[ He heads inside, the tell-tale sounds of James getting out of the tub registering as background noise, not an answer, not as such. He's left it up to the other man to make his own decision here, as well. Whether he wants more, whether he wants to indulge. Passing through his living room, he grabs James' half-drunken glass of whiskey on the way and empties it, just, there. No need to waste it, after all.
In his walk-in closet, the motion sensors in the ceiling activate as he passes through without pausing, the lights dim and warm against the wood panelling. He leaves the frosty glass door open behind him, still inviting, still open to all likely outcomes, and goes straight for the shower. Naturally, he's got a claw-foot tub as well because why wouldn't he, but post-anal sex routines tend to call for running water and so, he steps inside the big shower cabin and hits the wall panel, the waterfall showerhead unleashing a soft but dense cascade of hot water from above.
Shutting his eyes, he soaps up blindly and leans his head back, his hair sticking to the back of his neck. The remnants of orgasm still linger in his muscles and his movements are slower than usual, a little more languid. Sex is... well, he's known since the dawn of man, hasn't he. It's bloody fantastic. He thinks about James and the look on his face, the change from flatness to pure, unadulterated passion. His cock gives an interested little jump, too.
From what he can tell, the man's coming to join him in a moment. He probably shouldn't be feeling all hopeful about it but fact remains, he's invited him up here for a reason and he doesn't feel quite done.
Then again, he's the Devil so that might also be par for the bloody course. ]
[ He follows at a distance, respectful, if you must. Through the living room, past the piano, past his left-behind pile of clothes that he'll probably only wear until he can get to his spare in the locker downstairs. Lucifer leads the way into a huge walk-in closet, bigger and more elaborate than anything James has ever seen before, sensor-activated lights glowing warmly above his head and leaving the shadows to flee to the corners, dark, soft velvet around the edges.
The frosty door leading to the bathroom, judging by the sound of running water, has been left open and he walks in, gingerly, every step a bit measured, because his ass still hurts and will hurt for a while to come yet. Outside the shower cabin, huge, elaborate like everything else in the apartment, he pauses for a moment and watches Lucifer soaping off, head tilted back, hair sticking to his skin, hands working mindlessly. Oh. Well. Okay, yes. ]
I like the way you're always showing off. Not just for me, but in general. [ This place, right? Or, as he's witnessed a few times, when the man performs at the club. The way he carries himself. The way they talk about him. Stepping inside, the waterfall showerhead making the transition from cool air to hot water very abrupt and leaving him gasping slightly, James moves up in front of the other man, looks up at him. And up. And up. Even his height is attention-seeking. ] You make it look natural.
[ The water drenches his hair, making it fall into his eyes in heavy bangs that he doesn't care to brush away immediately, just glances up at Lucifer, blinking against the spray. There's heat, between them, still. He wants to suck his cock, pretty much. He wants to get on his knees and suck him dry. He's heard it takes a few tries. ]
[ James joins him under the water, his drenched hair sticking to his forehead and falling into his eyes. Makes him look younger, somehow. Lucifer looks down at him after a moment, gaze a bit squinty due to the water dripping down his lashes. He's got a somewhat angular face, James, very pleasing, harmonic facial features, beautiful eyes. Very, very, enticing lips.
He's been a different person, once, wearing that same face, chasing his theology studies and all the thoughts associated with it, fairy tales and lies and truth, sure, buried so deep as to be imperceptible. In LA, people don't have to shapeshift to transform, they only have to be here and let themselves get carried away by the currents. He's well aware. Of course, he had to do some shaping but he's not one of them, obviously, and he never truly will be. Rules are different with angels.
Hard to say what shapes them, really, when the source of it all insists upon being so ridiculously illusive and silent.
Quirking one eyebrow, he spreads his legs a little, sort of tilting his hips forward slightly, his cock half-hard again. ]
Showing off, you say.
