Work Text:
Amenadiel couldn’t stop staring.
There Lucifer sat, completely unclothed with naught but a flimsy sheet for coverings upon an elaborate tripod stool, wings out, bottles of alcohol and art supplies scattered all about, and a feline frozen mid-swipe as it tried to claim a feather from his wing. Next to a rough clay mold, slapped together into a surprisingly accurate facsimile of his subject, a naked human artist sat on a cushion, immobilized mid-scribble. The man had been furiously sketching multiple drafts from various angles of the posing Devil when Amenadiel arrived. Looking more closely, he notice an apple with a bite taken from it, a crown in his brother’s grasp, and... shackles???
“Like what you see?” Lucifer purred.
“What in Father’s name do you think you’re doing!?” Amenadiel thundered, storming into the studio.
“Well, I’d’ve thought it’d be obvious,” his reckless brother remarked jovially as he lowered his hand from where it had been posing languidly over his head in a most suggestive manner. He relaxed his tantalizingly parted legs, allowing them to rest on the floor. “I’m undermining the church with my sexuality.”
Flummoxed, the furious angel stopped in his tracks, thrown off by how little his insufferable brother cared about the consequences of his actions. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be rendered mute by his bafflement.
“Unfortunately, this bloody feline won’t leave me to my wicked ways for five minutes,” his narcissistic brother huffed, shooting the cat a glare. “Why, the creature even interrupted us while we were in middle of—”
“Enough!” the First of God snapped, really interested in not having to hear the end of that sentence. Lucifer laughed.
“What? Jealous?”
“OUT!” Amenadiel pointed toward the doorway.
Shrugging and rolling his eyes, the Fallen Archangel slid off the stool, letting the sheet fall away to reveal his—um—Amenadiel averted his eyes as he rubbed his temples. His obscene brother knelt to undo the clasps on the shackles, which, judging from the clink of metal, were apparently real. Then he casually strolled over to the human and proceeded to leaf through the sketches, smiling delightedly as he did so.
“I must say, Guillaume is even more talented that his lovely brother,” he mused.
“Please don’t tell me you’ve revealed yourself to his brother as well?” Amenadiel had a headache. Why, oh why did Lucifer see fit to test him at every opportunity?
Lucifer shrugged and turned to face him, a wicked smirk stretching the corners of his lips. “I revealed myself, alright!” His grin spread. “Sadly, the church rejected his beautiful work. Said it was too—” he waggled his eyebrows as he approached, and between the look on his face, and Lucifer’s obvious arousal, the angel couldn’t help but cringe, “—sensual.” The Devil’s voice reeked of sin as he uttered the word.
Amenadiel crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “And this is supposed to be less alluring?” He gestured toward the sculpture in progress, which even in its crude state, veritably hummed with the promise of temptation. In response, Lucifer waltzed toward the door, smirking triumphantly at the Firstborn.
“Of course not,” he chuckled.
“And what about your wings?” he challenged. Lucifer came to a stop, turning to lean on the doorframe with an intrigued tilt of his head.
“My wings? Why, they’re splendid, of course. Superior to yours in every way.” He fluffed his gleaming feathers for emphasis, and Amenadiel glowered at him. Pride. Always with the pride. And always forcing the subject, because he knew it bothered the host that the Adversary’s wings were the most beautiful.
“Do you really think a house dedicated to worshiping Father would permit a work portraying you as an angel?” He retorted curtly.
“We’ve solved that problem, already,” he dismissed, straightening again. “And Guilly, here seems to’ve made enough progress, he’ll have no difficulty finishing on his own.” Then the Devil spread his shining wings and left.
Amenadiel sighed. Well, at least they didn’t end up fighting. This time.