It didn’t take long at all for Michael to be out cold. It took considerably longer for Lucifer to come home, but of course Samandriel knew the moment that happened. Just as he was certain Lucifer knew that Michael was in the house even before he got there. The procedure had been to tell his partner when he was with someone else he was probably going to fuck. It hadn’t necessarily been where he was fucking them. Either way, he didn’t think that Lucifer was too terribly surprised that they were here given that he knew Samandriel was with Michael anyway.
Gently, he disengaged himself from the sleeping soldier and went downstairs to make his fiancé some tea. “Caught up on paperwork?” he asked calmly setting about his business and caring not at all for his own nudity. Lucifer could see far more of him than his vessel and it wasn’t like there was an inch of the young angel that he wasn’t acquainted with.
Nudity was hardly surprising these days -- and really, even before he'd become fully himself the teleporting had stopped shocking him. Now, Lucifer knew when Samandriel would appear before he even did it, there was just a faint tingle in the air beforehand. Lucifer was endeared to the little warning, even if it wasn't really necessary.
"Nearly," he said, fingers working at removing his tie even as he dropped a kiss onto Samandriel's forehead and then leaned against the marble kitchen counter. "But tax season is upon us. There's always more paperwork." Lucifer could have paid someone else to do those things, but there was a sense of order that he got from doing it all himself, one he couldn't really give up.
"Is he sleeping, then?" Not that Lucifer didn't know, but conversation still needed to be made, and vast knowledge of everything that went down in his home really put a damper on that.
Lucifer didn’t have to expend any effort to get Samandriel to relax into a boneless kind of comfort and safety. Why would he ever need tea when he had his love? “For now,” the angel said, setting the water to heating the human way no matter that both of them could have it hot and steeping with a thought. “I don’t know how long that’ll last. I didn’t do anything to keep him like that.” There was a difference between granting someone a full night of sleep and doing that to someone with the kind of PTSD that both Dean and Michael were carrying. They both needed to be able to wake up out of their nightmares if they came and not be stuck in them.
“I’ve asked him to stay,” the young angel said, realizing that this conversation seemed so much easier to have when he was in bed with Michael convincing him to do just that. He didn’t think Lucifer would mind too terribly, but he hadn’t ever pushed the boundaries of his fiancé’s territory like this before. He was torn between treading carefully or giving his partner the frank honesty that always went appreciated between them.
There was no need to ask for clarification -- Samandriel wouldn't have even bothered bringing up a single night, there just wasn't a point to it.
"Did you," he said, and it was pointedly not a question. Repetition was easily boring, and completely unnecessary. It wasn't even that he was opposed to the idea, not really. Samandriel was nothing if not completely spoiled, and Lucifer was of the opinion that the boy could have whatever he wanted so long as they spoke on it first.
But they'd skipped the communication part, apparently.
"You're aware of what you're asking, aren't you Sam?" Of both Lucifer and Michael, really. Perhaps more, because it wasn't just them all the time, was it? There was more to their family than just the two of them.
In any case, it wasn't that it was Michael that concerned the archangel so much as the fact that he hadn't enjoyed the last stray Samandriel had attached himself to -- although he had certainly made an attempt.
“Yes, sir,” Samandriel said, moving only to handle the whistling tea kettle that might have just been helped along by the angel’s desire to get something calming into Lucifer’s hands. As easily as the archangel calmed him, he had an equally powerful ability to set him on edge. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t speak with you about it before I asked him. It came up in the heat of the moment.”
He kept moving, handling things with the smooth kind of grace he normally managed effortlessly when he was comfortable. “I really do believe it could be mutually beneficial. It’d give you more time to work on the things I’m so good at distracting you from, and I really do believe both he and I could do with having someone to care for and to do the tending. He’s...badly damaged both physically and psychologically, and looking after him will give me someone to focus that kind of energy on that isn’t a certain needy vampire.” It was well known that Samandriel had a soft heart. He saw no reason to hide it the way Lucifer managed to. However, that didn’t make him stupid or oblivious to things. He knew Damon was (perhaps unconsciously) emotionally manipulating him, and he needed to do what he could to distance himself from that kind of trap. Michael made an effort. He listened and actually seemed to care about what Samandriel thought or the things he loved instead of just whether or not he was important to the angel.
Lucifer was well aware Samandriel wore his heart on his sleeve -- that he loved fully and completely in ways that seemed almost ridiculously easy to Lucifer. He cared more about most things than Lucifer ever would. It wasn't bad, not in the least. But it was one of the ways in which they differed.
Lucifer wouldn't begrudge Sam needing more than he did - theirs was an elaborately planned system that worked well for the both of them. It would need to be reworked with a third - and all of those details were just questions right now, considering he'd never even met Michael.
"I'm not angry," he said, pushing himself away from the counter and standing just close enough to press the palm of his hand onto the small of his angel's back - a silent prompting for the calm to remain. Lucifer didn't care to argue about things that were already said and done. "Nor do I ever consider you a distraction. Don't use that as an excuse."
