( whatever otherworldliness, or unsettling aura lucifer vaguely gave off is amplified in the exchange of forms β his body isn't the only thing that changes, all of it ridding any halfhearted attempt he had towards humanity. it's why befriending humans is so challenging, so impossible, so addictive. he and danny are speaking different languages now, on different wavelengths, potentially in different parts of the world doing different things to each other. beneath him there sits a blooming lily, the pistil inside heavily weighted with wet dew, and lucifer thinks here is another of god's splendid creations i can desecrate. maybe this is the one that finally catches god's attention.
there's a degree of quiet interaction going on. invisible words on unstamped envelopes β the great irony of ironies is that luci loves god's creations, loves flowers and small things, loves picking them apart and putting them back together, pressing his name next to god's in an effort of comparison, as a way of being close. and yet. here is a body, a god's son, an open hole and a bleeding heart, and it's all salted ground, all lost potential. satan, there is no room for you here, too loved is he by daddy dear. nothing here shall grow, so say the angels, amen.
not a human, he thinks. not not a human, he thinks. )
No. ( he says. lost in translation: the implications of pride he has in danny, jealousy of danny, attracted to danny's quivering lips and watery eyes. that there are no little bits or pussyfooted steps when it comes to luci β there ares and there are nots. if you want a father, be a son. i'm not your battering ram, i'm your enemy. i'll make you. i'll ruin you. i am your Father. ) Don't be a sore loser.
( little to do with in now βΒ it might've been a long time for luci, he doesn't really keep track, and time is all flexible anyway. the tip of his devil cock goes ashy from burning, flakes of peeling skin waft away on a breeze. he angles his dick down, grunting, splattering an oil burn of cum across his mouth and cheeks, scarring cumshot, danny's skin pink and raw from the burn of it. orgasms are relief, an enforced reality check. it breaks whatever unmanageable trance luci had been in, swells his form back to the image of a human, and has him lazily slipping off danny, onto his back in the dirt path. panting. counting the clouds in the sky.
when he turns his head he's a little surprised to see someone there. oh, right. moving up on an elbow, he looks down at lily, chagrined. )
no subject
there's a degree of quiet interaction going on. invisible words on unstamped envelopes β the great irony of ironies is that luci loves god's creations, loves flowers and small things, loves picking them apart and putting them back together, pressing his name next to god's in an effort of comparison, as a way of being close. and yet. here is a body, a god's son, an open hole and a bleeding heart, and it's all salted ground, all lost potential. satan, there is no room for you here, too loved is he by daddy dear. nothing here shall grow, so say the angels, amen.
not a human, he thinks. not not a human, he thinks. )
No. ( he says. lost in translation: the implications of pride he has in danny, jealousy of danny, attracted to danny's quivering lips and watery eyes. that there are no little bits or pussyfooted steps when it comes to luci β there ares and there are nots. if you want a father, be a son. i'm not your battering ram, i'm your enemy. i'll make you. i'll ruin you. i am your Father. ) Don't be a sore loser.
( little to do with in now βΒ it might've been a long time for luci, he doesn't really keep track, and time is all flexible anyway. the tip of his devil cock goes ashy from burning, flakes of peeling skin waft away on a breeze. he angles his dick down, grunting, splattering an oil burn of cum across his mouth and cheeks, scarring cumshot, danny's skin pink and raw from the burn of it. orgasms are relief, an enforced reality check. it breaks whatever unmanageable trance luci had been in, swells his form back to the image of a human, and has him lazily slipping off danny, onto his back in the dirt path. panting. counting the clouds in the sky.
when he turns his head he's a little surprised to see someone there. oh, right. moving up on an elbow, he looks down at lily, chagrined. )
You're not dead, are you?