[ He licks his lips, tasting water and soap now, only the barest traces of Scotch and very little of James. Shame, that. Good thing he's up for a re-fill soon enough. ]
It's not about that, James. It's just that humans can't help but look. [ He curves one hand against the back of James' neck, dragging his wet fingertips through his hair, playing idly with the strands. ] And I happen to like that about you.
[ Said with a slow smile, easy and a little less sharp than earlier, a little more friendly. ]
[ It's a bizarre experience, being this close to him. Feeling his fingers playing with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, running through them idly. Because at the same time, Lucifer's talking about humans who can't help but look and how he likes that about them. Not us, like he's part of the group he's addressing, but like he's something other, something different. And looking from his crotch, where his cock's half-hard again, James' only a step or two behind, up his wide, hard chest to his face, smiling, softer now, James thinks that he could believe that he is. Something different. If you told him that this man was the human incarnation of the devil? He'd believe it. It would all fit.
It's bizarre, but it's also recognizable and here, James will take whatever he can get of that, right? L.A. is still a strange, new place. Maybe it always will be. Maybe it won't, supposedly he'll figure that out soon enough, if he stays put for long enough.
Breathing out shakily, feeling his cock take a definite interest in the way the other man is angling his hips, showing off like he's proving a point, he rubs himself up against the other man's fingers, his palm, hand, taking whatever little scrap of touch he's offered. He raises both hands, presses them flatly against the man's chest and runs them down over his pecs, the water making the movement smooth, wet, his palms rubbing over nipples on both sides. Mm. He steps closer, until they're all but pushing up against each other.
All the while, he doesn't break eye contact. ]
Depends on what we've got to look at.
[ A rhetorical pause as he leans in and licks a trail over the other man's shoulder, from his upper arm to his neck. He uses the inclusive we, like an invitation - he could be talking about himself and the rest of the humans or he could be talking about Lucifer, too. James isn't going to shy away from the discrepancy of it. The strangeness. He's studied the Bible, he's seen worse. ]
[ Mm. Lucifer watches him, leaning into the touch of his palms as he presses them against his chest, rubbing over his nipples. His cock goes fully hard within the span of seconds because really, he's a sucker for touch, for stimulation and friction and excess. When the other man licks a trail over his shoulder to his neck, he shudders visibly, his grip against the back of his neck tightening a fraction. He pushes him down a bit against his skin, encouraging him.
He notes, of course, the way James is going along with his narrative, saying we which could be both inclusive and exclusive, depending on your choice of the night. Lucifer's, his, whichever. It's a silent acknowledgment that he doesn't need to reduce either of them to fantasy or fancy - which is unusual, granted, enough for Lucifer to actually notice now. He can't remember when he last slept with someone who didn't treat the notion of God or religion as something of temporary convenience; when they need it, they believe. When they're trying to have an orgy, they really don't.
Except here's James, clinging onto some very different notions altogether and Lucifer's intrigued enough to pay attention. Truth be told, the idea of bedding anyone who'd spent any prolonged time immersing themselves in the Bible - rot, from start to finish, lies and slander - would normally turn him off but James has grown wiser, hasn't he?
Wise enough (or hurt enough, he knows how that goes) to wonder. To push it away, keep it at an arm's length.
With a groan, he curls his soapy palm around the length of James' cock, rubbing slow circles over the head with his thumb. ]
[ With one hand, Lucifer presses his face in against his skin, encouraging him to keep exploring with his mouth, making him open wider, sliding his lips over the outline of muscle and tendons in the other man's neck, nibbling and kissing his way up to his ear slowly, catching his earlobe between his lips, sucking on it, noisily. Wetly. He's getting water in his face, dripping down his nose, his eyelashes, but it's just another sensory input. It fits the rest, somehow, the warmth and damp heat clinging to his skin. The way Lucifer with his other hand, soapy and huge, curls his fingers over the head of his cock, rubbing over it with his thumb, making the whole length of it harden the rest of the way in no time at all. James groans against his ear, places a light kiss against the shell of it before reaching up with one hand and grabbing the other man's chin, stubble tickling his fingertips, between his thumb and index, angling his head up to expose his throat, licking a fat trail up over his Adam's apple and scraping his teeth lightly along the jut of his jawline before drawing away, their lips inches apart. ]
With you, it's a matter of not wanting to stop.