He sighed then, glancing over Sam's shoulder at the nearly finished tea. There was just something about the cinnamon. "Still. You know I won't deny you what you want, Samandriel." So long as the little angel remembered to whom he belonged fully. But Lucifer didn't even need to say that - it was Known, and pointless to be smug or openly possessive about it. Even if Sam tended to like it when he was.
Lucifer’s anger wasn’t something Samandriel ever thought he’d be on the receiving end of. He knew he’d never step out of line enough to earn it. The archangel’s disappointment, however, was a wholly different beast and one that the angel really, really hated experiencing. “Just because you don’t consider me a distraction doesn’t mean I’m not being one,” he pointed out simply. Regardless, the touch was enough and he found himself arching into that little possessive hand just there.
He finished with the tea and turned around to offer the mug to Lucifer properly. “Always,” he promised remembering back to that moment so recently when Lucifer finally understood always in the way that only they truly could. He was Lucifer’s, had always been and even if someone ran him through with an angel blade in this life as well, he would die as Lucifer’s. And, admittedly probably get put back together, but the point remained. “Made for you.” Their life together was possibly one of the best things their Father had done in this world, if He was there at all. He leaned up and kissed Lucifer lightly, more a quiet declaration of devotion than any prelude to something else.
“I said I’d make breakfast in the morning and you two could talk.” He didn’t doubt that the both of them would know the moment Michael awoke, but it was also pretty obvious to Samandriel that he was spending the remainder of the night in Lucifer’s bed.
Taking the tea with his free hand, Lucifer took one more kiss for good measure and half hummed out his agreement. Made for you. It was true, and the archangel was always pleased about it. It was the sort of thing that even he couldn't manage completely on his own, and even as an atheist, he supposed he had to thank his Father for that much, at least.
"Be sure to make something you can bear to stomach for yourself," he said -- it was his agreement over the proposal and a promise to make his very best effort in terms of speaking with Michael.
Samandriel was sure that little note was something that qualified as punishment for an angel who hadn’t asked permission and who was more adamant about not eating than the rest of them. Still, he figured he’d manage something and if that was the worst Lucifer was going to throw at him he’d count himself lucky. He let his fiancé finish his tea while he interrogated him about the rest of his day and caught him up to speed on what had passed between him and Michael beyond the accepted offer to stay. What he ended up painting was a picture that showed how distressingly similar Dean and his old CO really were. It at least allowed Lucifer to know what he was getting into in more detail than just looking at Michael would. There were some ways in which Seeing was insufficient.
After the tea was gone, both angels found themselves up in their room, Samandriel all wrapped up in Lucifer’s embrace like it was exactly where he belonged.
He felt the moment that Michael awoke, and found himself hoping that the other man would take some time to tend to more human needs like the exact comfy spot in the mattress and the amount of effort required to move from it. A brief nudge alerted Lucifer and with another thought he found himself in a pair of boxer briefs and a tanktop downstairs. Breakfast, as it turned out, was going to be omelets with enough fruit on the side that Samandriel could keep himself to that instead of indulging in english muffins or cooked eggs.
It had been a relatively easy night for Michael. His dreams, aside from the fact that they tended to be psychedelic thanks to the crossed wires in his head, were utterly mundane. No angels, no heaven, no Michael. Even if he woke alone as he had expected he would he was rather relieved and pleased that he was still himself. That possibly would have made the situation more awkward and he was sure this was likely to be the most awkward breakfast of his life to begin with. Thank heaven for small mercies, he thought though was sure heaven would have been against pretty much everything that was going on in that house at any given time.
There was no reason to linger about in bed when he was alone, and he had never been prone to sleeping in, so he was quick to slide from the bed as soon as he woke. Push-ups first, fifty of them because he was going easy on himself, then his hair which was easy enough to comb into place with his fingers. Next was his teeth, he was pleased to find the bathroom stocked, allowing him to brush and floss and gargle as he always did. He even shaved, though that had more to do with the fact that his beard grew in quickly than wanting to look presentable for the little angel’s fiance.
Soon enough he was dressed again and left the guestroom, the sounds of movement in the house causing colors to shoot across his vision as he made his way downstairs. He didn’t know the layout of the house yet, they had spent the night before confined to the guestroom, but once he was downstairs he was able to follow the sounds and smells to the kitchen. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, just taking in Samandriel as he cooked and the kitchen around him. Needless to say, and even down to the company, the place was wholly better than Michael’s.
The first floor was mostly a large open plan area with the less formal dining area looking out into the living room and no walls behind the far countertops and beneath those cupboards to prohibit conversation no matter that there was a very clear entrance and exit to the kitchen itself. Samandriel didn’t even look up when he felt Michael come down the stairs and pause just there to watch him. If the man found peace in an angel’s domesticity, then he was allowed to observe and imagine for as long as he liked.
Setting up a plate for Michael was easy enough, breakfast arranged artfully on a dark dish before he finally looked up at the man and smiled. “Sleep well?” he asked.
“Mmhm.” He let the blue of Samandriel’s voice wash over him for a moment, enjoying the color and the peacefulness of it before it was interrupted by the spots of black that were his voice. “First time I’ve slept through the night in a long while.” The black was hard lines, solid shapes and pointed edges, even if Michael was being perfectly personable his voice came out in well defined visuals. He didn’t have the softness and flexibility, perhaps even warmth of the young angel’s voice. “Thank you.”
