( he preens anyway, a pleased smile curving up his mouth awhile danny's mouth descends, face tilted upwards to the broken sunlight, remembering cloud-dancing days, basking in god's warm light. heaven was never a terrible place to be, as much as a big house with comfy beds and handsome boys isn't a terrible place to be. it's the locks on the doors that make it a pain. say whatever you can about hell, there are always cracks to slither through, to free yourself, if one suffers enough.

unused to this particular form of worship, he hums, deciding he likes the attention. the ache of stolen wings never leaves, never seals or scabs over, but if there's one thing luci is desensitized to, it's pain. he decides it kind of tickles, danny's warm, wet tongue. inside him, really. what a silly thought. )

Hm. ( his back muscles twitch, an unfinished muscle and bit of cartilage moving under his missing wing, a broken bit of wingbone jutting through the slice of his back, bumping danny's tongue. cutting it on the sharp edge. ) You're pretty. To the point of distraction.

( nice to know he thinks his father is so pretty — mouth in your back, tonguefucking your wounds pretty. luci laughs, reaching a hand around to find danny's, giving it a squeeze. )

Will I ever know your name, or are you forevermore a lily to me?