A hand passes down Balthazar's spine in a long slow stroke. The broad wings enfold him and keep him close, caged around him, the gentlest form of entrapment. Lucifer doesn't answer at first, letting silence spin itself out into the space of the little house while he absorbs the familiar sense of this man. He changed, in the span of those years--change is the very nature of his kind--and Lucifer watched from afar, but it's a different matter to stand with him in the circle of his arms and to know him this closely again. The shudder at his touch resonates through him. The desire, and the joy.

"Oh my love," he murmurs, very low, "there is so much I want of you."

It can wait, though. It can unfold at the pace that it will, for he has no intention of vanishing again, not for a while, at least. Other matters will demand his attention eventually, but for now there is this, and them. "Make your tea if you like," he tells him with a smile, wings drawing away and folding in again at his back. His hand goes again to the side of his face, long fingers curving over his jaw, his cheek. "I don't have need of it, Balthazar, but I'll drink with you." Another stolen kiss. Another warm press of mouths, and hunger beneath it, held in gentle restraint.