The dark green of his eyes finally settled over the food and he tried to remember what Samandriel had said about angels eating. He couldn’t remember specifics, which wasn’t all that surprising as his short term memory was the hardest hit by his injuries, but there was a word or two. “Molecules?” That at least sounded right to him, the blackness of his voice now forming molecular structures. Water. Ammonia. Methane. “It tastes like molecules to you, that was what you said.”
“That was what I said,” Samandriel confirmed. “Which is why I’m sticking to fruit and the two of you get the actual product of my labor here.” They would wait for Lucifer to actually start eating, or at least Samandriel would wait before he served Michael properly. He doubted it would be much longer.
“Do you drink coffee? I forgot to ask.” He’d made tea the night before. He wasn’t sure he felt like being so accommodating now.
"There should always be coffee with breakfast when we have a guest over, Samandriel." Lucifer's entrance wasn't flashy, not really. He didn't tend to appear before people with a flutter of wings like all the rest of the angels -- instead choosing to actually walk through doorways. Still, he was neatly dressed as if oxford button-downs and ties were part of his wardrobe even on days that he had off and he carried himself with confidence and that certainly counted for something.
"Then again. I suppose you're not quite a guest, are you?" The smile he offered Michael was polite, but lacked the easy warmth that Samandriel's had. That sort of thing took time and some amount of effort. Still, he wasn't rude by any means. "It's nice to put a face to the name." He offered his hand in greeting - Lucifer was a businessman in some ways, and handshakes were telling.
White. Michael hadn’t been expecting that, not from Lucifer. And this was undoubtedly Lucifer, he didn’t need to see those hints of familiarity with Samandriel to see it. But when the archangel spoke most of Michael’s vision was taken up with it. Not shapes like he saw with his own voice, or the blobs and tendrils of Samandriel’s, not even the flashes of golden yellow he saw with Gabriel. He blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision of the brilliant as he straightened to his full height and took the taller man’s hand when it was offered. He didn’t shy away, didn’t move with any reluctance, didn’t cross himself or even mentally or aloud try to recite any of the Lord’s Prayer or any of the Oratio ad Sanctum Michael. He gave Lucifer a firm handshake, a handshake like any he had given in his years in the service when it counted almost as much as what pin was on your collar.
“Likewise,” Michael shook hands with the Devil and wasn’t instantly corrupted or struck down by God, he took it as a good sign. His black started attempting to invade the white but it was largely unsuccessful. “But what matter of guest I would say is up to you.” Samandriel probably wasn’t going to like him leaving his presence to Lucifer’s discretion, but even Michael knew that was what ought to be done. “I know Samandriel is eager but it wasn’t ever my intention to insinuate myself into your home without your permission.”
There was a lot to be appreciated in a firm handshake and a few words of obvious and honest intent. It went a long way with Lucifer. Certainly, it was better than any useless attempts at one-upmanship or claiming dominance. It was the little things like these that painted a larger picture of a personality, and Lucifer was already at least a little impressed.
He let Samandriel get on with making coffee - the little angel knew when it was his place to listen rather than speak, and this was certainly one of those times. Still, Lucifer offered Michael a seat at the table before moving to make himself some tea.
"It's Samandriel's home as much as it mine," it was easily pointed out, but that didn't really make Michael wrong either. Permission was important in an area like this. Frankly, Lucifer had more or less given it to Samandriel the night before, but communication was important. If this man was going to stay, Lucifer wanted to know him. He could have ignored Damon forever -- the man wasn't in his home, not on a regular basis. But this was different.
He considered Michael for a moment -- it wasn't hard to see the damage, Michael wore almost openly. It also wasn't difficult to see what would be eventually -- at least to some extent. This wasn't his Michael, but Samandriel's - and all the other angels. Lucifer alone did not belong to that set of dreamers. He didn't mind. All it really meant in this instance was that this Michael wouldn't be that same beloved brother. Nor would he be as powerful.
"I make a lot of rules, Michael. But not every one of them. This isn't a decision that only one person makes."
“Of course,” Michael agreed, sitting once Lucifer offered. If there was one thing that could be said about Michael’s incredibly strict upbringing and his years of service it taught him to be polite and respectful, especially to superiors. The white constantly invading his vision was more than enough to let him know that he was far more than what he outwardly seemed. He had an authority that Michael couldn’t begin to comprehend and it was taking every ounce of his concentration to keep himself from saluting or calling the archangel ‘sir’.
Dean likely would have laughed his ass off to know that occasionally even Michael showed signs of his conditioning.
“And even so, you are beyond important to Samandriel. I would not think to cause you upset.” Because of him, he didn’t need to say it so he didn’t. Michael feared Samandriel’s displeasure more than was likely wise, the same was likely true of those that loved the angel of imagination, and it was probably how he managed to get what he wanted. It worked very well on Michael, a man who had only intended to bed him once but was now being asked to move into his home and potentially share him with the archangel he was to marry. He had to wonder how well it worked on Lucifer to even consider permitting this.
