For grimholdkeeper

[phosphoriel]

The sea sighs and rushes against the austere coast, the barren space between cliffs and water; at high tide nearly all this stony shore would be underwater, but there are places where dry ground lingers, hollows set higher against the cliffs, yet still tucked against and sheltered by their towering reach. Lucifer walks beside the water, seeking, following no pathway or direction: only the sense of a mortal life held in his keeping some time ago. It is still his, of course; he has never unchained it, never let it go free, only let it be at the edge of his senses for a while, still shackled to his strange, lonely, twisted heart.

The water rushes cold and frothing over his bare feet. He is robed only from the waist down, broad wings trailing behind him in the surf like the train of a gown. All the world smells of salt and solitude, a sky gray and roiling with clouds now swiftly turning black with the approach of night. In the twilight he sees a set of stairs carved roughly into the rock a little way up the shore, leading to a hollow in the cliffside where a small hut perches, standing bravely, precariously against the roar of the ocean. Built of driftwood, perhaps, to judge by the not-quite-straight lines of the walls, their dark shining smoothness. Light glows from the windows, sparse but easily seen through the gloaming.

His feet mount the steps at no particularly hurried pace. At the door, he feels the barrier of a closed bolt, but at his hand on the frame and a murmured word it unlocks soundlessly, and he pushes open the door, stepping within. His wings fill the diminutive space. He looks first at the lamp on a table, and then the man sitting beside it. "Is that the only light you have, Balthazar?"

Comments

[grimholdkeeper]

Even in the fog of lust, Balthazar can't help but think how convenient it is to have a lover who can just banish their clothing at will, without all the frustration and delay of buttons or zippers, or the irritation of having to leave comfortable positions in order to get fabric out of the way. He's done such spells himself, but they require concentration, which he has little of now, or else the clothing becomes unsalvageable, rendered to ash or threads or flower petals. He chuckles softly at the thought, but the sound is swallowed up quickly with a groan.

The strength of Lucifer, and the confidence with which he holds and manipulates his body, is overwhelming. It makes Balthazar feel small and vulnerable, an edge of pleasant discomfort building into the arousal. He welcomes the penetration, though, making a few soft, inarticulate noises, then nodding. Better, yes. Much.

Held in the cocoon of wings and powerful arms, all he can do is submit to the fierce kisses, breaths rationed out until he's giddy. It's exactly what he wanted, and he does shudder, muscles tensing and relaxing as he adjusts to the control and the feeling of being possessed once more.

Within the shadow of his master's wings, he pants for air, flushed now and eyes bright and glassy with desire. At some point in the kissing, he's put his arms around Lucifer's neck, hands clutching at his shoulders and hair as if for balance, easily hard enough to bruise mortal flesh. He smiles in response to his master's smile and takes a ragged breath, then shifts his body weight, moving to lift nearly off the shaft buried in him, then sinking back down. His eyes flutter closed, bittersweet bliss written across his face.

[phosphoriel]

Balthazar is lovely this way, dazed by pleasure and desire, so close to undone. His eyes move over his flushed face, his unfocused gaze, the lips parted for breath as though air is something he can't seem to draw enough of. And the smile, the sweet aching joy in his expression as he begins to move on his cock--Lucifer savors all of it, watching closely to see the ways his servant has changed in his absence, the ways he is the same as he ever was. "Like that," he whispers, tender, encouraging, his own eyes closing briefly as the man sinks down onto him again; pleasure makes him shiver, a ravishing, reflexive motion, a susurrus of the feathers of his wings. They twitch and press closer around Balthazar, long primaries brushing his skin, the barbs as cool and soft as silk.

He lets Balthazar establish their pace, their rhythm, lifting hips when he sinks down to meet him in slippery, exquisite thrusts. There's no hurry in him, the motions easy and rocking and slow, his hands slipping from hips to thighs, then up again to caress his ribs, his back, following the way muscles shift beneath warm skin and the smooth ridges of scars. They cup his ass, strong fingers indenting his flanks and keeping him spread apart for the hot thickness of his shaft, penetrating again, again, again. He smiles at the way Balthazar holds him, the strength in his own grasp, his fingers tugging pleasurably at the roots of his hair, and kisses him again, briefly, indulgently. "It's sweet, isn't it?" The words breathe against his skin, his mouth moving tenderly over his hollow cheek and the slight curve of the bone. "Do you like this, Balthazar?"

[grimholdkeeper]

Balthazar is himself unaware of the picture he makes as he drinks in the sensations, but when Lucifer whispers, he opens his eyes again. He has no words for the beauty he sees, even after all this time belonging to him, and it seems futile to try in the throes of passion. His master knows what he's feeling now. Still, he pauses for a few seconds, trembling with the effort, and strokes along one cheekbone.

When he resumes moving, it's with greater abandon, writhing into the touch of feathers on his bare skin. His brows knit with concentration, pushing the pace as if hoping to meld their bodies together. He breathes hard, chest heaving, and whimpers into the kiss. His head turns to the side as Lucifer murmurs, exposing his neck for attention hopefully. "You know I do," he rasps. "You're...everything."

[phosphoriel]

He supports Balthazar with strong hands, his grasp firm to hold him, to help him move, his hips rocking up steadily into the motions, but he lets the man set the pace that he wants, breathing out in a shivering sigh when he begins to rock faster, harder against him, taking him deep, deep inside. He knows what he's feeling, yes, what he desires, and Lucifer's mouth brushes hot and caressing at the side of his throat, finding his pulse; he rasps it with a seeking tongue, sinks his teeth into the skin until blood pools dark beneath the surface. Bruises and marks fade but the way he has written himself into this man's very being is something that can never be erased.

"I know." His voice is gentle. His wings fold ardently around him and he holds him is his limitless grasp; he wouldn't let Balthazar go free even if he'd wanted to. "I love you dearly. Never doubt that."

He pushes harder into him, lifting his hips, thrusting up as Balthazar sinks down, and when their eyes meet he cups his face, keeping his attention, close enough to kiss him again but holding back. Always, always Balthazar will belong to him, from now until the end of time. There hasn't been a moment since they met when he didn't, when he wasn't already his own utter possession.

((I'm sorry this reply took so long.))

[grimholdkeeper]

Balthazar tilts his head at a deeper angle, feeling the lips and tongue hover over his pulse, like a threat, or a promise. The feel of teeth wrings a low groan from him, one that builds in volume and intensity as the bite bruises him. It's a vivid contrast of pain and pleasure, like the spectrum of contradictions he has learned to associate with Lucifer; possessive dominance and tender words, seduction and demand, love and rage. When he releases his throat and speaks, the groan trails off in a soft whine, neither plea nor protest, and completely involuntary.

The look in his eyes as they meet Lucifer's shows he's dazed with the experience, and quivering on the edge, but he strains to keep his master's gaze, enchanted. The words trickle through the haze of sensual pleasure clouding his brain, and a slow, warm smile appears. For one blessed moment, he's not a servant with a master, not just, but a man with a lover, and the details don't matter. "...y-yes," he manages, out of breath and seconds from orgasm, too far gone to articulate much more. "Love you."

Then another thrust hits home, pushing him past the point of thought. His grasp tightens and his eyelids flutter as he struggles not to close them completely, as if hoping to allow Lucifer to read his soul through them as he comes. His movements are erratic, shaky and desperate, and punctuated with tiny wordless whimpers until the surge of pleasure steals his ability to breathe at all, at least for a few seconds.