Core catches between his throat and mouth, or so Sandalphon always believes it does in a sense whenever Lucifer would even do so much as look his way and sheen pale lips with the tiniest dust of a blush from having sipped from a warm cup share a smile at his way. At this point, the Archangel would believe the organ would spill all over or free itself from the confines of his physical form just to reach the other’s touch, and each time he waits a few seconds for that to happen, only to be proven wrong and it’s just him. All of him that desires that touch after yearning and wishing for it since so many millennia. Dulled skin of scarred tales, each tell a story, wounds of the past from other archangels when he had been in the lines as a fallen himself, making his way just so Lucifer would look at him, finally acknowledge him - foolish that he is when all this time Lucifer always had been there in a way or another, and had always wished for his happiness however much he could sacrifice, even if his ways were flawed at best when given so limited tools for it. Fools in what the heart is about, fools in so many things because they were not built for it at all and yet, given a heart of too many emotions that managed to overrun said limitations even when with them came big mistakes that they shouldn’t be forgiven of. “ Ah… ” And yet, nothing ever prepares him for the heartache that is Lucifer admitting what he had convinced himself it’d never be true, that Lucifer did love all those times even if the bond was a strained one from both of them keeping a healthy distance while basking in each others fleeting presence. That fleeting connection that came with each of Lucifer’s visits and talking about nothing beyond birds, the skies, the good parts of Lucifer’s travels and the boring life inside the garden Sandalphon mostly sheltered himself in. That even now, even when there’s so much Sandalphon has to make up for after his grand mistakes, his wish remains the same and not ever the former supreme primarch changes his mind. Lips part a bit, processing it within the bliss of their shared cabin as the mute sound of the wind - crimson eyes of a late day dusk shining with the sting of tears born from an equal unmeasurable amount of joy that the other dares, without fail, make it known to the archangel, another moment where he is proven again and again the very same thing deep down his core still thinks a fairy tale’s worth of facts. It falls quick, just a single shed of it before the current supreme primarch brings a finger and wipes it away and sighs into their nest worth of tangled limbs and bed sheets, snowy feathers that cascade from Lucifer’s back and have found their place everywhere like tiny stars adorning the night sky as they shine when catching the sun’s light in little rainbows on their own. “ I’m… So glad to hear that, Lucifer. Truly. ” There’s always a lack of words when it comes to it, a struggle the archangel knows will last millennia more and maybe never get that good at with time regardless his attempts. He can only helplessly smile at the other’s merciless kindness and love that seemed so infinite even for the most flawed beast of all and yet still look back at his claws and bloodied teeth with nothing but an outstretched hand and offer the pull to stan up back again without a fear he’d bite that hand away, or worse, not caring if he did and still offer the other, and thousand more times until there would be nothing.
And that’s exactly what happened, which is what also scares Sandalphon so much. It scares him because even in this new life, the possibility of it happening was as great as it had been yet once had been blind of, thinking Lucifer a perfect, unkillable being when given no reason there was a possibility of someone ever finding a way to destroy for real a Primals core without the use of the red dragon.
