#this can't

bliss. yes, bliss. colin feels it fill him to every edge as long lashes lower   —   as hazels disappear for the sake of reveling in a different sensation. lucifer kisses him and when they vibrate against him, colin’s soul sings out and matches the frequency. he feels it. thorough. deep. kisses like this, even when simple, they move him so profoundly and he doesn’t always know how to stop it from shaking him, doesn’t always know how to greet emotions when they come besdies with more than open arms. colin loves   —   fierce. there is a vastness to him that extends so far out into the cold dark and it still manages to feel deeply for the one with their lips against his. sometimes it’s too much. sometimes, it has to go somewhere. lightbulbs flicker, a warning   —   but it’s too late by the time eyes open again and he finds them no longer in the museum. fresh air fills his lungs; a little damp   —   but familiar. the gate isn’t far; it sits with vines clear of its metal. used. they are inside the property, inside the place he now knows that he’d made for himself. his first creation. sacred. peaceful. dimly lit, but only for a moment because when he looks upon lucifer before him, every single firefly in the area seems to flicker awake and beam with the same joy. lightbringer. yes, his love, even here   —   they still bring light with them, they illuminate his very essence and colin stands in momentary awe. transported. no longer even in the same dimension. the god does this in the closing and opening of eyes but it is lucifer he admires, it is lucifer who has done some great thing. a hand comes up to allow fingers to cradle the angle of the devil’s jaw. feather-light. barely there but lips press again, chasing.