Dumat: The Dragon of Silence (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} nearestvessel) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} valarlogs,@ 2013-10-19 23:25:00 |
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What: Leviathan
When: wee hours of 10/16
Where: Their place
Rating: High-ish for talk of dream trauma. Some nudity but nothing graphic. More schmoopy than anything. Standard Samandriel warnings apply.
Status: Complete
The dream was pure pain and chaos, all black goo and death. Samandriel found himself standing in heaven, hiding after the carnage some Thing pretending to be Castiel wreaked on them. The Winchesters were trying, though, and Samandriel would say bless the Winchesters, but he knew that wouldn’t end well.
It was a blur in a way that only things in the dreams could be. The moment Castiel ceased to exist happened in slow motion, and Samandriel watched both vessel and grace corrupted and torn apart under the water in far more detail than nearly anyone else could observe.
Leviathan.
Castiel didn’t come back. Samandriel waited and waited, and still Castiel didn’t come back. Castiel always seemed to come back. Why wasn’t he coming back?
Heaven was falling apart around him, the bodies of his slaughtered brothers and their ashen wings still on the grass. And Castiel was gone. Numbly, Samandriel fell to his knees in the Garden. His wings drooped behind him. He looked down at the remains of a single feather, black and burnt next to one of his own lightly fallen next to it.
Samandriel screamed, and the pain running through him echoed through the dreams of every angel he had crossed paths with no matter whether or not they knew themselves to be of the host or not. One word. Castiel.
The thing about not sharing a bed with Samandriel was this: he didn't really sleep as much. He took to reading or doing paperwork, balancing his funds; any banal exercise that might distract him from the fact that his boyfriend was just down the hall suffering over dreams that Lucifer did not share.
But he was out from his office and in the guest room not a moment later, his head ringing with hurt and that word and he knew exactly where it came from. Lucifer was more than beginning to understand that Castiel wasn't just some run of the mill angel in those dreams Samandriel had. He was something more and possibly worse and it was hard to imagine such a mild mannered man being anything but. And yet that name rang in his brain, right next to Samandriel's own.
"Wake up," he said, sitting down on the bed next to Samandriel, fingers curling around his shoulder. Lucifer wanted to offer some end to it.
Samandriel’s eyes snapped open, and he found himself breathing far more heavily than any run had ever winded him. The hand on his shoulder belonged to Lucifer, as did the hip and leg in front of him. Sweating and desperate, he looked up at his boyfriend, those kind, worried blue eyes. Lucifer looked almost as tired as Samandriel felt.
Samandriel’s gaze dropped again while he tried to focus or find words or anything remotely helpful. Had he been screaming in his sleep again? “Make it stop,” he said, voice tight and broken. “Please, sir.”
Maybe it was good that Lucifer had starting allowing that 'sir', because it made it more clear -- easier -- to know when Samandriel wanted or needed something without him really having to say so.
Lucifer stared at him for a moment, settled his hand on Samandriel's cheek to tilt his head back up for some eye contact (nothing excessive, really), and then nodded slightly. "Get up," he said, tone even. "Go brush your teeth and get the shower started."
Samandriel nodded and did just that, moving into the bathroom attached to what was supposed to be their room, but hadn’t been lately for this exact reason. Judging by the circles under Lucifer’s eyes, there was no point at all to Samandriel trying to protect him from those nightmares. May as well come where he could at least go to sleep feeling safe.
He got the water started and went to go brush his teeth, letting things steam up while he killed time with cinnamon and bristles.
Lucifer sighed, nearly sad over how difficult everything seemed lately for the two of them. Even in moments of levity there was still something -- well. Something. These dreams were a mess, and he didn't even want to get into what his own might bring. Considering.
He'd give Samandriel a moment, just so he could compose himself (which one of them, he wasn't sure). Of course, he didn't realize that minute he waited would bring a panicked Castiel to his bathroom either.
But Castiel was there, blinking into existence with a loud flutter of wings, bed-head, marks of the sheets pressed into his cheek and a messy wardrobe that looked like it'd been chosen in the dark and with no thought at all. "Samandriel?" His tone was wrecked, worried.
Samandriel looked at his brother’s reflection in the mirror, eyes gone wide and his face even paler than it had been before. “Get out!” he shouted. He was supposed to be calming down and seeing Castiel wasn’t helping. Why was Castiel even here? What was going on? He couldn’t...he just… “Please, Castiel.” Not sir for Castiel, not in this life.
