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Through the waxing, through the waning.
Amidst blackness a spark emerged.
And we heaved death's branches upon the skyward flames.
A haunting memory left as bile on the sand.
Feeding these fires on shores of desire, this blissful painful night.
Winter's fangs may find me again, but it won't be tonight.
Illusion and shame will haunt me again, but it won't be tonight.
We will meet at mornings early, slain by grievance shore.
And crowned and crucified as the sea calls once more.
Alive in the tide from whence the wind came.
And crowned and crucified and stretched by shelter's grave.
[MINSK - The Shore of Transcendence]
"Sing for me," Jeshua asks. His condensed breath hovers around his head and eventually disappears. Unlike the fog, which is still hanging between the tree tops surrounding them.
"Excuse me?" Lucifer's fingers stumble as they stroke the man's calves and the hollow of his right knee.
Sing. For me. Jeshua feels comfortable and safe. Please, Morning Star. Maybe also a bit out of his mind. The wet autumn evening coldness won't seep into his bones. Not tonight.
"No," Lucifer drawls. "I don't sing anymore."
Did you sing during your fall?
"No." A pause. Lucifer stares at the patella in front of him. Jeshua can almost feel a hole burning its way through skin and fibre. "I screamed then. And wept."
Have you been afraid? Gentle and warm. His thoughts are like a dry breeze in his own mind. Clearing and light. He feels this aura shimmer around himself, fumbling for his companion.
"Yes," Lucifer chokes. Fuck you.
"Are you afraid now, Samael?” Jeshua cants his hips towards him. Lucifer's brow sinks against his shin.
"Yes, I am," he whispers against the tanned flesh. The tips of tiny golden hairs sense the other's lips and chin.
Would you please sing? For me. Not for Him. Jeshua's hands cup Lucifer's jaws and he lifts him. I long to hear you. His eyes are half-closed and he's watching the angel falter and scramble for composure.
Finally jittering amber eyes focus on the man beneath him and the pale skin drawn over Lucifer's skin seems like threatening to split. He crawls over Jeshua, until he more or less sits on his pelvis, his own feet snaked around Jeshua's legs, capturing him. He is propped up besides Jeshua's shoulders and makes an acknowledging sound, something between purring and clearing his throat. Then Lucifer's tongue begins to weave patterns in the air between his vocal chords and Jeshua's ears and everywhere else.
Citadels of anguish and loss emerge from the glistening swamp of rawness and their preposterous shapes are shifting around them. The buildings are fickle and high, audaciously devised and threaten to burst each syllable. Jeshua has to close his eyes; the impact of the other's chanting is resounding on his skin, beneath his nails and crawling down his spine, pooling at his perineum and stroking his slowly stiffening cock. His breathing is becoming forced.
Lucifer's fingers glide along his neck and throat, and further. Full of hesitation and longing. Until his sharp nails scrape at Jeshua's lips. Until the tip of the man's tongue tastes the other's cool skin and Jeshua shivers. His stomach churns and revolts as Lucifer shoves first his index finger just behind Jeshua's front teeth, and then middle and ring finger follow. Caress the flesh they eventually find and press it against the jaw.
Jeshua can only moan and breathe heavily through his flaring nostrils. The thick, earthen taste and intimidating touch make his cells tingle, even his marrow vibrates in the rhythm of Lucifer's heart. And the angel keeps on chanting. About overwhelming forces of desire and pain. Undiluted fear and the loss of sway, the loss of everything you know and are. It tastes like festering embers, a notion of mouldering love mingled with stale hope. Tears brim over Jeshua's eyes and his hands grab at Lucifer's shoulders, which are afire, just like the rest of his unearthly body. Sweat makes his well-proportioned brow twinkle and though his voice sounds like breaking any moment - it does not happen. And Jeshua wonders, and feels overwhelmed and sad, and whimpers around the fingers in his mouth.
Thank you, he writes into Lucifer's tendons and meninges, and then the angel stops, the last tones thrum against Jeshua's twitching eyelids. He feels like prancing along a very high cliff's edge. One step, only one and he's there. The darkness beckons like seldom before, murmuring calming nothings into his ear and over the skin spread over his breast bone. Writing spirals and stars onto his ribs.