There was rarely a reason to deny Sam anything he asked for -- admittedly, the archangel was a bit over romantic when it came to the younger angel and so saw fit to give him whatever he wanted. It wasn't difficult to grant pleasure in small ways, and he enjoyed doing it.
This was something bigger, of course. Much bigger. Because Michael wasn't any shorter in expiration date than Lucifer or Samandriel (Or Gabriel. Or Castiel. And, with some fudging of Rules, probably Dean as well). The prospect of potentially forever made this something that shouldn't be taken too lightly.
Still. Lucifer could see why Samandriel was interested, at least somewhat. Michael was an attractive man, inside and out. Even with damage. And he could at least enjoy the fact that he was being given his due respect -- whether similar to Dean or not, Michael came off as some with edges a little less rough. "I'm hardly upset. Samandriel wouldn't have asked if you didn't matter greatly as well." He lifted his tea mug, but didn't drink. "That's something I can appreciate. Do you want to stay?"
Obviously he did. If he didn't, this conversation wouldn't be. But Lucifer liked hearing it. Free will and choice were beyond important, and hearing decisions like that out loud was necessary.
“I do.” Michael had balked at the idea last night but seeing the rest of Samandriel’s torture and death had driven away any thoughts of ever being without the angel and any fears he might have had concerning his eventual transformation into the archangel. Samandriel might have been perpetually bored with the idea of the men in his life wanting to protect him when he was perfectly capable and had no need to be coddled, but that was one of the reasons why Michael was sitting at the table now. He was protective, loyal, and often too stubborn or fool-headed to let someone else handle something he cared about. He wanted to keep Samandriel safe, and even if he was just a mere human for the time being he felt compelled to make sure of that safety himself.
But he wouldn’t be a mere human for very much longer if Dean and the angels were right and that could very well present problems in the future if this was to become a permanent arrangement between the three of them. The young angel had tried to give him a glimpse of the archangel but he was still very much an unknown. Michael craved certainty, unknowns were the enemy and while he could push it back into the recesses of his broken mind it was still there. It lurked in the dark corners and told him how he could change, how once he started dreaming he would be washed away completely and become the archangel in the medal he once wore. “But I have concerns about my… transformation. Aside from doing emotional harm to Samandriel I worry that while you are not the same Lucifer that I will know,” he believed Samandriel had told him Lucifer wasn’t their Lucifer but he wasn’t sure, it could have been Gabe or Dean. “Michael may not be willing to be cooperative with you.”
Those doubts were things that Samandriel had relayed to him (Sam relayed a lot of information, generally - as much was needed to paint a picture properly, in any case), and Lucifer could understand the concern.
But just because he understood it didn't mean he saw fit to think it a concern himself. He sipped his tea, glanced over at Samandriel (who really did look adorably at home in the kitchen, even if Luc knew he had no large intentions to eat, himself) before gesturing vaguely to the coffee pot in question. He wasn't one to be rude, after all.
"Your concern is… thoughtful and telling in terms of your character," he said finally. "But there's been no proof that people change so drastically that their old lives are gone completely." That wouldn't soothe all the worry, he was sure. Nothing would beyond knowing without a doubt. "In my dreams, I have no issues with Michael -- we get on quite well -- but I understand that isn't generally how it would work between us." He considered that for a moment. "I don't feel it will be a problem. But even if it is, we're all adults and understand the consequences of choices and actions." If Samandriel was hurt over it, Lucifer wouldn't be happy. He'd merely fix it as best he could.
Coffee. Tea. It didn’t matter really. Like with alcohol he shouldn’t have been having anything with caffeine as it could cause problems with any number of the many medications he was taking, and also like with alcohol this was something he treated like a suggestion rather than a rule. Alcohol made life bearable, caffeine made life tolerable long enough to get more alcohol. He nodded his head in thanks, and backed it up with a ‘thank you’, when the coffee was motioned to. He didn’t so much need permission as he felt he ought to be respectful enough to wait until it was offered. After all, having Samandriel without permission was one thing, but there was no need to be rude when it came to things the archangel actually owned.
“Indeed we are.” Michael agreed, fixing himself a cup, glancing to Samandriel as he did so. It almost felt strange that this was all so civil. Not because of Lucifer of course, he was the ‘light-bringer’ and as far as Michael was concerned that implied civility and reason, but because of the reason they were there. To a Kansas boy, with the father he had and the environment he had been raised in where relationships were closed, not to mention were strictly between a man and a woman, the idea of being able to share one’s lover was completely foreign. He was willing to make it work though, he wanted Samandriel to be happy. “I think you and I have a common desire,” he said, looking back to Lucifer. He meant pleasing the little angel, not merely their desire for Samandriel’s body. “And I believe that if we are both able to pursue it in a way that keeps him happy, then you will have no trouble or inconvenience from me.”
It was funny to think of this as some sort of deal making process, where they hashed out the details and paperwork, and then in the end each had fair share of something. Michael wasn't here on business - wasn't making a deal with the Devil. He was here because he was invited. There was a distinct difference.
