twotwelfths: (6 |)
Two apostles down, ten to go. ([personal profile] twotwelfths) wrote 2021-06-27 09:34 am (UTC)

[ And there they go again, Lucifer lifting him off of his lap like he weighs nothing and sitting him down on the bench next to him, telling him we might find a way, you and I. James is a bit busy wincing, his ass feeling raw and sore, still pretty open and he has to clench as he moves to sit down on his bum completely. He won't be able to walk without a limp, if he's really supposed to follow the other man to the bathroom. He's going to anyway, of course, but he'll look a fuck feast the entire way.

Then, as he looks up to follow the other man with his eyes when he gets out of the tub and walks over to dry off, he pauses for a second, getting an eyeful of very broad, very strong, masculine back - with huge scarring across both the shoulder blades. Right where the bones join. The areas mirror each other, too, obviously done with deliberate care, more like scarification than some horrible accident. Incident. He could ask about it, true, but that would be unbelievably transgressive, right? They barely know each other, aside from the man's cock in his ass, he hasn't earned the right to that kind of info. At all.

Lucifer looks at him over his shoulder, the bones moving beneath the scarred skin at the turn of his head, curve of spine, James looks up and meets his eyes without blinking. You're free to come along. Consent, again, giving, taking. The man is particular about it and James likes that. Slowly, he gets out of the jacuzzi himself and grabs a towel, drying off his hair, his shoulders lazily. His ass, cum running down his thighs. Taking a moment to catch the worst of it, he lets his gaze glide up Lucifer's back again, watching as he walks towards the rooms beyond.

They look like wings, he realizes. The body mods. They look like someone has cut wings off of him. The fallen angel, it's not just an image, is it? It's something far more expansive, like a whole identity. A way of being.

He breathes in long and slow, heat pooling low in his abdomen again. Already. Dropping the towel, he follows along, wordlessly. ]

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