[ Stop looking, stop doing, stop fucking...
Mostly distracted by more important things, like dick, James recalls their talk downstairs, about sinfulness, about inherently and willfully, the crucial, important difference. A harsh huff of breath, ghosting over the other man's lips and James lands his free hand on his hip, following the curve of bone underneath skin with careful, soft fingertips. Looking up through lowered lashes, because the water's still beating down, he slips his hand downwards, cupping the hard length of Lucifer's cock with his palm, rubbing up against it. His own hips are jerking forward into the other man's touch shakily. ]
[ He leans his head backwards into the spray to give James room to roam as he pleases, over his throat, Adam's apple (ugh, seriously, Adam was a bloody prat, why would they name anything after him). At his words, he chuckles, feeling his breath against his lips, his scent a bit stronger like that. His next exhalation shudders out of him, as James runs his hand down his hip, inwards, cupping the length of his cock. ]
Of course it is.
[ His voice is thinner now, decidedly airy. He folds his hand around the shaft of James' cock and starts stroking it at a lazy, unhurried pace, his hand sliding wetly up and down, following the small jerks James can't help but make, chasing his pleasure, naturally. What else? ]
It's greediness, darling, a fundamentally important aspect of human nature and if you don't mind indulging - [ He steps closer, pushing up against James' hand, his own cock twitching beneath his palm. ] - then honestly, I don't much care what makes you tick, specifically, so long as you keep ticking.
[ He leans down and kisses him, hungrily, pushing his tongue between his lips and giving him a taste of water as well, can't be helped; shower sex is fun but inherently impractical. Like this, they're basically just jerking each other off but Lucifer isn't particular about the how, so long as they get where they wanna go. He thinks about how tight he'd been out in the jacuzzi, burning hot, beautifully lost in it.
No, in this particular context, being helplessly lost certainly doesn't make James look bad. Of course, that's why he's still here, isn't it. Because he can stand himself like this, even with how low he's let himself sink, running away, straying, however the story goes. ]
[ Greediness... They're ticking off the deadly sins as they go, huh? James stands his ground as the other man steps up in his face, wrapping his hand around his cock, beginning to jerk him off at a slow, unforced pace. Not to hurry them along, but to tether them in the moment. James can tell the difference, having done too much of the former and never, never enough of the latter. He breathes out hard against Lucifer's mouth as he kisses him, parting his lips and letting him breach him again. Their tongues slide up wetly against each other and James tastes him, lots of alcohol, Scotch, remnants of champagne, he's a high class minibar, really, but it's all the same in the end. It's the greed. The want for more. As long as you keep ticking.
Honestly, James feels like a landmine currently. Just waiting to go off.
Cocking his head to one side to angle the kiss better, pressing back against the other man's mouth, stroking his tongue wetly, lots of water, he supports the weight of his cock against his palm, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and beginning to stroke him at an even, smooth pace. Slow. Not quite as slow as Lucifer's doing it, but still, it will only get them so far. He wants the feeling of it, though, the heavy, hard feeling of the other man's cock in his hand, the heat of his body, the slick sound of water and skin slapping against skin. He rubs his thumb over the head, dips it into the slit, feeling the water make the slide easy.
His other hand slips up around Lucifer's shoulders, cradles him by the nape of his neck and pulls him down into the kiss, making a low, keen sound at the back of his throat as he meets him.
