milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Lucifer lies on a table; not quite hidden, wrapped in a handful of shadows but visible to anyone who cares to look that way.

One knee bent up, one arm hanging off the table edge. A shirt the colour of the best cabernet you’ve ever tasted. Sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

You probably can’t see his eyelids from where you are, but he looks pretty damn asleep.

[OOC: *sighs* Warning for...sort of violence. Of the quiet, disturbing kind. Are we surprised? No. ~~Thom needs to find a better way of bonding with people.~~]

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*Thom stands at the head of the table, looking down.

When he speaks, it's just two words, raw and tight.* Push.

Me.

Lucifer's eyes open.

Quietly, just this side of tight;

"Excuse me?"

*Thom grabs Lucifer's collar.*

You heard me.

A slight pause, and his eyes close again.

"Indeed I did."

That's it? 'Indeed I did'?

That's it?

He ignores Thom's hands; hooks his fingers briefly on the edge of the table and then releases them again.

"I am no one's tool, Lord Trebond."

. . . you think that's what this is.

He sighs and sits up; the simple action shouldn't be enough to dislodge Thom's grip, but it is. He turns on the tabletop, lazy, eyes finally making contact.

"All right. What is this?"

*Thom's eyes flash, and he lets his hand fall to his side.* A --

*and he chokes, a little, before* -- a request.

*He spits the word out as if it were filthier than a porcine Eden.*

"I see."

A flicker of amusement; laughing at you, not with you.

"Ask nicely."

*He sneers.* Please.

"You're not even trying."

Lucifer lifts a hand, contemptuous.

*Thom staggers, and lets himself fall to his knees.*

Better?

"You look good from this angle, Lord.."

The hand raises a little more.

*He lifts his chin a little, already tense, not moving.

At last, darkly* Thank you.

Casually -

"How's the sister?"

*Thom hisses wordlessly.

Then, just* Don't.

A blink.

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. I thought you said push."

His fingers flick, once.

*He rocks in place, and closes his eyes for a moment.* -- yes.

*Thom looks up at Lucifer without smiling. At last he says again, his voice wound tighter, nearly to some proximal breaking point* Yes.

Please.

Lucifer consider this, considers him, and then nods sharply.

"Stand up."

It's not a request.

*Thom stands, a sudden awkward upright jerk that's part response and part . . . just him.

He's silent.*

Lucifer holds out his hand.

That's all.

*So Thom holds out his own, letting it hover above Lucifer's.*

Lucifer's palm lifts the few inches and lies against his. His eyes are not mocking.

"You owe me a request, Thom of Trebond. Are we agreed?"

Of course.

Rules are rules, Highness.

"Very well."

The Prince of Hell's fingers slide forward and close about Thom's wrist.

We begin.

*Thom bites back a gasp, grasping almost violently at Lucifer's own wrist in turn.

Shakily, he nods.*

Lucifer has not a spark of expression on his face; he could be asleep again, but for his eyes. Open. Slowly turning red.

*He looks down at their crossed hands, just for a moment.*

Entirely scarlet now.

And -

Fuck --

*Thom stops; he bites his lip and waits.*

...

His eyes tighten, just a little, in concentration.

...

*Thom's pupils dilate as the pain splinters under his skin, streaking jaggedly out and away from where Lucifer's fingers are curled around his wrist like the fine green up-down-up of an endangered ECG.*

Well he's an artist, isn't he, always has been when it comes to suffering. Bruises look good. This is...subtler, but appealing.

Lucifer blinks and thinks about fire.

*His teeth dig harder into his bottom lip. Summer wildfires . . .

Thom looks up again, into Lucifer's eyes, relaxing slightly for all that his forearm is burning.

He still says nothing.*

Lucifer looks at him a little more intently, as though trying to figure him out.

"What happened?"

Conversational.

*And the fire moves up, bright and thirsty.

Thom swallows.

Shrugs.* Screwed up.

Had a fight.

*He's not so casual now.*

"As opposed to..."

Blink.

Hot/cold.

*But Thom shudders and does not answer.

The drop: is this how Alanna felt, trapped beneath the ice?

It is perhaps a mark of character that, slowly, Thom inclines his head, collapses forward, into Lucifer.

He shivers again and again, and he bites his lip until it bleeds.*

Lucifer puts a hand on his head, almost gently, pushing him back upright.

"Your hand still works," he says. It's an instruction.

A kiss, open-mouthed, and a breath.

*It's in his lungs now, the shifting contradiction; Thom's breath comes fast and ragged, but he stands on his own two feet and does not let go.

He flashes Lucifer one short twisted smirk, answers* No shit.

*and the flicker of amused acknowledgement, being no more than a flicker, vanishes*

A small, amused shake of the head.

Lucifer presses his thumb to Thom's throat, lightly.

Swallow.

Red pill or blue?

*And, trembling, Thom tips his head back instead, his throat extending under Lucifer's thumb.

His fingers tense around Lucifer's wrist, pulling in, in.

It hurts.*

Yes.

It does.

*More.

Thom looks as if he is struggling to speak, or at least his lips are moving, bruised and red.

No sound comes out.*

Lucifer's wrist twists, a quick subtle motion, and Thom is released.

*Thom lets go.

He slides to the floor, on his knees again, motionless except for the rapid (stabilizing) rise and fall of his thin chest.

He raises his eyes to Lucifer, but doesn't seem to see him at all.*

He could say -

Feel better?

Pushed far enough?

Remember that you owe me -

He sits down on the edge of the table and picks up a glass of wine that wasn't there a moment ago.

He nods at the shaking boy on the floor.

He looks away.

*He's hesitant, getting to his feet.

Then Thom dusts himself off, nods to Lucifer (I know) , and walks out the door. His fingers dance lightly over Lucifer's shoulders as he goes, graceful and delicate.

Thank you.

And then it's as if he had never been there at all.*

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