The night was loud, composed of coos and buzzes and howls. And it was dark — Lucifer didn’t feel seen and being caressed was nice, so he allowed him to continue, rubbing a thumb encouragingly along the prince’s arteries. And Michael’s strength must’ve left him because his touches were delicate, soft presses, all along Lucifer’s figure but lingering by his upper half. Was he trying to mold him, like clay? Was he shaping him into something new? Lucifer thought that he wouldn’t mind that, as he breathed, nerves making it tremble, and put his own hands on Michael, touching his belly, where he
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