Castiel looked shocked, a little bit like he'd been slapped across the face, and took a step back until his back hit the doorframe of the bathroom. "But you --"
And then there was Lucifer, a careful but firm hand on Castiel's shoulder and a look of guarded confusion on his face. He was slowly getting it though, and could deal with things as accordingly as possible. "Castiel," he murmured. "Now is a poor time. Go home to Dean. We'll speak later."
Samandriel hung his head, eyes squeezed shut until he heard the sound of wings marking Castiel’s departure. He’d have to apologize for that later when he could hold himself together better. “Thank you,” he said to Lucifer, raising his head and looking at his boyfriend. He relaxed his grip on the countertop, forcing himself to take the next logical steps over to the shower. Like hell he was flying anywhere at the moment. He didn’t think he was steady enough to end up where he wanted.
Admittedly, Lucifer felt a little poorly for Castiel, who looked as hurt and confused as he ever had before he left, but he also had some hope that the other angel could find some comfort with Dean and so pushed it from his mind for the time being.
"Make the water hotter than normal. Not enough to burn." The more things Samandriel had to focus on that weren't his thoughts, the better.
Samandriel cranked the already steaming water up hotter, definitely enough to bring his skin to a bright pink rather quickly but nothing more than that. He didn’t know if Lucifer was getting in as well after all and what would hurt Lucifer was far different than what would hurt him.
Lucifer would get in, but he was rather resilient in the way of hot showers, so really wasn't all that concerned over it. Anyway, he had no large plan to be in the way of the spray so it hardly seemed a big deal.
"Strip," he murmured. "Slowly. Fold your clothing and put them on the toilet seat." Slow, easy steps. One by one.
Samandriel pulled off his t-shirt and folded it neatly like in the stores. He set it on the toilet and then set about slipping out of Lucifer’s boxers and folding those in quarters on top of his t-shirt. He could do this. He could keep going forward, right?
Right. Lucifer was there to guide him. It would be fine.
"Good," Lucifer said, tone even even as he slid open the glass door to the shower. "Get in. Get wet. Don't do anything else until I say so." He undid the buttons of his own shirt as he spoke -- he hadn't been trying to sleep yet, and so hadn't bothered with switching out his normal oxford button up for something more comfortable, even if he was only wearing boxers with it.
Samandriel stood under the hot spray and tried to let it soak into his bones and calm him, but really all he got was wet. There was some metaphor for life there, but he couldn’t come up with it. “Yes, sir.”
This was a learning experience for Lucifer, honestly. He didn't know what would or wouldn't work for his angel, but was making the effort anyway. Until Samandriel either told him he needed something else, or pointedly told him this wasn't working, he'd go with it. Really, he wasn't going for sexual -- it seemed almost strange to him to just distract anything bad in life with sex; unhealthy. He'd rather not get into the habit if he could help it.
Stepping into the shower, he was a little sad to see Samandriel still dejected looking. He lead the boy with light touches until he was pressed back against the wall, half out of the spray. "I need you to talk," he said, "about anything you want. Doesn't matter. And wash your hair." He handed the little bottle of shampoo over himself.
Samandriel took the bottle and very slowly, very methodically put shampoo into his palm to buy himself time. Snapping the cap back shut, he offered it to Lucifer. “There are some of us in heaven who are so sensitive in the right ways that we’re immediately aware when angels die. Not just when, but which. Some are less so, but you find that more frequently the higher up the ranks you go. More power seems to come with less of an ability to empathize.
“The me in the dreams...in the absence of anything else to believe in, has devoted himself completely to Castiel. It doesn’t matter to him that Castiel is completely oblivious to how much he loves him. And maybe he’s okay with that because angels aren’t supposed to love in the first place so he’s just learning how. I don’t know. But...I do know that tonight was the third time Castiel’s literally been torn to pieces and this time he didn’t come back. There are...hundreds of angels slaughtered in heaven, just...just another repeat of the Fall basically and this time, instead of watching you get thrown into the pit, it’s watching Castiel cease to exist.”
Samandriel washed his hair, fingers working slowly against his scalp. “He hurts all over, and I’m pretty sure he’s convincing himself never to love or hope again no matter that his brothers are trying to get him up and back into the fight because Leviathan are taking over the earth and someone opened the Word. I’m half expecting his wings to turn black and seriously worrying that mine will follow.”