Lucifer offered a snuff of a laugh at that before tilting his head in slight acquiescence. "I wouldn't expect there would be," he said -- both because he didn't care to tolerate either of those things, and because Samandriel wasn't really the sort to deal with it either - particularly lately. "It's more than that we have in common, of course. But I suppose we have to start somewhere."
Chewing the inside of his lip, he glanced over at the little angel again, still well behaved and silent in a way that showed he was attempting to impress more than usual. Lucifer approved wholly. He'd consider a further reward, but he was fairly sure Samandriel was already getting more than his due this morning. "I'd like to think we could get along, Michael. There's no point in skirting around each other if you're going to be here. Samandriel likes to compare you to Dean, and I don't know if that's really the case -- but I'm more than quite fond of him."
“Dean.” Michael repeated, a single dark eyebrow shooting up as he looked back to Samandriel. He wasn’t offended, though given how they ribbed one another and often sounded unkind, he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that someone who did not know many former marines imagined that their animosity was genuine. They may not have been the best of friends, but they had spent a lot of time keeping each other alive and that with what they had lived through made them brothers in a sense. If nothing else they had a great deal of respect for each other. “I suppose it is an occasionally fitting comparison.”
He returned his eyes to Lucifer and had a sip of his coffee before he explained, “We grew up a few hundred miles apart. Both marines. Both came home from the war in pieces. The biggest difference is that I’ve been house trained whereas I believe he still has an itchy trigger finger.” He could understand the impulse to shoot Gabe, but Michael wasn’t the sort to actually do it. He’d been shot far too many times to do it without intending to kill. “I’ve been led to believe that Dean is the… vessel of archangel Michael. So if we do have more than superficial similarities I would assume that was why.”
Samandriel came and set the plates on the table, before going back to get his bowl of fruit for himself. “You’re both stubborn, proud, and occasionally like referring to me like I’m not standing right here,” he pointed out while he came back. The last bit was also directed at Lucifer. He wasn’t annoyed, not yet. He understood the complexities of their situation and the conversation happening, but that didn’t mean he was really pleased about being referred to as though he couldn’t speak for himself. He sat down and popped a green grape in his mouth. At least Michael hadn’t defaulted to calling the angel ‘the kid’ in front of Lucifer.
“My audition’s the evening of the 21st. I think I’ll be taking Castiel with me.” It was a thought he’d been laboring on for a while and Lucifer had to have known it. The archangel was a distraction, and playing for the board of judges at the LA Philharmonic would require far more focus than Samandriel was usually willing to put forth particularly when Lucifer was anywhere nearby. “It might be a good opportunity for you to spend some time with Dean. He’s been… louder than usual lately.” The young angel was pretty sure that Lucifer’s particular brand of things would do Dean some good. He understood all too well how easily Castiel bent for Dean (or anyone really,) and while he loved his brother immensely, it wasn’t always the best way to go about things. Shifting the conversation to the Winchesters was an easy enough way to bring about full disclosure on who else the pair of them were sharing their bed with. Better Michael find out before he walked in on something he wasn’t made aware of.
Lucifer couldn't help but laugh at that, but hid his smile and little snort behind his mug of tea. His intention hadn't been to ignore Samandriel or speak of him like he wasn't around, not at all -- but he had narrowed the conversation down so that it was only two people instead of three. Perhaps it had been a little unfair, but Lucifer hadn't intended for it to be that way.
Either way, both accounts and comparisons of the two former marines seemed to fit, and Lucifer couldn't help but file the information away for later. Not that he didn't know some of it already -- it was a rare day Luc didn't know of who it was Samandriel was spending his time with.
"Castiel is a wise choice for company that night," he agreed, easy as anything. Some men might have been hurt to not be chosen to accompany their fiancé to such an important thing, but Lucifer took it in amazing stride. He understood the reasoning, and moreso was only pleased for Sam to have support in any capacity. "Has he?" He asked of Dean, raising an eyebrow. For Lucifer, that was the epitome of concern, really. The archangel didn't bother with attuning himself to or listening out for anyone the way Samandriel did. "I'll be sure to invite him over." He paused, considering Michael for a moment. "This house," he said - probably a bit needlessly. "Is occasionally a busy one."
“I can tell.” He glanced from one angel to the other and back again before having another drink of his coffee. As usual Michael was aware that there was likely more going on than knew about, in general he ignored it. The benefit of being so physically damaged was that he wouldn’t be asked to care about the minutiae of other people’s lives all that often. But in this case, when it involved Samandriel who he cared deeply for and could possibly involve the place he was going to be living in now, he paid close attention even if he didn’t appear to be.
At least he had the food to distract himself with, he was often told he had a problem with staring and that it could be unnerving, and he was happy to have something to look at beside the two other men. He was fairly open with injuries simply because he had to be, but on some things he liked to at least appear normal, it meant not talking about his frequent hallucinations or giving in to his tendency to stare. But the food was good, both as a distraction and in it’s quality. Likely better than it should have been given that it had been made by a man who tasted ‘molecules’. “It’s very good.” he said in a soft aside to Samandriel before returning his attention to Lucifer. “Is it usually all hours?”
