Lucifer, the Morningstar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
phosphoriel) wrote2012-09-08 02:09 pm
phosphoriel) wrote2012-09-08 02:09 pm
(no subject)
He let the man forget for a while, after setting him free, after lifting the paralysis from his spine and giving him back something resembling the wholeness of his body: all injury healed, all left perfect and unmarred but for the tapestry across his back, the unfurled flower of scars. He took from his mind the hours and hours in a room which existed nowhere, the agony of that sweet silver knife, the hands that held him down, the cock that moved through him. It didn't matter what lingered in his mind; the taint would remain in him, a splintering madness that had no explanation, no words for the scars, for anything that had come before. It wasn't permanent. It would come back to him when Lucifer did.
The bar belowground didn't cater to anyone who wasn't looking for ruin, dark, desperate and smelling of liquor, buried underneath a city without sanctuary, and he found the man there again, came to him dark and beautiful, with hidden wings. He drew him into a black corner, pulled him into his lap and silenced his mouth, his hands touching anything they wanted to, his tongue taking the sharpness of the liquor he'd drunk from his lips, and Lucifer didn't give him his name or give back the memory of his hands on him, not yet. Matt was his, he always would be, and there was time to show him. The man's body was smaller and weaker and easily manipulated, his hands holding his wrists to the wall when at last he lifted his mouth from his to brush it across his ear instead.
“Show me where you live.” The grip loosened, his hands lowered. He cupped the man's cock in long fingers, the heel of his hand grinding slowly against him, over the front of his pants.
The bar belowground didn't cater to anyone who wasn't looking for ruin, dark, desperate and smelling of liquor, buried underneath a city without sanctuary, and he found the man there again, came to him dark and beautiful, with hidden wings. He drew him into a black corner, pulled him into his lap and silenced his mouth, his hands touching anything they wanted to, his tongue taking the sharpness of the liquor he'd drunk from his lips, and Lucifer didn't give him his name or give back the memory of his hands on him, not yet. Matt was his, he always would be, and there was time to show him. The man's body was smaller and weaker and easily manipulated, his hands holding his wrists to the wall when at last he lifted his mouth from his to brush it across his ear instead.
“Show me where you live.” The grip loosened, his hands lowered. He cupped the man's cock in long fingers, the heel of his hand grinding slowly against him, over the front of his pants.