Well that had explained more than a few things. Lucifer frowned, holding the bottle of shampoo for a moment, just to have something to do with his hands, as he leaned one shoulder against the shower wall and processed the information.
It was no surprise that Dream Samandriel followed Castiel, none at all (and equally unsurprising that Castiel was oblivious to it -- it seemed like his MO, really), but the horror of it all seemed beyond endless. Lucifer supposed, knowing the lore and Milton, that that shouldn't be surprising either. Still.
He settled the bottle back down, took over in washing Samandriel's hair -- fingers not quite gentle. "I'm sorry Castiel in the dreams has a tendency for death and mayhem. And I'm sorry you keep losing the people you love best in them, I really am, Samandriel." He tilted his boyfriend's head forward into the spray of water after a tiny touch of a gesture in warning. "But you must remember that isn't here. You still have Castiel -- not five minutes ago he came at your call. That must count for something."
Samandriel closed his eyes to keep the soap out of them. “I didn’t… I called?” He didn’t remember that. He’d need to apologise even more for that outburst later. He stayed quiet for a moment, considering.
“I need more than this, sir,” he finally said. A shower and some words were only helping in the abstract.
"You called. It was… loud." Lucifer affirmed, a little unsure of how to describe it, but then gave a little sigh, rinsing his hands of soap. "What is it you need, Samandriel?"
There was something in that little sigh that tightened in Samandriel’s chest. It was something that very much made him want to close his eyes and pretend nothing was wrong or to just give in and say they should go to bed and forget about it. “To hurt, to yield” was the small noise that came out of him, full of shame already. “I don’t know.”
"Pain to get over other pain is hardly healthy, Samandriel." Lucifer wasn't turning the younger man down, merely making his opinion on the matter known. He lifted two towels from the rack next to the shower and handed one over. "I'll do it. Because you asked. But I won't make a habit of it." He wasn't saying it to shame Samandriel or make him feel bad for it, he really wasn't. But he did worry a little about doling out hurt when his boyfriend wasn't necessarily in a proper state of mind for it. Angel or not, some things couldn't be healed or taken back once they were given.
Samandriel turned off the water automatically before taking the towel and drying off. “Thank you, sir,” was all the response he could muster for it. Some part of him ached to fly to just...to get away from all of this in hopes that maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much or he could start a new life away from heaven and hell and purgatory and all this madness that somehow none of the rest of them saw when they slept.
Instead he asked for pain in hopes that what? What had worked for others would work for him? Something real to hold back the demons in his mind? “I’m sorry.”
"For what?" One dry enough, Lucifer stepped out of the shower, and after a moment of deliberation, moved to put his shirt back on, fingers working with a precise and practiced hand against the tiny buttons. His sleeves though, he unbuttoned and rolled up into neat cuffs right above his elbows.
“This,” Samandriel said, gesturing to basically all of him.
"You should really stop apologizing for things that aren't either a problem or your fault, Samandriel." He offered a raise of his eyebrow and then gestured for the younger man to hand him his towel. "Go lay on the bed. On your stomach."
“Yes, sir.” Samandriel handed off his towel and went to go lay down as instructed. He stretched out on the mattress, not realizing until he had his nose in the pillow how much he missed Lucifer’s smell.
There was something to be said for familiarity, Lucifer thought. After slipping back into his boxers he seated himself next to Samandriel, hand skimming over skin. "So you can heal yourself now," he said slowly. "But does that change how much something does or doesn't hurt?" He'd never quite thought to ask before.
“Not completely yet, no,” Samandriel said, arching with that touch. He treasured every bit of contact Lucifer would give him. “The small things I don’t feel so much as pain anymore, but I don’t know how far that goes.” It was the most honest answer he could give. There’d been more than one occasion where he ought’ve hurt himself but instead felt nothing. He didn’t think that getting distracted and spilling coffee on his hand counted, or occasionally walking into a wall (or flying into Castiel’s coffee table for that matter.)
It was as comprehensive as Samandriel could give, and for now that was good enough for Lucifer. He made a little noise of comprehension before pulling one leg up underneath himself. "Get onto your hands and knees."
Samandriel obeyed because Samandriel was Good no matter that he was also Curious and Willing. “Neither of us will wear white because neither of us is a cheesy lounge singer.” During stressful times, Samandriel really did like to plan their wedding. The anticipation of waiting to see what Lucifer was going to do definitely counted as stressful, and perhaps it would be a good sign to his boyfriend that he was still so sure of marriage.
