The Devil Likes Lemon Cupcakes

The Devil And Lucija

                               »She was born wild and curious.

                                       a cage is no place for

                                          someone like that.

                                  'I play with the fire of my truth,'

                                              she told me,

                               'I will burn for the things I love.'«

                                               Mia Hollow

    

Once again I was consumed by the night, locked into my own dreams.

I felt so many things; cold of the darkness, fire upon my lips, Layla's sleeping heartbeat in a distance.

I detest love. I hate something that takes control over your mind and body, creating a different personality, making you capable of doing things you never even dreamed of.

Love is the cruelest thing on this world.

I detest romantic movies. I hate people who hide their feelings until it is too late; I hate when they run after their loves' in the airport, or proclaim their love only when their love almost chooses someone else.

Hiding your love is the most painful thing on this world.

As I opened my eyes, I saw him in vertigo. Windblown hair in Fall colours, lips that invited your darkest secrets, eyes that asked you to confess your sins...The Devil never looked so beautiful.  

I thought about saying those three words, but they sounded so ugly, so rusty, because they've lived inside of humans from the beginning of time, lingering for the opportune moment to be spoken. After they've slipped from tongues so many times, in so many ways, they've become...unbearable.

»Even if you slit my throat, I 'd thank you for touching my skin,« I whispered instead of those, three words.

Corner of his lips curved into a smile. »Quoting again?«

I nodded.

We were at his place again. Far away from Paris. A quiet place with old, wooden bookshelves, a large antique bed, and that mahogany box, filled with his memories. Lucifer tried to tuck me back, beneath those soft, silky covers, but I gripped his wrist.

»Stay,« I spoke the words that haunted my soul.

»Why?« he demanded to know.

»Because, I want you to.«

Lucifer moved dangerously close. Heat his pores evaporated sent drops of sweat down the back of my neck. The dying light created soft shadows upon his skin. »I am not used to people who do not shiver at the sight of me,« He played games with my mind.

»I do shiver.« Nothing but the truth. I did shiver because of him, only not of fear. I had no desire to run away. Not like before.

A silent laughter escaped his mouth. »You will get burned if you touch me,«

»Then I'll adore my burn marks.« I craved his touch like never before. I couldn't hold myself back anymore, couldn't hold it in. Couldn't deny it.

»All I can offer you, dear Luxuria, is Hell,« Lucifer tucked one of the escaped hair locks behind my ear.

»Then,« I licked my lips and undid the top buttons of my white dress, exposing the fullness bellow, covered only in lace. »I'll give you Heaven.« My fingers traced the strong path of his jawline, feeling the scorching warmth beneath.

What galaxies ran through his veins.

I  realized that it was not the infernal flames who called the heat of his existence,  nor was all that was hell kissed the work of his blaze,  but rather the warmth of his essence was in fact the stardust from which we are all made of,  the divinity of constellations was his fire, and it shone brighter than ours because he once belonged to Heaven.

And the blood in his eyes was a reflection of the dying star that made him, for he wept all the blue out of them a long time ago.

Oh, son of Aurora, how you shine.

I pressed my lips on his as if I tried to drink in the galaxies.

I will burn for the things I love.

His kiss didn't knock me out with fire, didn't burn me. Instead, Lucifer wrapped his arms around me, like he was starving for millenniums. He pulled off the dress with one, quick movement and pierced me with bronze eyes. The red had left, leaving behind his broken, human pieces.

I felt him lingering, sneaking a glance towards his box of memories.

I caressed his cheek, tenderly, and turned his face towards mine.

I saw his eyes filling with desire, his hands hungrily ripping the remaining clothing off of me. Warm feeling of embarrassment crawled beneath my skin, painting my cheeks pink. Like an artist, Lucifer traced his fingers across my curves, burning their path even without fire. He admired me as if I was a famous masterpiece.

My hands found their way under his black, tight shirt, and pulled it up, over his head. It messed his already messy, brown hair. I traced my fingers across his skin, the same way he did to me.

Across the gentle skin of his chest, the strength of his arms, I even felt the scars on his back.

We drowned in yet another lock of lips.

Lucifer wrote songs on my skin; with the melody of his kisses and playfulness of his fingers;

his hands played masterpiece on my ribs as if they were piano keys;

he whispered lyrics of his favourite poems into the depths above my collarbones;

he burned his stardust on my pale skin, as if he were creating new birthmarks in the form of constellations;

he spoke secrets in the dimples at the bottom of my spine;

the gentle touch of chapped fingers invited my shoulder blades to pierce the skin, and turn into wings;

the way his body touched mine, made sure that the echo of his scent will always linger on the inside of my wrists, hidden behind my ears, and on the back of my neck.

Lucifer destroyed me in the most beautiful way possible.

And when we laid next to each other, naked without shame, exhausted from writing love notes on our bodies, Lucifer rested his head on one of the pillows, baring his back to me.

Now I saw the scars I felt before.

Burned in feathers covered Lucifer's entire back, like a memory of his wings forged with fire, maybe even a punishment. I traced my fingers over the rough of scorched flesh.

He truly was a Fallen Angel.