Samandriel nibbled at a bit of melon and found himself smiling at Michael exceedingly fondly with the compliment. “Thank you,” he said, “and no it’s not usually. You’ll find that for all my relatively high energy the house itself is rather low key.” There were moments when things got busier than usual as Lucifer said, but both he and his fiancé were far more prone to enjoying the quiet and ignoring much of the rest of the world. Even if Dean and Castiel were over things tended towards as calm as four men who might or might not fuck each other in various permutations could get.
Samandriel was really spot on with that, and there didn't seem to be much more to add to the description and so Lucifer only inclined his head toward the little angel as if to say that everything that needed saying was there. He just wasn't a wild sort: Lucifer had been raised with manners that were impeccable to the point where he often seemed stoic or bored most of the time because of it. It wasn't necessarily true, but he rarely emoted loudly. It was just how he was. Most others around him seemed to at least know how to control themselves to some degree. Even Dean.
"It is good," he agreed, nibbling on toast. "So?" He asked, raising his eyebrows at the two of them. "Have you picked a room? Do I need to hire a moving truck?"
“I’ve only seen the one guestroom,” he admitted once his mouth was clear. “The furniture came with the apartment, everything of mine fits into a duffle bag, aside from the car of course.” Traveling and living light, that was the benefit of military training. He learned only to keep what he needed and perhaps a few sentimental objects, it had served him well so far, and really the only things he cared about in his apartment were what he had brought with him from Kansas. Mostly his medals, dress uniform and pictures of his family, maybe a picture or two from Iraq that Dean might have been in though he wasn’t going to share that with him.
“But I’m not picky. I’m happy wherever is easiest for you.” As long as he was inside he could have slept in a broom closet and would have been fine, really he wouldn’t need much more space than that.
Lucifer waved his hand dismissively at the very idea of "wherever", if someone was going to make a home of a place, he saw no reason why they wouldn't find what was most comfortable.
"Explore. Take a tour after this. I'm sure Samandriel would be more than pleased to show you around properly, yes?" He rose an eyebrow at his fiancé almost teasingly. "There's ample space. You might as well choose your own corner." Lucifer may or may not admit it, but this was him trying spectacularly hard -- he wasn't a particularly emotional man, and so he showed his affection (or attempts at it) how he knew best: with gifts and sharing whatever means he had.
Lucifer might not have been willing to admit it, but that didn’t mean Samandriel wasn’t fully aware of what his intended was doing. He kept picking at his fruit in a casual way, one entirely meant to prove to Lucifer that he could in fact still follow the rules even though sometimes he rather flagrantly disregarded them. “Of course,” he said casually. “There’s a room on the first floor here that I think you’ll actually like rather better than the guest room.” After all, the guest room bed was one that both he and Lucifer tended to have their others in when they were around. The room he was thinking of currently wasn’t doing much else but holding some of Samandriel’s things from his parents’ house back when he’d had himself under the impression that he might still go back there one day. It would definitely give him an excuse to go through them and likely throw most of it out.
“I’m sure we can find you a bed that’s more catered to your desires,” or needs rather, “than the one upstairs.” A firmer brand of mattress (though not too firm) might do Michael more good than it ever would have suited Samandriel to have in a spare room. If this was to be Michael’s place too, then they would start on the right foot of making absolutely certain he had a say in where and how he slept.
The angels were certainly accommodating, but then again he had expected that. Samandriel seemed endlessly good to him and he had been right in his estimation of the young angel that he wouldn’t involve himself with someone who wasn’t worthy of him. Michael saw himself as the exception to that, but he knew Samandriel would have been very quick to correct him if he said that aloud. But they were both polite and considerate and Michael reminded himself to be the same for as long as he was to be there.
“Thank you, I’ll be sure to have a look around. Perhaps after you could, what is it? ‘Zap’ me back to my apartment, I apparently have a few things to take care of.” he had another drink of his coffee, trying to not give into the impulse to over-think what he was agreeing to be a part of by moving in. Baby steps, like Samandriel had said. “And if you could do whatever it is you do to my head again I would be grateful.”
“Of course,” Samandriel said, simply. “For now, finish your breakfast.” He turned his attention to Lucifer. “Both of you. I have some things I need to tend to.” Some things being a paper he hadn’t technically written yet that was due sooner rather than later and the impending impressive distraction that Michael was no doubt going to be.
Lucifer might have been hospitable - and he certainly wasn't lacking in charisma - but there was something to be said about sharing breakfast with basically a stranger in his kitchen once Samandriel went off to do god knew what. Probably refrain from sassing his way through another history paper.
Still, he wouldn't have been himself if he didn't have social skills to flex. He refilled his mug of tea and poked at his breakfast for a moment. He didn't have the molecular issue that Samandriel did, but he never had been one for breakfast first thing in the morning, either.
"Well," he said, breaking a silence that might have been sitting for a moment too long. "This escalated quickly." More observation than complaint, really.
