Balthazar doesn’t stand a chance, really. He’s not walking away from this unchanged; there’s a better than zero chance he’s already falling in love. Which is just not a good idea, not for either of them, but then they’ve both already felt the relentless pull toward one another. Kinship, loneliness, desire. Maybe it’s not because Balthazar is in any way special, just that he’s still an angel, still clean, but wide open to the kind of affection that the rest of the Host would deny. Ironic, really, if Love is so dangerous that it makes an angel fall, and yet so powerful it prevents his complete corruption.
He knows how flawed he is, the things he’s done, the things he is still doing without any intention of changing his ways. And he doesn’t have Gabriel’s flair or Anna’s strength or Castiel’s quiet, reckless determination, but when Lucifer says he’s beautiful, Balthazar believes him.
“Look who’s talking,” he whispers, as if it’s a clever comeback.
Balthazar’s tolerances within his own vessel are significant. He shows not a hint of trepidation, instead parting his legs wider helpfully, breathing deep when the other angel leans over him. There’s heat, there’s friction, it’s glorious, and the slow breaching of his body leaves him moaning, both his vessel and his celestial voice, but he’s not hurting. Quite the opposite.
He loops his legs around Lucifer’s waist, locking the ankles together.
“Feels like we’re the only two people in the world,” he pants out. “Your wings all around me like this.”
His Grace pulses in the momentary stillness, and then as he squeezes Lucifer closer, encouraging him to move, that Grace and that celestial body reach out, bright and luminous, trying to touch, trying to give as much pleasure and tenderness as they can.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2019-08-22 05:34 pm (UTC)He knows how flawed he is, the things he’s done, the things he is still doing without any intention of changing his ways. And he doesn’t have Gabriel’s flair or Anna’s strength or Castiel’s quiet, reckless determination, but when Lucifer says he’s beautiful, Balthazar believes him.
“Look who’s talking,” he whispers, as if it’s a clever comeback.
Balthazar’s tolerances within his own vessel are significant. He shows not a hint of trepidation, instead parting his legs wider helpfully, breathing deep when the other angel leans over him. There’s heat, there’s friction, it’s glorious, and the slow breaching of his body leaves him moaning, both his vessel and his celestial voice, but he’s not hurting. Quite the opposite.
He loops his legs around Lucifer’s waist, locking the ankles together.
“Feels like we’re the only two people in the world,” he pants out. “Your wings all around me like this.”
His Grace pulses in the momentary stillness, and then as he squeezes Lucifer closer, encouraging him to move, that Grace and that celestial body reach out, bright and luminous, trying to touch, trying to give as much pleasure and tenderness as they can.