing him like a baby grand and Elio closes his eyes, too, feels for the pattern of his touch, recognizing it immediately as the Moonlight Sonata.
1st movement. Dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum, fingertips striking invisible keys. He smiles, knows.
That's because you're perfect, the Devil tells him and Elio wants to shake his head, he was never good with compliments, but something in the way Lucifer says it, eyes shut and the glow from his wings dimming gradually, casting shade across his face, where his features dip, makes Elio straighten up a little between the other man's hands, prouder in his grip, somehow. He can't explain it, it's like a new degree of acceptance - acceptance of how he's being perceived. Maybe he really is a little bit of that, too, right? Maybe just a little bit, if the Devil says so.
And then, Lucifer opens his eyes again and looks up at him, fire and passion and something they're not yet naming in his gaze and Elio slides his hands up to the other man's shoulders, one hand going up into his hair and just combing through it loosely, softly. They're close this way, face to face. Elio smiles and kisses his cheek, his nose, right on the tip, because it's there. Big nose. Big hands. Big cock. Lucifer's larger than life in so many ways and Elio isn't going to hold it against him, that he ran. Like Hell, they're a work in progress and changing yourself, any one part of you, is a scary endeavor.
Elio knows, he's in it with him, right there on his left side. Many people throughout the years have changed Elio, for better and for worse, but this is the first work he's doing himself. At least he isn't alone anymore. ]
We're learning, Lucifer. [ Kiss, kiss, earlobe, chin. Besides, Lucifer is apologizing. You have to wonder whom the King of Hell ever says sorry to except his queen. ] It's a process that requires a lot of gentleness, from ourselves and each other. So, it's okay, right? It's okay.
[ Drawing back, Elio balances himself against Lucifer's shoulder, looking down at him, warmth in his gaze. Passion, too, heat, but mostly warmth. He'll require at least ten minutes if he's going to get back into the game proper. ]
[ He melts against Elio as the other man leans down and kisses him. Cheek, nose. And then onwards, more kisses, strewn about like tiny flickers of warm light, not unlike the ones still sparkling off the walls. Lucifer watches him, feeling warm to the core again, few if any remnants of Grigori's punishment lingering in his body. The wound in his side has healed over completely. We're learning, says Elio, meaning together and that's a lovely thought. He's been alone for quite a stretch of time, Lucifer. So has Elio, in his own right.
Surely, if nothing else, they've earned some sort of respite.
When Elio draws back, Lucifer looks up at him for a moment, his own gaze softening at what he sees in Elio's, at the warmth and the heat and the gentleness playing in his eyes. With a sigh, he gets up on his elbows, using his wings to balance against the bed as he slips both arms around the other man and pulls him in against his chest, front to front. He bends his neck and kisses the side of his neck, his shoulder, tasting sweat and the last vestiges of sex. Then, he takes them both down to the bed, sideways, tumbling Elio over gently onto the wide stretch of his wing. He tips it upwards, the glittering, golden feathers coming off the bed to spoon the other man lightly.
Then, still holding his tiny queen in his arms, he lowers the other wing and folds it over him, cocooning them both beneath a blanket of feathers, soft from the oil and bright in the darkness. He shuts his eyes and inhales, deeply. Releases his grip on Elio enough to give the other man room to shift as he pleases and thinks thank you and darling, not necessarily in that order, as he lets himself drift off to sleep. ]
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
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 subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
He feels slack all over, basically. His wings, despite the glow, have mostly gone splat against the bed. When Elio touches his chest, it feels like more of the same in the most amazing of ways; like there's very little difference here, now, between their hands, their bodies. His feathers feel loved. There's no other way to describe whatever's happening to them, the way they seem to be singing. ]
That's because you're perfect, Elio.
[ He runs his hands up Elio's back slowly, spreading his palms out and stroking the soft skin there, fingertips pressing an idle rhythm against his skin that he recognises about ten seconds later as the beginnings of the Moonlight Sonata, 1st movement. This time, he doesn't stop, doesn't attempt to correct himself. He simply keeps his eyes closed, breathing evening out slowly but surely, the glow from his wings dimming only gradually.
He thinks about the loops, then. About Elio, playing the piano for him, about running away from it because it felt like too much, like they're turning this place - Hell, his - into something it shouldn't be, something that carries memories along with it, memories of love and life and warmth. But maybe that's just what Elio does and maybe he needs to accept that part of the other man.
Return the favour.
His feathers feel like gold.
Blinking his eyes open, he looks up at Elio, gaze heavy, still, and just a bit heated. When he speaks, however, his voice is quiet. Contemplative, almost. ]
I'm... sorry. About earlier.
no subject
1st movement. Dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum, fingertips striking invisible keys. He smiles, knows.
That's because you're perfect, the Devil tells him and Elio wants to shake his head, he was never good with compliments, but something in the way Lucifer says it, eyes shut and the glow from his wings dimming gradually, casting shade across his face, where his features dip, makes Elio straighten up a little between the other man's hands, prouder in his grip, somehow. He can't explain it, it's like a new degree of acceptance - acceptance of how he's being perceived. Maybe he really is a little bit of that, too, right? Maybe just a little bit, if the Devil says so.
And then, Lucifer opens his eyes again and looks up at him, fire and passion and something they're not yet naming in his gaze and Elio slides his hands up to the other man's shoulders, one hand going up into his hair and just combing through it loosely, softly. They're close this way, face to face. Elio smiles and kisses his cheek, his nose, right on the tip, because it's there. Big nose. Big hands. Big cock. Lucifer's larger than life in so many ways and Elio isn't going to hold it against him, that he ran. Like Hell, they're a work in progress and changing yourself, any one part of you, is a scary endeavor.
Elio knows, he's in it with him, right there on his left side. Many people throughout the years have changed Elio, for better and for worse, but this is the first work he's doing himself. At least he isn't alone anymore. ]
We're learning, Lucifer. [ Kiss, kiss, earlobe, chin. Besides, Lucifer is apologizing. You have to wonder whom the King of Hell ever says sorry to except his queen. ] It's a process that requires a lot of gentleness, from ourselves and each other. So, it's okay, right? It's okay.
[ Drawing back, Elio balances himself against Lucifer's shoulder, looking down at him, warmth in his gaze. Passion, too, heat, but mostly warmth. He'll require at least ten minutes if he's going to get back into the game proper. ]
no subject
Surely, if nothing else, they've earned some sort of respite.
When Elio draws back, Lucifer looks up at him for a moment, his own gaze softening at what he sees in Elio's, at the warmth and the heat and the gentleness playing in his eyes. With a sigh, he gets up on his elbows, using his wings to balance against the bed as he slips both arms around the other man and pulls him in against his chest, front to front. He bends his neck and kisses the side of his neck, his shoulder, tasting sweat and the last vestiges of sex. Then, he takes them both down to the bed, sideways, tumbling Elio over gently onto the wide stretch of his wing. He tips it upwards, the glittering, golden feathers coming off the bed to spoon the other man lightly.
Then, still holding his tiny queen in his arms, he lowers the other wing and folds it over him, cocooning them both beneath a blanket of feathers, soft from the oil and bright in the darkness. He shuts his eyes and inhales, deeply. Releases his grip on Elio enough to give the other man room to shift as he pleases and thinks thank you and darling, not necessarily in that order, as he lets himself drift off to sleep. ]