Won't that be interesting to find out? he hums, another pass of his hand, thumb twisting just so.
He likely wouldn't be so keen to follow instructions further down the road, but the 'safety' and trust is strong enough that he defaults to Istredd's assurances. Because despite his dare for Istredd to break-in this body, he could very well break Istredd if he isn't careful to an extent. The healers of Hayle do not need that late at night.
He's already pressing lips to a shoulder the moment Istredd's back in his hands, both their banquet outfits fully in a couple haphazard piles. He breaks away only to make eye contact.
Lucifer may just get out of one portion of his head. The complex, grace-deprived, closer-to-human thoughts. That is good for them both.
But he won't leave his head entirely. That angelic, alien entity will always be his primarily, no matter how watered down it is. And that part of his head is very, very present.
In the sense you need me to be, he starts through thoughts, and finishes, "yes." But I could get lost in the breakdown of this. It's quite fascinating now that I have the time to process it. Just a simple... He kneads the heel of his kept-low palm against Istredd, giving him the touch he craves. Still a mild chill to it despite their activities, his eyes not breaking contact from Istredd's own, interested, drinking in and absorbing the reactions. ... Elicits a response. Sensitive nerves and sensitive minds, convoluted and crossed, not even the mind and body trying to find balance, just... mess.
He folds his legs behind Istredd's, maybe learned, maybe some instinct from that complicated 'mind and body' babble, and repeats, strikingly fond, Just mess. That he doesn't seem to have any particular problem with.
no subject
He likely wouldn't be so keen to follow instructions further down the road, but the 'safety' and trust is strong enough that he defaults to Istredd's assurances. Because despite his dare for Istredd to break-in this body, he could very well break Istredd if he isn't careful to an extent. The healers of Hayle do not need that late at night.
He's already pressing lips to a shoulder the moment Istredd's back in his hands, both their banquet outfits fully in a couple haphazard piles. He breaks away only to make eye contact.
Lucifer may just get out of one portion of his head. The complex, grace-deprived, closer-to-human thoughts. That is good for them both.
But he won't leave his head entirely. That angelic, alien entity will always be his primarily, no matter how watered down it is. And that part of his head is very, very present.
In the sense you need me to be, he starts through thoughts, and finishes, "yes." But I could get lost in the breakdown of this. It's quite fascinating now that I have the time to process it. Just a simple... He kneads the heel of his kept-low palm against Istredd, giving him the touch he craves. Still a mild chill to it despite their activities, his eyes not breaking contact from Istredd's own, interested, drinking in and absorbing the reactions. ... Elicits a response. Sensitive nerves and sensitive minds, convoluted and crossed, not even the mind and body trying to find balance, just... mess.
He folds his legs behind Istredd's, maybe learned, maybe some instinct from that complicated 'mind and body' babble, and repeats, strikingly fond, Just mess. That he doesn't seem to have any particular problem with.