Sometimes it really took a second for Lucifer to figure out what Samandriel was talking about when he pulled lines like that out of seemingly nowhere. This one actually made him pause before laughing genuinely. "No," he agreed, "No white tuxedos. They're terribly tacky." And he wasn't even about to get started on cumberbunds because then he'd truly be distracted.
There was really no warning for the smack against the ass that Samandriel got next, but that was really just the point.
Samandriel’s body moved with the force of it, but he felt...nothing. Pressure? He looked over his shoulder at Lucifer and asked “One?” Did that even count? “Please don’t throw your shoulder out doing this, sir.” It wasn’t an insult, but rather genuine concern.
It rather hurt Lucifer's pride anyway, that comment. "Oh," he said, somewhere between bemused and… not. "No good?"
Samandriel shook his head. He looked down at his hands on the mattress. “I think we missed our window for this to be a thing.”
Awkward (hey, even Lucifer managed it sometimes), Lucifer cleared his throat and considered that for a moment. "I have a belt." Obviously he had a belt. Who didn't have a belt?
The younger man laid back down on his stomach, arms crossed under his head. “Are you ready to go to that kind of toy?” he had to ask, especially since he wasn’t sure Lucifer wanted to be doing this in the first place.
The older man thought that over for a moment, licking his bottom lip thoughtfully. It wasn't necessarily the pain he was interested in giving in this sort of situation, although he wasn't really against it either, particularly if it was being asked for. He could probably get to liking it.
"Well. I have a feeling it wouldn't hurt you as much as something like that might normally."
“No, it wouldn’t, but that doesn’t mean you want to be doing it anyway.” Samandriel rolled to his back and looked up at Lucifer. “You’re allowed to say no too, you know.” There were some moments when Samandriel was so sure that Lucifer would do absolutely anything for or with him just because Samandriel asked for it. “I could...I could focus on serving you instead?” Not servicing, but serving. Perhaps his boyfriend had more interesting fantasies and maybe they involved pain or maybe they didn’t. Samandriel thought that it was worth a shot to go outside of himself for a while.
"I know," Lucifer assured, but if he had to be honest with himself, maybe he didn't. He fancied himself the sure and unflappable one here, and didn't want to disappoint. That wasn't part of his general image, and didn't want it to stop being. If Samandriel asked for something, he wanted to give it to the younger man, simple as that.
"Tomorrow. We'll focus on that. Tonight, I'd rather give you what you need."
“Sir,” Samandriel said, shifting to rise up on his knees and then sit back on them while he faced his partner. His wings were grand and glorious behind him, dwarfing him all the more with how small he’d made himself. “Please let me serve you.”
Lucifer licked his lips thoughtfully, and then settled his hand on top of Samandriel's head. "You know I love you, don't you?" The younger man tried so hard, did so well. He was good. It certainly wasn't his fault that he was troubled, or that the dreams were bad. Lucifer didn't want him to think that there was any obligation here -- he wanted to be here as much as Samandriel did.
Samandriel worked really hard to keep out of Lucifer’s head. It was invasive and while he didn’t think his partner had anything to hide, he didn’t particularly want to know every little thought either. ‘you know I love you, don’t you?’ was a phrase typically followed by ‘but’ or some other pointing out of deep-seeded faults. Samandriel lowered his gaze, hid his wings and said meekly, “yes, sir,” while he braced for what came next.
"Put your wings back out," Lucifer said, leaning over to kiss Samandriel's forehead. There was nothing else. There was no follow up. It was just something he'd needed to say. "Keep them open like they were before."
Samandriel did exactly as instructed, only looking up at Lucifer once he was absolutely sure that there was nothing awful to follow that particular declaration of love. “I don’t think either of us would still be here if we didn’t love the other.” Theirs was a relationship built on mutual trust and respect. Samandriel knew it. Lucifer had to know it too. Neither of them would do the other one the disservice of dragging something on that wasn’t working.
It was true, and Lucifer often made it clear that if he wasn't really interested in something he wouldn't bother. That was just how he'd always been. "Exactly," he said, and then arched a brow at the younger man. "Now. Hands behind your back, hold on to one of your wrists. Tell me why you thought it was a good idea to get up when I didn't tell you to." This he could do; get Samandriel in a different frame of mind.