Something about the way he said it struck Michael in just the right way and he couldn’t hold back the soft chuckle and gentle smile that came. At least they were of the same mind, though Michael likely wouldn’t have managed to get the same response from Lucifer as he had gotten from him. Humor was still something Michael could manage, and his did tend to be dry, but his bouts of it tended to be relatively rare.
“Tell me about it. I’ve only known him a little less than a handful of weeks and here I am. He’s not exactly slow about things is he?” He was beginning to wonder if this was all going to turn out much easier than he had first anticipated. He had hoped to be at least tolerated by Lucifer, but if they could be at least friendly then it would make it all so much easier to adjust to.
"Not even a little bit," Lucifer shook his head, but even the Devil couldn't hide the obvious fondness he had for Samandriel. It was one of the only things he didn't bother to cover up and ignore anyway. There was no point in it. "It suits him, even if I'll never quite understand his rush."
But then, Lucifer's particular brand of pleasure very much had to do with delayed gratification. He was a patient man, who enjoyed the slow game just as much as he did the eventual outcome. Some days, even Sam couldn't argue against the reward waiting could bring. On other days, Lucifer couldn't dispute that some things worked better when they happened in a strange whirlwind. Never would he have considered glancing at Dean or Castiel otherwise, really.
"So long as you're comfortable with it," he said, half questioning, half reassurance.
“I’m becoming used to it.” He admitted. Between Gabriel and Samandriel it was remarkable that Michael maintained his tenuous hold on reality or time. It seemed to him that they lived as if they were mayflies, wanting to throw themselves into everything as if there would be no chance tomorrow even though it was likely that they were largely immortal. Michael liked to think himself perhaps more normal, but for the most part he seemed to be continually waiting for orders from on high that often never came.
Lucifer was more on the same line of thought as Michael as far as that was concerned. He was in no rush, and more or less just continued doing the exact same thing now as he had before he'd changed any. Forever was an exceptionally long time, and there was no need to be fussed about much of anything.
Which was probably good for everyone -- the Devil making a fuss about something couldn't possibly end well.
"It can be overwhelming," he admitted, like he understood what Michael was getting at. "When they're all in the same room, I tend to leave it." He wasn't even kidding. Lucifer didn't even pretend to make excuses to go into his office on holidays.
Michael could understand that impulse. He tended to avoid an abundance of social activity, he had never been the most social of guys before his injuries but now that he had them too many voices and too many people in a room could set off a migraine. That was probably thanks to his chromesthesia, too many colors and lights and shapes at once. There was a reason he tended to carry earplugs or noise-cancelling headphones around with him when he knew he was going to be in public.
“The ones I’ve met, with the exception of yourself and the inclusion of Dean, seem rather intense. I can’t blame you for making your escape. Is all that intensity an angel trait or is it just part of the family dynamic?” The more he thought about it and heard how the lot of them interacted the more he tended to agree with something Gabe had told him. They all really were one big, insane family.
Lucifer always just counted Dean in with the angels, considering he was sort of a joint package with one of them anyway. There seemed to be no real reason to differentiate.
"We're all fairly intense," Lucifer agreed, amused. "Just in different ways." Even the Devil was his own kind of intense -- he just happened to be mellow, too. "I'd guess it's more singular personalities that when combined, culminate curiously. Not everyone is impulsive or loud." He finished off his toast and went back to his tea, thoughtfully. "As far as families go, I could think of worse dynamics." Whether he left the room or not when they were all about, it was clear Lucifer was fond.
He could admit that he too could be intense, but maybe not aloud as that so early might not put the best face on how he was and how he hoped to be. Michael was apparently very intense, at least according to Samandriel, just another reason for him to resist saying it aloud. Part of him wanted to resist the possible change Michael would bring, especially as the littlest angel had seemed so determined to hang onto him as he was and to make sure he remembered the affection he had for him.
Michael nodded slowly in understanding, finishing a few more bites before speaking again. “I could think of a lot of worse families for that matter, perhaps even stranger.”
"Perhaps," Lucifer agreed, finishing off his tea and feeling better for it -- he was still a man who despite near-god status just tended to enjoy the small creature comforts life offered.
"But let's not tempt fate. This is strange enough for me and I don't want anyone taking those words as a dare." As it happened, they both knew someone who might.
"Either way. Later on, I'll have Samandriel make you a set of keys. Remind him to teach you the security codes. He might tend to forget that, considering his preference for flight over doors."
Michael emphatically agreed. Angels were strange enough and he knew that if given that opening Gabriel likely would have come up with something awful to amuse himself. Would probably even remind Michael that he had been concerned about crossing himself in front of Samandriel when he met Lucifer. Of course that was before he met Lucifer and discovered that he was remarkably pleasant to speak to, even if he did keep having to remind himself not to say ‘sir’.
“Thank you. I would really only come and go for work, I used to go to mass but that hardly seems appropriate anymore, but I would still like to keep myself from being a nuisance.” Sure, it was an awkward situation, but Michael wanted to believe they could get through it if he tried very hard to stay out of their way until he was needed.
"Does it seem inappropriate? You'd think considering our circumstances some of us might be more inclined toward the church." Lucifer wasn't, but he was fairly certain that he might be a special exception, considering. Samandriel had never been a believer, and Gabriel had renounced anything to do with it a long time ago. "Castiel still goes, I think."