All the while, he thinks that greed is many things. There are many, many things in the world you can want and whatever the Bible says, come on, they can't all be bad. This? This can't possibly be bad. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
In his walk-in closet, the motion sensors in the ceiling activate as he passes through without pausing, the lights dim and warm against the wood panelling. He leaves the frosty glass door open behind him, still inviting, still open to all likely outcomes, and goes straight for the shower. Naturally, he's got a claw-foot tub as well because why wouldn't he, but post-anal sex routines tend to call for running water and so, he steps inside the big shower cabin and hits the wall panel, the waterfall showerhead unleashing a soft but dense cascade of hot water from above.
Shutting his eyes, he soaps up blindly and leans his head back, his hair sticking to the back of his neck. The remnants of orgasm still linger in his muscles and his movements are slower than usual, a little more languid. Sex is... well, he's known since the dawn of man, hasn't he. It's bloody fantastic. He thinks about James and the look on his face, the change from flatness to pure, unadulterated passion. His cock gives an interested little jump, too.
From what he can tell, the man's coming to join him in a moment. He probably shouldn't be feeling all hopeful about it but fact remains, he's invited him up here for a reason and he doesn't feel quite done.
Then again, he's the Devil so that might also be par for the bloody course. ]
no subject
The frosty door leading to the bathroom, judging by the sound of running water, has been left open and he walks in, gingerly, every step a bit measured, because his ass still hurts and will hurt for a while to come yet. Outside the shower cabin, huge, elaborate like everything else in the apartment, he pauses for a moment and watches Lucifer soaping off, head tilted back, hair sticking to his skin, hands working mindlessly. Oh. Well. Okay, yes. ]
I like the way you're always showing off. Not just for me, but in general. [ This place, right? Or, as he's witnessed a few times, when the man performs at the club. The way he carries himself. The way they talk about him. Stepping inside, the waterfall showerhead making the transition from cool air to hot water very abrupt and leaving him gasping slightly, James moves up in front of the other man, looks up at him. And up. And up. Even his height is attention-seeking. ] You make it look natural.
[ The water drenches his hair, making it fall into his eyes in heavy bangs that he doesn't care to brush away immediately, just glances up at Lucifer, blinking against the spray. There's heat, between them, still. He wants to suck his cock, pretty much. He wants to get on his knees and suck him dry. He's heard it takes a few tries. ]
That's a compliment, by the way.
no subject
He's been a different person, once, wearing that same face, chasing his theology studies and all the thoughts associated with it, fairy tales and lies and truth, sure, buried so deep as to be imperceptible. In LA, people don't have to shapeshift to transform, they only have to be here and let themselves get carried away by the currents. He's well aware. Of course, he had to do some shaping but he's not one of them, obviously, and he never truly will be. Rules are different with angels.
Hard to say what shapes them, really, when the source of it all insists upon being so ridiculously illusive and silent.
Quirking one eyebrow, he spreads his legs a little, sort of tilting his hips forward slightly, his cock half-hard again. ]
Showing off, you say.
[ He licks his lips, tasting water and soap now, only the barest traces of Scotch and very little of James. Shame, that. Good thing he's up for a re-fill soon enough. ]
It's not about that, James. It's just that humans can't help but look. [ He curves one hand against the back of James' neck, dragging his wet fingertips through his hair, playing idly with the strands. ] And I happen to like that about you.
[ Said with a slow smile, easy and a little less sharp than earlier, a little more friendly. ]
no subject
It's bizarre, but it's also recognizable and here, James will take whatever he can get of that, right? L.A. is still a strange, new place. Maybe it always will be. Maybe it won't, supposedly he'll figure that out soon enough, if he stays put for long enough.
Breathing out shakily, feeling his cock take a definite interest in the way the other man is angling his hips, showing off like he's proving a point, he rubs himself up against the other man's fingers, his palm, hand, taking whatever little scrap of touch he's offered. He raises both hands, presses them flatly against the man's chest and runs them down over his pecs, the water making the movement smooth, wet, his palms rubbing over nipples on both sides. Mm. He steps closer, until they're all but pushing up against each other.
All the while, he doesn't break eye contact. ]
Depends on what we've got to look at.
