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Sam ran his hands over the cool, pale skin of Lucifer's back, the light from the motel's sign outside the window filtering in through the curtains and making the skin look even lighter, like a pristine winter landscape. He dragged his finger in slow swirls, tracing over Lucifer's spine before stopping, resting his hand in the middle of the angel's - /his/ angel's - back, and marveling at the figure laid out before him, suddenly overwhelmed by the beauty still present in Lucifer, even trapped within a vessel and so far fallen from where he was once the brightest and most beautiful.
"Is something wrong, Sam?" Lucifer asked softly, his face burred in the pillow, as he noticed Sam's hand still.
"No," Sam shook his head even though Lucifer couldn't see him, "Everything is perfect, Lucifer."