Samandriel had to sit up to manage that properly for Lucifer, his wings shifting with the muscles of his back, but not closing at all. “Because that was a Lucifer and Samandriel moment,” he said, meeting the other man’s eyes, “and not one in which I call you sir and have a word to say if I need to.” He arched a brow. “All respect, sir, but I’m sure you felt that shift too.” No matter that it was gone now, for those moments and that conversation, they’d approached each other as equals, concerned lovers having a conversation.
"Stop being right," Lucifer murmured wryly. "It makes me look very bad." He didn't really mean it, though, and it wasn't as if the angel hadn't been right. He'd just -- it was his falter that had put things on pause and he didn't want to be in the habit of it. Truthfully, he liked that they could switch on and off if it was important enough.
"We're going to try to work on focus," he said, tone even. "And a lack of it." He moved to rummage through the night stand drawer until he found a little ball gag. It was cute, honestly. Not that big, and red, but the clasp was leather. "If you do well, you get something after. If you have issues, this hardly muffles all the noise you could make, got it?"
Samandriel doubted it would even come close to muffling all the noise he could make, and was glad for it. “Yes, sir,” Samandriel said, tipping his head up and opening his mouth for the gag.
Lucifer kissed him first -- open mouthed and probably a little silly, but it was hard to resist, and more so he didn't want to. He buckled it in the back with ease and then leaned back. "Now." He said, scooting himself back until he was against the headboard. "Your job is to not think about anything at all but exactly what you're doing. Believe me when I say I'll be able to tell."
Silly as the kiss was, Samandriel loved it anyway. He nodded in understanding, not trying to speak at all while he got used to the gag in his mouth. And the spit. He wasn’t a big fan of the spit.
That happened. It was a bit messy, but it was certainly something to focus on. Lucifer only smiled, watching him for a time before pulling his knees up and then very pointedly not paying attention to the younger man when he pulled a book off the nightstand. Being watched wasn't amazingly conducive for relaxing, after all.
Wait. What. Samandriel looked at Lucifer for a long, hard moment. That asshole. He flexed his wings again, impatient and certain that this was dumb in more ways than he cared to admit. Perhaps if he glared at Lucifer long enough, the other man would realize it.
Lucifer only made a little snuff of a noise and opened his book up to where he'd folded in the page last. "You're not doing what I asked. Glaring won't help you."
Samandriel tilted his head back so he didn’t drool all over the place and kept his position exactly. He even let go of needing to breathe while he stared at the ceiling. The annoying thing was that there wasn’t much to think about when it came to exactly what he was doing, because exactly what he was doing was a sum total of nothing. Kneeling there. Waiting. He knew, of course, that Lucifer got off on making people wait, but kneeling quietly like this felt like the worst kind of punishment. His mind wandered easily no matter how many times he snapped himself back to where he was meant to be mentally.
He didn’t like this, but he would do it in stoic silence because that was what Lucifer wanted from him. Perhaps that was the lesson here. Shut up and do what you’re told. Wait until you’re needed. Be a good soldier, Samandriel, a good student, a good boy. Don’t speak up out of turn. Don’t bother the archangels or the grownups. Very well then. He would do that. Speak when spoken to seemed out of character for Lucifer, but perhaps he’d grown even more tired of the stress induced by all the nightmares and screaming and crying than Samandriel himself had. Moreso because Lucifer wasn’t the one having the dreams and he had to deal with the aftermath of something he neither knew nor could fix.
He focused on his position again, his hand at his wrist, the join of wall and ceiling, the precise position of his wings, and the way he’d gone a bit numb and tingly below the knees. Lucifer loved him, but Lucifer wanted some peace. That had to be what was going on here. He’d been too demanding. Perhaps Lucifer would be happier if he asked for less, and so while he knelt there, he resolved to stop proposing daily. More angel and less teenager, right? Right. His wrist was really, really bony. Did Lucifer know that. Lucifer probably knew that. They were strong, of course, years of violin did that, but that didn’t make joints and tendons any less prominent.
"You should be breathing. You'd be surprised at how much focusing on something like that can be calming." Lucifer settled his finger on a line in the book (never mind the fact that if he had to be honest, he'd been reading the same paragraphs for minutes on end now), and looked over at the younger man.
"Relax. This isn't a punishment, and I'm not mad at you. I just want you to relax." While it was true Lucifer liked making people wait, his intention hadn't really been just that. There was something to be said about being able to just be without having to think too hard on everything at once - about what he should have been or could be or might be tomorrow. He'd rather hoped that the position of subservience and gag might have helped with that, a reminder that Samandriel was exactly what (and where) Lucifer wanted.