But before worries would fester away at his mind, Sandalphon distracts himself with the other’s flinch. A thing he knows too well by now that is born from hurt and still being so new with what Lucifer had not allowed himself to feel. Knows for a fact because he, too flinches still even from the most careful graces from Lyria’s almost featherlike hands whenever she’d try hold his hand when she’d find something he’d be interested him and try leading the archangel to their destination. His body would tense for seconds, his senses would sharpen but then his mind would react and calm down in a surge of exhaustion and forget about it - the Same goes with Lucifer; even when he utterly melts at the other’s gentle traces over awful scars and ridges of numb skin, to the beautiful little blossoms the other has left upon his body in a much, better fashion that the litter of fifth that is each of those marks from his own demons and foolish battles, always his first reaction would be the slightest flinch, followed by a collapse in the most terribly desperate sense to purshase that touch despise the guilt that also comes with it. And he cannot escape it even if he wanted to, with his wings veiling most of his lower half, Lucifer’s strong arm wrapped over him while his hand keeps that delicate mission to trace meaningless; It’s not dissimilar to his own attempt to smother back messed up feathers that require a much better inspection than the rather lax smothering rough, battle worn digits could do at his lying state. But Sandalphon doesn’t care. While his heart still mourns and hurts and aches, there is no doubt right now he feels happy - calm, relaxed. Every single of those things he though would never come back or even be a luxury anymore worthy of being granted after so, so long. “ Hmh. A wonder indeed, perhaps your last mission needing to carry loot and other’s heavyweight was met with a rather strong storm. ” He adds, almost like a low pur as it rumbles from his chest and core with great comfort and fondness that carries in the way he fixes another loose feather out, and it tumbles slowly into exposed skin soundlessly. “ But gives me a chance to work them back into a presentable state - the same way you wish to brush my hair. Which… You should not even ask for, Lucifer. My answer is always one, yes. ” Always yes, even on those days where his core felt heavy and talking just wouldn’t come to him nor he’d have the strength to do much beyond push his tired legs forth and bring himself into the airship, back into the kitchen to do something, or to their cabin to promptly collapse on the bed or chair. Even during those times He’d meet others with tired, furious glares or scoffs to aimless nods that Lucifer understood somehow and guide him to comfort. Give him space or an embrace the other easily falls into and lets it fill his wounded heart once more.
Time goes slow, it seems as the sun today didn’t quite felt like following it’s path as always in the same speed as it always had been ever since he’s known what the sky is what it is, maybe it’s past noon or just when he’d usually open the cafe, but little Sandalphon has done beyond count feathers aimlessly while smothering those he can reach, being as careful as ever while the smallest noticeable veil of light emanates from his digits just to also apply another layer of comfort with it’s healing warmth, one of his own powers ever since creation, the very same one he used to attempt at making Lucifer’s already closed wounds heal when the former supreme primarch would come back to the garden in a rush, out of breath and his beautiful armor trashed in blue ichor from otherworld beings having done quite a number on the other. And even then, Lucifer only worried for the other who had almost, at the time, never been in anymore danger beyond cuts and scratches from twigs and thorns, or his heel catching at something and twist his ankles in awkward positions that ached for a day or two - which compared to nothing to experiments that his back feels numb to. That, Sandalphon still has to someday talk to the other, but today… as the light catches on that ring he had fixed on the other’s finger as the sun’s touch paints it lighter than the alloy it’s made of, Sandalphon chooses to simply enjoy the day as it is. ‘’ I’ll get us some food. Do you want something sweet? ‘’ And yet, within the way his voice drapes lazy and low the wonder at the tip of his tongue, it follows also that slight knowledge that Lucifer might just agree to whatever he’d choose. But he likes to ask nonetheless. Sharp lashes close as he focuses a bit, as teleporting takes not much beyond a speck of power unlike how it might take half the life of a mortal to master such a spell, and it takes seconds as next to their shared bed a small mobile, wooden antique looking table tray manifests with Sandalphon’s usual kitchenwares; two cups, two plates, in the lower level are the coffee pot and some bags of grounded beans, a few sweet pastries of chocolate and vanilla with toppings of various fruits the crew has stored and he has access to. It disrupts the usual scent of home that the cabin has with a newer one more appropriate to the grandcypher’s kitchen, but Sandalphon welcomes the change nonetheless. ‘’Ahaha - It feels too self indulgent to do this hands free, but… Considering our current predicament, I can try and serve us like this – just be sure to not drink laying down or you might cough on it, Lucifer. Gran tried once and the results were disastrous. ‘’ Drinking sup gone wrong, one of those memories he looks fondly of despise his insistence at the world’s singularity to just sit up while afflicted by a bad cold and have at least something easy to digest before he’d starve, and yet…
