The other man's tension and discomfort was something he could taste in the air between them, thick as he drove them through the damp streets, and Lucifer, smiling, didn't speak, didn't attempt to ease it. Matt was thinking of him, remembering him, still feeling his cock inside of him and that was enough.
At last they were stopped and climbing the stairs to the place where Matt lived, an apartment that couldn't really be called a home, as desolate as he expected it to be. He could see the man's ruin lurking in the corners of this place, the shadows of the forgotten things he had done to him. There were scars in his mind, too, and they lingered even when the memory of who had put them there didn't, tearing at the very fabric of his being. He moved through the apartment as though it belonged to him as much as Matt did, taking it in, turning at last to face him and crossing the room again to him. He took the cigarette from his mouth and let it fall to the floor, tugged the lenses up and over his head. His fingers brushed the hollows of his cheeks and Lucifer took his mouth again with a gentle, single-minded possessiveness.
“You want me,” he murmured against his lips, his hands lowering to unbuckle his belt, to undo the fastenings of his pants as easily as he had in the alley, dragging them down his hips. He palmed his cock, fingertips finding the fluid at the tip and spreading it with the strokes of his hand, then sliding down to his balls; he tugged at them almost idly, licking at his mouth, and then broke away to go to his knees. Pushing his cock up towards his stomach, he ducked his head to press the flat of his tongue to his balls and suck them into his mouth. The other hand slid between his thighs, fingers pressing slowly into his asshole, still open and slick with his semen.
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At last they were stopped and climbing the stairs to the place where Matt lived, an apartment that couldn't really be called a home, as desolate as he expected it to be. He could see the man's ruin lurking in the corners of this place, the shadows of the forgotten things he had done to him. There were scars in his mind, too, and they lingered even when the memory of who had put them there didn't, tearing at the very fabric of his being. He moved through the apartment as though it belonged to him as much as Matt did, taking it in, turning at last to face him and crossing the room again to him. He took the cigarette from his mouth and let it fall to the floor, tugged the lenses up and over his head. His fingers brushed the hollows of his cheeks and Lucifer took his mouth again with a gentle, single-minded possessiveness.
“You want me,” he murmured against his lips, his hands lowering to unbuckle his belt, to undo the fastenings of his pants as easily as he had in the alley, dragging them down his hips. He palmed his cock, fingertips finding the fluid at the tip and spreading it with the strokes of his hand, then sliding down to his balls; he tugged at them almost idly, licking at his mouth, and then broke away to go to his knees. Pushing his cock up towards his stomach, he ducked his head to press the flat of his tongue to his balls and suck them into his mouth. The other hand slid between his thighs, fingers pressing slowly into his asshole, still open and slick with his semen.