Lucifer grunts. Extracts his fingers from Jeshua's mouth and hisses a colourful Aramaic curse Jeshua hasn't heard for centuries. The Son of Man feels too aboulic to withstand Lucifer's rough push, which brings him face to face with the sodden forest soil. His cheek is pressed into something squishy and decaying, and as far as his eyes can see it's grey blue and rust red leaves spread over the earth. Linden tree and oak. Oak and linden tree. If there's a path below, it's invisible by now. Buried beneath heaps of foliage. And the trees around them are blank.
The dense fog is roaring in his ears. Lucifer is talking again, clearly drawn between hissing profanities and huffing obscene endearment. Jeshua can't follow them, can't hear them. He doesn't listen. He feels nothing but the slippery leaves and Lucifer's hand cradling the back of his head, keeping it pushed down. The mud between his lips seems to consist of decomposing bird feathers, trampled fern and rich green moss. The fingers at his backside are scratching, grinding against Jeshua's tailbone and lower. Something slippery is inserted in is anus and is wriggling like a knotty eel inside of him. He hears himself groaning, and a wail oozes from between his teeth and eyes. Moistness is dribbling onto Jeshua's bare back, gliding down his ribs and spine, and reeks of blood's iron and dusty spittle. His numbness and lethargy stifles any energy, that could have been left.
"Do something," hisses the screeching voice behind his ears into his neck. "Say something." A strong hand shoves at his hips, so it can sneak below Jeshua and grab his penis. Stroke it a few times, make it hard again.
Jeshua thinks of swirling suns, threatening to burst through the blanketing mist. Swirling suns in Lucifer's amber eyes. He can't see them now, because he stares at the dusky mould beneath his face. He's pushed against it, and again. And again. Another push. And then the intimate intruder seems to swell and pulsate and Jeshua coughs heavily and regurgitates bile and it slavers down his chin and makes cankered leaves stick to it.
Lucifer pulls back unruly chestnut hair; combs some dirt out of it and overstretches Jeshua's neck. His member keeps on pummelling the man's entrails, and the movement elicits mucilaginous noises. Heavy, liquorice-laden air is wheezed past Jeshua's nostrils. Rumbling moans seep deeper into his ear canal.
This is it. Jeshua begins to tremble. The cool fingers around his cock are moving swiftly, providing enough friction. Enough. It's enough. Stop it.
Fuck you, Jeshua. Lucifer's snorting sounds obscene in Jeshua's mind. I have you now. And I want to go on all night. The whole next week. Never stop, because... He actually laughs. "We're not done yet," his voice rolls like resin over Jeshua’s eyelashes. And his movements are becoming faster and more frantic, more, more and more. And then he stiffens and screeches, and Jeshua heaves another load of bile out of his digestive tract as he feels something spreading within his intestines.
Lucifer rolls Jeshua onto his strained back not gentle at all, spreads his limp thighs and stares at him. The Son of Man has to shade his eyes with forearm, and tears trickle out of them and he coughs once, twice. Almost chokes on it, when Lucifer cups his genitals, his fingers crawling back to the abused hole and rub against it. When he dives down, down, down to swallow Jeshua's penis. His fangs scrape along the oversensitive girth and Jeshua is weeping and shaking, and his fingers dig into the crud around him.
Oh God. Please. Jeshua writhes. Parts of him want to scramble away, and a very certain part wants nothing but the immane heat and pressure and the darkness within.
I wonder if He actually hears you. Sees you like this. Lucifer growls perilously and licks and hums and his unoccupied hand draws over Jeshua's belly to chafe his ever-gaping lance wound. Jeshua slaps it away, then clutches the scuttling member and pulls it up. To his lips and as he begins to nibble the pale and soft fingers, he also tilts his hips and pushes deeper into Lucifer's mouth. And deeper, deeper. Into the darkness, the sucking void.
Easy there, my wanton rabbi. Lucifer moans and plunges deeper into Jeshua's mouth, caressing his tongue and caressing with his own tongue flesh between his teeth. Shall I feel honoured to get all your pent up prurience? Another set of fingers is screwing themselves up Jeshua's innermost, ever-stretching and ever-squelching.
