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Summary
Why?
Lucifer cannot stop the word from echoing around his skull. It clatters against every vertebrae on its way down his spine until it settles, heavy and cold, somewhere in between his hips.
The sun is falling: it presses greedy hands up against the stained glass windows. The light fractures in, and pointed claws of red and gold and violet close around Alastor’s shoulders- they fold into the fabric of his habit and something in Lucifer’s chest curls tight and angry with envy. Lucifer shifts, feels the way his knees ache from hours on horseback, the familiar tightness in his back. Alastor's eyes have fallen closed, and the hand holding the instrument steady flexes against the wood. Lucifer has seen those hands wield steel and clutch at the pale skin of his own thighs until they bruise. A low, simmering heat spreads across his bones, arousal and dread mixing in his gut until his cock twitches.
Series
- Part 2 of Feast Days