Lucifer's core tightens at the sight of Sandalphon's eyes glimmering in the early morning light. He can see the faintest traces of tears forming in their corners, and he desperately wishes to reach out to quell them before they can fall. But he's too late, and one spills out over the edge, staining the current Supreme Primarch's face before the other quickly wipes it away before Lucifer can extend his hand to do so. Those tears settle just as quickly as they had come on, but it does little to ease the agony of his heart as it squeezes violently within his chest. The love and affection he feels for Sandalphon so deep that it's impossible for him not to let out the quietest of hums in response--it's question without actually asking it; a desire to know if the other is feeling all right. Though he suspects he already knows the answer. Thousands of years ago, before the archangel had been created, he would have found the idea of crying due to unfathomable joy a tad farfetched, and Lucilius would have dismissed the notion with a disinterested snort and a wave his hand--claiming Skydwellers to be worthless beings driven mad by their own emotions. He can still vividly recall the times he had questioned the other about the various stories he read, and the interactions he observed amongst the Skydwellers that were so very unlike their own, but he was rarely given an explanation beyond muffled grunts. For so long he had believed himself incapable of feeling emotions, but that had never been the case. Whether or not he was actively aware of it until recently, Lucifer's always felt the handful of emotions that crop up in his core rather intensely. It had been subtle at first--he can still recall the time he felt his core throb when he had found a bird's nest that had been downed by a storm. Against his very purpose, he had wanted to save the newly hatched chicks, but he chose his duty above their lives, and the next morning his core ached so badly he had convinced himself it must be malfunctioning. In hindsight, that lesson was one he learned over and over again until the pain in his heart was so great that he learned how to live with it--that he tried to live with it. That was, until Sandalphon was created, and he discovered it was truly possible to cry from happiness, even if he didn't quite understand that was what had happened at the time. Every moment he spent with the other helped ease that ache within his chest, but every second with the archangel replaced it with a new feeling he didn't have a name for until it was much too late. So, even now, whether or not those tears stem from happiness or sorrow, they'll drown Lucifer's heart entirely.
"Sandalphon." His voice is as quiet and gentle as always. The other's name is spoken less in an attempt to get his attention, but rather in an effort to soothe any lingering aches or doubts that might hang over him. Because oh Lucifer understands those feelings all too well when he's spent the last two-thousand years regretting the choices he had made, and praying for forgiveness and peace he didn't deserve, yet was granted to him regardless. He knows Sandalphon's mind is not unlike a rose--wondrously beautiful yet full of thorns that torment him more than he lets on. So, he exhales softly--his warm breath kicks up strands of auburn hair as he does, and keeps the fond smile that had painted his lips since last night ever present upon his seemingly immaculate features. "I'll never tire of reminding you." he whispers, briefly nuzzling against the archangel's cheek in reassurance--his skin is warm to the touch, and he can feel the steady rise and fall of Sandalphon's chest beneath his own. It serves to ground him--to remind him that they're both very much alive in this moment, and that they're at peace. For now, the world consists of little more than the two of them, and this room--for now, it's quiet and still and safe. And it's a feeling Lucifer is still growing accustom to, perhaps just as much as Sandalphon is. But if he's learned anything from the crew that has welcomed him with open arms despite his flaws and glaring failures, it's that he's not nearly as alone in the world as he believes he is, and that they'll figure everything out together.
It takes only a moment for him to grow used to Sandalphon's tender touch once more, and for him to completely relax into it. Even if he still feels guilty for flinching at it from time to time, especially around his wings, neck, and side where he can still occasionally feel phantom pains from where the dark matter had pierced through him despite the fact that the body he occupied now wasn't the same one that had been destroyed back then. It seems the memory lingers far longer than the physical wounds he had suffered. But it's easy for him to ground himself once more when all he needs to do is exhale, and focus on the sound of Sandalphon's breathing, and the sensation of his skin pressed against his own--on the feeling of the rough edges of the scars Lucifer traces against the tips of his fingers, and he's reminded, once again, the hand stroking his feathers belongs to the one he loves most, and that he is safer within the archangel's arms than anywhere else in these vast skies he had once watched over. He adores the feeling of Sandalphon's touch above all else, and always yearns to feel it more despite the fact that, sometimes, just like now, it catches him off guard and he flinches involuntarily. There are times; however, that the archangel does the same, and it worries him, but he knows the depths of what Sandalphon must have endured in Pandemonium are beyond even his worst nightmares, and he has to shove the thoughts aside to avoid himself physically ill with worry. Instead, he chooses to continue softly massaging the other's chest--memorizing the bump of every scar that lines his body, and admiring the curves of the archangel's muscles. And each touch seems to make his wings fall further from grace--little more then a heap that's collapsed uselessly over both of them as little strands of fuzz and fluff drift about the room. Oh, it makes him wonder what the Sandalphon that always eagerly greeted him in the garden over two-thousand years ago would have said if he saw his wings in such a state back then. The tiniest of laughs escapes his throat as he imagines the horrified face of a much less battle-worn Sandalphon, and he hurriedly swallows it back down.