[ A rhetorical pause as he leans in and licks a trail over the other man's shoulder, from his upper arm to his neck. He uses the inclusive we, like an invitation - he could be talking about himself and the rest of the humans or he could be talking about Lucifer, too. James isn't going to shy away from the discrepancy of it. The strangeness. He's studied the Bible, he's seen worse. ]
no subject
He notes, of course, the way James is going along with his narrative, saying we which could be both inclusive and exclusive, depending on your choice of the night. Lucifer's, his, whichever. It's a silent acknowledgment that he doesn't need to reduce either of them to fantasy or fancy - which is unusual, granted, enough for Lucifer to actually notice now. He can't remember when he last slept with someone who didn't treat the notion of God or religion as something of temporary convenience; when they need it, they believe. When they're trying to have an orgy, they really don't.
Except here's James, clinging onto some very different notions altogether and Lucifer's intrigued enough to pay attention. Truth be told, the idea of bedding anyone who'd spent any prolonged time immersing themselves in the Bible - rot, from start to finish, lies and slander - would normally turn him off but James has grown wiser, hasn't he?
Wise enough (or hurt enough, he knows how that goes) to wonder. To push it away, keep it at an arm's length.
With a groan, he curls his soapy palm around the length of James' cock, rubbing slow circles over the head with his thumb. ]
no subject
With you, it's a matter of not wanting to stop.
[ Stop looking, stop doing, stop fucking...
Mostly distracted by more important things, like dick, James recalls their talk downstairs, about sinfulness, about inherently and willfully, the crucial, important difference. A harsh huff of breath, ghosting over the other man's lips and James lands his free hand on his hip, following the curve of bone underneath skin with careful, soft fingertips. Looking up through lowered lashes, because the water's still beating down, he slips his hand downwards, cupping the hard length of Lucifer's cock with his palm, rubbing up against it. His own hips are jerking forward into the other man's touch shakily. ]
no subject
Of course it is.
[ His voice is thinner now, decidedly airy. He folds his hand around the shaft of James' cock and starts stroking it at a lazy, unhurried pace, his hand sliding wetly up and down, following the small jerks James can't help but make, chasing his pleasure, naturally. What else? ]
It's greediness, darling, a fundamentally important aspect of human nature and if you don't mind indulging - [ He steps closer, pushing up against James' hand, his own cock twitching beneath his palm. ] - then honestly, I don't much care what makes you tick, specifically, so long as you keep ticking.
[ He leans down and kisses him, hungrily, pushing his tongue between his lips and giving him a taste of water as well, can't be helped; shower sex is fun but inherently impractical. Like this, they're basically just jerking each other off but Lucifer isn't particular about the how, so long as they get where they wanna go. He thinks about how tight he'd been out in the jacuzzi, burning hot, beautifully lost in it.
No, in this particular context, being helplessly lost certainly doesn't make James look bad. Of course, that's why he's still here, isn't it. Because he can stand himself like this, even with how low he's let himself sink, running away, straying, however the story goes. ]
no subject
Honestly, James feels like a landmine currently. Just waiting to go off.
Cocking his head to one side to angle the kiss better, pressing back against the other man's mouth, stroking his tongue wetly, lots of water, he supports the weight of his cock against his palm, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and beginning to stroke him at an even, smooth pace. Slow. Not quite as slow as Lucifer's doing it, but still, it will only get them so far. He wants the feeling of it, though, the heavy, hard feeling of the other man's cock in his hand, the heat of his body, the slick sound of water and skin slapping against skin. He rubs his thumb over the head, dips it into the slit, feeling the water make the slide easy.
His other hand slips up around Lucifer's shoulders, cradles him by the nape of his neck and pulls him down into the kiss, making a low, keen sound at the back of his throat as he meets him.
All the while, he thinks that greed is many things. There are many, many things in the world you can want and whatever the Bible says, come on, they can't all be bad. This? This can't possibly be bad. ]