Jeshua's heartbeat deafens every other notion. It's raging and setting his blood afire. His breathing is seriously laboured and he's biting down; the slender fingers extract from his mouth and settle right below his jaw instead. Rubbing moistness against his arteries. Holding him down. His Adam's apple collides with Lucifer's wrist every time he swallows and his eyes are wide open. Staring at the dead branches above and the fleeting light, and Lucifer does something with his throat and fingers, and Jeshua is shaking and crying. Finally cutting snug tethers, and he comes in flesh-tearing and blinding waves, which crush over the crouching angel between his legs.
The man stares, and round dances of stars pulsate over his corona. Lucifer slowly peels himself away from his orifices, sits back on his heels. Semen is dribbling from the corner of his mouth, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. Looks at it then. And spits out a mouthful of sperm.
"Never thought I'd ever receive some proper communion," Lucifer rasps smugly. "But I must decline, I'm afraid. I'm already feeling a bit sick." He coughs, "It's nothing personal."
Jeshua props himself on his elbows and takes a closer look at his companion, whose braid became loose during their forced tryst. Lucifer wipes his sticky hands at the clothes he has torn off Jeshua before and lay scattered around them. After he had chased and pinned him down in this copse. The Adversary pulls up his slacks and fastens them. Shoves dark and crumpled shirttails back in place; buttons up the waistcoat. He doesn't have to. He could do this all with a click of his fingers. And he could make the muddy specks on his legs disappear.
"Yes, but I don't," Lucifer eventually says and looks Jeshua straight in the eye. For the first time since they rolled between the leaves and soil. "You have an idea, why?"
"Tell me," Jeshua tries, though he doesn't trust his voice yet. It sounds strangely raw, and bereft of volume and kindness. He plucks his clothes from Lucifer's lap and inspects them. They're completely torn, some even scorched.
"Action and consequence." Lucifer pats the pockets of his trousers and triumphantly unearths a slightly crumpled cigarette. Sticks it to his mouth and inflames it with a match, which he chooses to throw carelessly behind himself. A hint of wet and charred mould inseminates the by now crisp evening air. "Unless most of the other people I'm aware of the things I do. The more or less possible results. I accept them. Responsibility, that's the keyword here."
"I see," Jeshua declares and a cool breeze makes goose bumps all over his still bare flesh. His flaccid penis is shrivelling. Lucifer raises his right eyebrow and shrugs.
I could leave you here. Maybe I even should. Lucifer rumbles in Jeshua's mind. We'd be kind of done then.
Yes, you could. Jeshua casts his eyes downward; his trembling hands are grabbing his bare thighs.
"Clothes?" Lucifer suggests nonchalantly and he throws a bunch of materialised wear at Jeshua, who catches it, and very slowly starts dressing himself. "I wasn't always like this, as you can guess. There was this time, before I was twitted." He exhales a plume of smoke, blowing just over Jeshua's head.
"The time when you still sung?" In honour of His name. Jeshua slips a teal-blue sweater over his head. It's incredibly soft and slides over his sore skin. It was so beautiful.
"Cut your uncalled-for small talk. And don't play dumb, rabbi. It doesn't suit you." Flaring eyes hold Jeshua's gaze. "Tell me that you enjoyed this."
Jeshua swallows and rises to be able to push the soft and plain brown trousers over his bottom. They are equally soft and comfortable. He closes the zipper and wonders what to answer.
The truth, of course, Lucifer chaffs him. "Of course I know that you did. It's a nice way to grope one's way through the depressing shoals of being, isn't it? You're a man, and I didn't get the impression of you being a novice in the matters of the flesh." He grins and flicks the rest of his cigarette into the darkness behind him. "Do you feel desecrated, my Lord?"
Jeshua searches for mockery in Lucifer’s eyes, but surprisingly it's really nothing but gentle mirth. "No," he therefore admits. "Not really. But I'd fancy taking a bath." His sphincter twitches involuntarily and a shiver rolls down Jeshua's spine.
I felt your love, Jeshua. It almost made me shatter into pieces when you came. Lucifer grabs his own jacket and hands Jeshua another one. It's dark brown corduroy and warm. But you kept me together, somehow. Are you aware of this?
Their fingers touch fleetingly, and Jeshua stares at Lucifer's lofty face. It seems to gleam. "Thank you," the man states. "You kept your word."
"Of course I did. I told you not to doubt me. I never meant any harm to you." Lucifer mumbles and eventually breaks their eye contact to sink onto his knee. "Shoes. You still need shoes," he announces, and seconds later he's tying some really good ones to Jeshua's feet.