Collection of Love

Casifer?

It's taken years before Castiel was able to touch Lucifer's wings. They're ragged and dark, the smoke and ashes of Hell having forever dyed the archangel's wings the color of tar. Lucifer confesses he can't quite remember the color they used to be. He only remembers the blood, ash and smoke that has crawled and sunk deep into his pores and bones. No amount of Graceo or water can wash away the color of Hell. It's with reluctance does Lucifer allow Castiel to move behind him and tend to wings that haven't been touched for eons.

Castiel eyes the brittle feathers near the ends, just the light brush of his fingers causing the cut outs of black holes to crumble. But the feathers closer to the bend of each appendage are stronger. The younger angel can see patches where feathers are missing, the wings looking like disproportionate curtains of black. The light of the room push through the gaps and cracks, cooled volcanic throw up breaking under time. Castiel draws his hand back, moving it between the blond's shoulder blades where the interplay of muscles shift underneath his palm. The younger angel is more confident in his touch here.

Lucifer's back is strong and perhaps the archangel heard the passing praise for he sits up a bit more, moving his shoulders until the muscles on his back are flexing. Fingers glide across pushed out tendons and the bending curve of Lucifer's shoulder blades, marveling in the differing texture. Some scars are rough, the skin having never settled quiet easily, and other scars are smoother than the rare patches of unblemished skin. Castiel traces them with reverence, a prophet running his finger across the Word of God for the first time, letting his fingertips read the braille off of Lucifer's back. Each touch draws content sighs hums from the blond, head hanging so his chin nearly meets chest. It's the spot near the juncture of wing and back that seems to be the most sensitive. Whatever spot he is grazing will lead to the corresponding shoulder blade to push back and shudder against Castiel's fingers.

Castiel thinks he's over-sensitive, perhaps due to the lack of touch around these areas. Lucifer already is panting when he massages the muscles around each shoulder blade. For a moment he thinks he has hurt the blond when he gives a muffled broken sound. Fingers pull back immediately and he tilts his body to the left, as if to look past the stretched out appendages to analyze Lucifer's features.

"Lucifer are you okay?" he asks with concern and Lucifer nods his head, informing the dark-haired angel to return to his work, pushing his seated body closer to Castiel.

"You're doing well," the Morning Star offers and Castiel's hands return. He doesn't hesitate to rub his thumbs and massage deep into the archangel's vertebrae. Thumbs moving in small circles and Lucifer is all sweet and melodic songs, pink lips parted and praising touch through notes. Castiel won't deny that he's more than pleased at his brother's responses, thriving off of the encouragement forming in his brother's chest and leaving up his throat. When his fingers, bravely, return to the damaged wings he's met with a note a bit higher and breathy. It makes Castiel's own wings shudder behind him, pushing his fingers a bit deeper into the mess of blackened feathers until he can hear those notes once more.

The Angel of Music is pliant and lax in his hands, fingers soaked in the oil of the archangel's wings and smelling like amber myrrh. Castiel thinks to share this moment with Lucifer and to give him whatever pleasure he is filling now was worth the wait. The Morning Star was worth it.