[ The other man starts fucking himself on Lucifer's fingers and that, in itself, is an interesting answer, at odds with his actual, verbal reply. It means something in-between, an intangible answer, the kind of you get from humans because they lie too much and too often. Certain celestials, too, if he's honest (and Lucifer is, to a fault). I'm not here to forget he says and Lucifer's smile gains a tint of something different, something maybe a little bit softer because he likes people, he likes them, even if they come and go much too quickly.
Metaphorically speaking. ]
You know what?
[ He adds another finger to the mix whilst James tugs at his bottom lip, leaving his arsehole stretched around him obscenely, the wet slide of James' body sinking down and the splash of water around the other man's hips stealing his focus, making it narrow down to little but this, now, which is obviously the point of sex. Maybe not to forget but certainly, to get lost. Why else would you (except to procreate but you know, you as a general you). Why else? Breath coming out like a harsh moan, caught between his teeth, he pulls one hand, the un-lubed one, away from James' arse and grabs the tube again, squeezing out enough to slick up his palm.
He works his own cock then, slowly, taking pleasure from it. Hooking his fingers into James' arse at an angle, he catches his prostate very deliberately and rubs it, repeatedly. ]
I think, in essence, what we want - [ He releases himself, pulls his fingers roughly from the other man's arse and grabs his hips with both hands, pulling him up, over the water's surface. ] - is to be ourselves. To be exactly who we are.
[ He pauses, hands flat against the other man's hips, holding him up without even a tremble. His body weight is negligible at best. Humans, physicality aside, are little but air. Atoms and atrophy. He stares into James' eyes, unblinking, gaze hard and intense and full of arousal. Excitement. Nods, downwards, towards his own lap, the head of his cock breaching the water between them. ]
no subject
Metaphorically speaking. ]
You know what?
[ He adds another finger to the mix whilst James tugs at his bottom lip, leaving his arsehole stretched around him obscenely, the wet slide of James' body sinking down and the splash of water around the other man's hips stealing his focus, making it narrow down to little but this, now, which is obviously the point of sex. Maybe not to forget but certainly, to get lost. Why else would you (except to procreate but you know, you as a general you). Why else? Breath coming out like a harsh moan, caught between his teeth, he pulls one hand, the un-lubed one, away from James' arse and grabs the tube again, squeezing out enough to slick up his palm.
He works his own cock then, slowly, taking pleasure from it. Hooking his fingers into James' arse at an angle, he catches his prostate very deliberately and rubs it, repeatedly. ]
I think, in essence, what we want - [ He releases himself, pulls his fingers roughly from the other man's arse and grabs his hips with both hands, pulling him up, over the water's surface. ] - is to be ourselves. To be exactly who we are.
[ He pauses, hands flat against the other man's hips, holding him up without even a tremble. His body weight is negligible at best. Humans, physicality aside, are little but air. Atoms and atrophy. He stares into James' eyes, unblinking, gaze hard and intense and full of arousal. Excitement. Nods, downwards, towards his own lap, the head of his cock breaching the water between them. ]
So, go on. Let's have it.