Samandriel lowered his head, considering for a moment. He looked over at Lucifer and then at the book, hoping to get across without too much difficulty (or breaking the rules that had been set out for him,) that he’d like Lucifer to read to him. If that didn’t work, maybe his partner would at least understand that he had something to say.
Eyes following Samandriel's gaze, Lucifer rose his eyebrows and did, in fact, get the request without it being vocalized. He nodded, a tiny little thing, and offered a smile.
"I'll read," he murmured, glad he'd actually picked a fiction book for once, because even if it was more about the comfort of voice and noise no one should have had to sit through a book on business financing. Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed his godforsaken glasses (that Samandriel seemed to love) and slipped them on before turning his eyes back to the page and starting to read from the start of the last paragraph he was on.
Samandriel closed his eyes and hung his head, focusing on Lucifer’s voice. After a while, his shoulders began to relax, his wings as well. The young man settled into breathing again and finally something approaching calm. He wasn’t sleeping, he was very, very clearly listening. It didn’t matter what Lucifer was reading (and truth be told, it was being picked up in the middle of the plot anyway so Samandriel had no clue what was going on,) only that he had something outside of himself to focus on. He didn’t make a sound or move much at all.
He liked listening to that rich voice, the way it smoothed down his spine like too expensive liquor. Lucifer. His Lucifer. He could listen to that voice for eternity, but he was fairly certain that the other man was only going to make it to the end of the chapter.
Actually, Lucifer managed making it through the chapter and then the one after it before he had to stop, throat gone dry and his attention on the words faltering because of it. Still. He'd managed to look up between pauses of comma and paragraph and was pleased with his results at least in some fashion.
Lucifer’s throat sounded sore and so Samandriel lifted his head to look at him quietly. He was okay, and he nodded as if to communicate as such. Lucifer could rest if he needed to. It was all fine except for the part where Samandriel really just wanted to kiss those lips.
Lucifer set the book aside but kept the glasses on (really, if anyone didn't think he was in love with this angel, they needn't look further than the damned plastic frames to have their minds changed), and then gave a little nod in reply. "You can take that off now," he murmured, giving permission to move all in one go.
Samandriel reached up and took off the gag, stretching his mouth for a moment before he offered it to Lucifer. “Your voice,” he said, smiling to himself. “Better than any meditation or sunrise or yoga pose. Did you know that?”
Lucifer just set it to the side (not away, because… well. Drool did not belong in nightstands) and then gave an amused smile. "I wasn't, but I'm pleased to hear it. Come here, Samandriel." He wanted a kiss probably just as badly. A kiss, and then water. Then possibly a nap. "Better?"
Samandriel kissed him gently, an acceptance and thanks more than anything else. “Thank you, Lucifer,” he murmured. “Maybe...maybe when this happens again,” because it would and they both had to know it by now, “we can see if that still works?”
A deeper kiss was Lucifer's only reply, thankful in its' own right, and pleased for it having done anything at all. The way Samandriel had fought against it at first had made him worried it wouldn't.
Samandriel groaned, but forced himself to pull away before he got too invested in fucking Lucifer. They should have priorities after all. “Your throat sounds sore. Would you like some water?” He would get it, but like hell he was walking.
"Yes please," Lucifer said - it never hurt to have manners, and water did seem like the best idea on his list currently. Reading aloud was much different than having a casual long conversation, and it certainly took a toll.
Samandriel was gone and back between beats of Lucifer’s heart, holding a glass of cold water for his partner as he appeared next to him again. “I know…,” he started and then had to pause, considering his words while Lucifer drank. “I know that there’s a lot of focus sometimes on my Goodness, that I need to remember that no matter how much pain there is, but… I think you should know no matter how hard it is for you sometimes, how difficult I don’t mean to make it.” He looked Lucifer in the eye. “You are Good for me.”
Surprisingly touched at that, Lucifer could only smile for a moment, teeth scraping against his bottom lip in an attempt to school himself from being too gone over it. "I try," he said finally, not for the first time admitted that trying was exactly what it was -- he was by no means an expert. But he did try. And he did appreciate that Samandriel knew it and thought well of him for it.
Samandriel took the glass and set it on the nightstand in the same movement that he leaned over to kiss Lucifer. “And that’s why I’m going to marry you.” Their mouths met and he could imagine nothing better in the world than having this man forever.