Still, that wasn't really the biggest point here. At least, the Morningstar didn't think so. "Why would you be a nuisance? Samandriel invited you to stay. There's no point in hiding in your own home. Do what you like, when you like. You're more than allowed. In any case, it's not like there are sleep schedules you need to be worrying on." Even if Lucifer technically kind of liked sleeping still (again, creature comforts), it wasn't like he needed to.
“In my case it feels like it.” he couldn’t speak to Castiel’s feelings or any of the others but knowing about who he was supposed to be had changed his faith a great deal, so much so that he felt he couldn’t face mass, at least for now. “I spent over thirty years praying as hard as I could for protection and strength and it turns out the being I was praying to is myself. And I’m sure that some people would say that’s all prayer is, but I was raised in a very devout home, prayer and belief and faith were very important. But knowing who I’m supposed to be changed it for me, or at least that’s what I feel for the time being. Maybe I’m thinking too deeply about it.”
There were a lot of reasons but he stuck to what he had touched on. “It’s not exactly your sleep I’m concerned about disturbing.” Aside from wanting to make it as easy as he could on all of them, he did want whatever was to happen between either of them and Samandriel to be painless if he could manage it. “I have a hard time understanding how you can share him.”
"You're thinking as much as you need to about it. No one here would judge you one way or the other. As far as a bunch of angels go, we all have varying opinions on that particular matter. It's refreshing, in it's own way. But not the best breakfast conversation." Because Lucifer was just that kind of person. Clearly politics and religion were meant to be discussed any time after lunch (but never during dinner).
"It's not…" Lucifer paused, thinking for a moment for the best way to put it. "It's not exactly sharing, Michael. Not in the way you'd think. Samandriel is mine. Completely. It's not something I have to ever be concerned or worried about. We have rules, and we talk constantly and openly. I can't offer him everything he needs, and he can find that in others. It only benefits me to see him fulfilled and happy. Why wouldn't I do it?" Even that seemed a little simplistic as far as explanations went, but it was a start. "Anyway, you must understand it somewhat. Here you are, after all."
“You trust each other, and you care more about each other’s needs than that innate human desire to possess exclusively.” That was as simple as Michael could make it. He had needed to simplify it because in his mind it was just too complex even if it was easy for the pair of them. Perhaps that was all the benefit of not being human, the angels likely weren’t compelled to mate and produce offspring. They, if they were like Samandriel, were creatures of love, more likely to embrace than cast each other aside. “I want him happy and I want him safe. Maybe I do understand it.”
"There you have it, then." Lucifer dipped his head in agreement and approval. "You get it well enough. Any other confusion will probably be solved eventually." Or Michael would be slightly lost on the topic forever, and that was okay too so long as he played by the rules and wasn't belligerent about it.
The archangel stood, collecting his empty plate and offering to take Michael's as well. "He is safe here though. You're aware, aren't you? I protect him." And really, Lucifer didn't even really need to do that, Sam was more than self sufficient.
“I know,” Michael was quick to say as he handed over his plate. Lucifer was, well, Lucifer. One of the most powerful beings in all of heaven and earth. Even if the Bible turned out to be wrong about that only Michael or God could stop him his power was still nothing to take lightly. He knew that and respected it, but all the same he wanted to make sure Samandriel was safe after watching his torture and death. The best way he knew how to do that was to be there himself, to watch over him no matter that he was strong enough to look after himself. “And I’m sure I’m probably being overly sentimental, but he means the world to me and it simply isn’t in my nature to watch from afar. And I realize how laughable it all sounds given that I’m still human, but I won’t always be.”
"It's not so laughable," The archangel assured his eventual-brother. "I did it too. This change is newer for me than you'd think." He gestured to himself with his free hand, generally invisible wings flexing slightly like he was calling attention to them. And his archangel status was new. A month or less. But the powers came naturally, everything small and large about them easily understood. It hadn't been the same for Samandriel, he knew. But that wasn't the point.
"I didn't manage as well as I would have liked watching him before that. But now…" Well. There wouldn't be any more issues with things like evil doubles or unnecessary torture: Lucifer simply wouldn't allow it. "I appreciate your views on the matter," he went on, setting the dishes in the sink before leaning against the counter to look over at Michael. "Which means I think we'll get along fine, you and I."
The Devil was supposed to be likable, friendly, charming, disarming. That was what every priest had said in the thirty plus years he had been listening to sermons. It had made sense to him, he was supposed to be the seducer, why would one part with their soul if the man making the deal hadn’t seemed so appealing. And while Lucifer was appealing, pleasant to talk to, and seemingly decent in ways that many ‘good’ people weren’t able to be, Michael didn’t sense any hidden agenda in him. No ulterior motive. He appeared happy to run his piano bar and spend his time with his little angel of imagination, and occasionally Dean Winchester if he had understood them right. Lucifer was remarkably normal, all things considered.
Michael felt woefully misinformed.
He watched the archangel, finding it strange but oddly comforting that he was more domestic than he would have expected from such a powerful being. “I would like that very much.”