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Untitled Part 1

They're close, so close, like stars in a cluster, like phlox growing together.

Every opportunity he gets, Lucifer will map the contours of Castiel's body with patient hands and tender kisses, whispers words of praise against the younger angel's skin. Every word is perfectly earnest, a verbalisation of litany and laudation. Lucifer's exaltation is completely honest and full of the purest love.

The last four weeks, they've spent as much time together as possible, while they weren't guarding Sam and Dean, and nearly every waking moment spent together is passed with sweet kisses and sweeter touches.

Now, they're curled in bed together, sleepy and lethargic, like cats in the sun (Castiel likes to compare himself to a panther and Lucifer to a lion. He doesn't know where the comparisons come from, but he feels that they fit), Lucifer spread out luxuriously, Castiel's head resting on his chest.

Lucifer's holding a rosary in one hand, the beads clinking against the side of the bed as his shoulder rise and fall in time to his breathing. It's old, very old, fashioned from pink ivory and African blackwood, with a golden cross inlaid with platinum and rose gold. It looks very expensive, but Castiel knows better than to ask. He has a feeling Lucifer "convinced" some rich Old-Money fool to "lend" him enough money to buy it - either that, or he stole it directly.

Either way, the string of prayer-beads is beautiful and intricate, crafted with ridiculous care. To Castiel, it symbolises Lucifer's care for him. To Lucifer, it's a mark of respect and worship, the kind of love he feels for many, but most strongly for Castiel.

"It's still early," Lucifer murmurs softly, voice deep and rough like the rasp of a cat's tongue when he feel Castiel's weight shift. The Seraph hums, smiling, and lets his eyes drift shut again, nestling into the hollow above Lucifer's heart. The blond is cold as ice against his skin, smooth and frozen and beautiful, a living statue.

There are wings wrapped around Castiel then, huge wings the colour of the sky at dawn, red and gold and purple and orange and pink and white and grey. To see Lucifer's wings healed once more, and as beautiful as they used to be, surprises the brunette. He hadn't expected to see the Archangel whole again.

He'd gotten used to the Archangel ruined.

Tentatively, reverently, Castiel reaches out to brush the pads of his fingers against Lucifer's wings, to feel soft feathers and leathery skin and the slow pulse of blood through myriad veins. He can't remember anything so beautiful.

"You like them?" Lucifer asks softly. Cards his fingers through Castiel's hair and pulls him close. The Seraph sighs softly as Lucifer kisses him, gentle and passionate and possessive, and he leans into the kiss, into Lucifer's support. Pale blue eyes slide closed then, and Castiel kisses Lucifer's cheek, and his neck.

"I love them. They're beautiful," he murmurs. "They're exactly like I remember them. Big. Soft. Glorious."

"Soft?" Lucifer asks, amused, and quirks an eyebrow.

"They're... well, yes. Soft. Touching them is like touching powdered chalk, or reaching into a bag full of down."

Lucifer smiles at the comparison and draws Castiel's hand to his lips to kiss the back of it.

"Would you love them if they were someone else's?" he asks gently, pale eyes raised through silvery eyelashes to gaze up at the brunette. Castiel shudders slightly and shakes his head.

"I love them because they're yours. They belong to you and only you. And they... they represent you perfectly, I think."

A small frown works its way across Lucifer's features. "But I'm not healed," he mutters in a small, plaintive voice, almost childlike, and bows his head. Castiel sighs quietly, sits up. He pulls the blond closer, so their bodies are slotted together again, and cards his fingers through soft hair.

"No," he agrees softly and kisses the top of Lucifer's head. "But you're still beautiful, and you're sunny and bright and lovely and you're mine."

Lucifer hums softly in response.

"Yours," he agrees almost robotically, but there's a smile on his face as he says it.

Castiel kisses him again, harder this time, and feels his Grace come home again.