But he can't keep that laugh down when the rumble of Sandalphon chest vibrates against his own, and it spills past his lips in a light-hearted, airy chuckle. The fondness in the other's voice isn't lost on him, no it only serves to warm his core and widen his smile as he catches Sandalphon plucking a loose feather from the absolute bird's nest his wings have become, and feels its soft edges tickle his side when its released to join the others that are no doubt strewn all over their cabin. "Hmmm, so it seems," he hums through his laughter. "But it was a beautiful storm, and I would gladly brave it over and over again." The soft rumble of his laughter fades out into a gently smile as he continues tracing nonsensical patterns onto Sandalphon's skin as a content sigh falls soundlessly from his tongue. If it were at all possible, he believes his wings would simply melt back into his skin from the comfort they feel. "Indeed, though I am afraid to admit that it may take some time." He flexes his wings as best he can in their current state, and the motion alone is enough to make another wade of feathers tumble from their perch before his wings collapse in a pile atop them once more. "It gladdens me to hear that, Sandalphon, and I am honored to know that. However, I find I rather enjoy asking." He pauses in his ministrations for a moment just to run his fingers through the archangel's messy hair. While it's a tad bit more tousled than normal, it can't compare to the absolute disaster Lucifer's wings are at the moment. He would feel guilty if not for the fact that he wishes for nothing more than Sandalphon's touch and presence, and taming the unruly state of his wings will require a tremendous amount of both.
Lucifer is intimately familiar with the abilities Sandalphon was created with, and so he knows, without a doubt, what that familiar warmth that slowly seeps into his wings with every stroke as that gently light washes over his pearly wings and bathes them in a rose-gold hue. And it feels utterly magical despite the fact that he's perfectly fine, and there's little need for Sandalphon to expend his power in such a way. But it brings back memories from when he would return from more dangerous missions covered in the ichor of other-worldly beings, and his own dried blood, and the other would insist upon healing him despite the fact that Lucifer's wounds had closed up long ago, and there was no need for it. And, yet, he never had it in him to deny Sandalphon of anything, and had only ever helplessly agreed to his aid. Even back then, it had made his body feel like putty. So, shamelessly, he allows a soft, content moan to fall from his lips as that welcomed warmth floods into his feathers. "Mmmm," he exhales, his eye half-lidded ad he tries not to completely succumb to Sandalphon's touch, but oh he's failing spectacularly at that. "Whatever you wish for, Sandalphon, I will happily share with you." His words are low, and bordering on a jumbled mess yet, somehow, he still maintains the air of grace and elegance he naturally harbors. It seems Sandalphon had known his answer before he had ever given it, and Lucifer is only vaguely aware of the presence of coffee and food when the natural woody aroma of the room shifts into something a bit more bitter and far sweeter--more akin to the scent of the kitchen rather than their cabin. Lazily, Lucifer's eyes peel open to glance briefly at the archangel's handiwork before his attention returns to the current Supreme Primarch himself. Ah, Sandalphon truly has found a use for his powers outside of battle, and it soothes the ache in Lucifer's a heart a bit, though not enough that he actively wishes to rise from where he is. "Is that so? Somehow, I can sympathize with the Singularity's desire to try such a thing right now," he mumbles softly. "However, I would not wish to spill anything or inconvenience you." Yet, even as he speaks, a frown briefly slips onto his features as he slowly sits up, his wings dropping behind him in a manner that can only be described as utterly defeated. There's a moment where all of his grace and elegance and mysterious aura is gone, and he looks completely miserable before he catches himself, and forces a smile back onto his features. "Ah, it feels rather cold without you, Sandalphon," he has to audacity to whisper as he longs for the other's embrace almost immediately after having removed himself from the archangel so they could enjoy breakfast.
