whatwas | (no subject)

"And what does 'everything' mean to Him?"

Lucifer is disdainful of any of his gifts. At best, they might get some powerful wards or sigils.

"Look."

He lifts his hand, and with a little sprig of intention, fries their coffee table. Sears it to cinders, with a tremendous puff of heat and power. With another thought, he shields himself and Jemima from the warmth, containing the little explosion thoughtfully.

Then whisks the mess out of reality, and builds it again- only this time without the slightly wobbly leg.

Lucifer is speechless.

That undoubtedly has God giggling on a cloud somewhere, because Lucifer is never without a snide comment or a quirked lip. But all he does right now is stare at his formerly human lover, and he bangs his knee on their healed coffee table as he walks to him.

"I thought he'd left a spy--you? You're one of--?"

"I don't know what I am."

He sets their daughter down, and stands to face him.

"I mean- I'm yours, obviously, but I don't know what I am aside from that."

Lucifer touches him, just a hand on a cheek, then his shoulder. Still solid.

He can still sense Break's soul in there, but there's something else--a touch of Grace, of pure Creation, embedded in. Like an angel, surrounded by the enigmatic and insensate substance of a soul.

"How does it feel?"

"Very vast."

Reaching up to touch his cheek in return.

"Like a shout off a mountain top. Like being given a paddle after a long ride on a raging creek."

Lucifer closes his eyes a moment, and lets some of the guards down he always has around Break; he lets his Grace show, and for once it's not searing, not blinding.

It is scarred and burnt and very obviously burned by Hell, though.

"Show me what else you can do, then. I have a lot to teach you."

And he suspects Break will take a few things and run with them.

Break dives in head first, hurling his own soul and grace at him, lining up with him metaphysically and taking the burn with his own peculiar masochism.

He won't be able to stand it long, but-

-But he won't be permanently damaged by it now, either. And now, there's a clarity with it that is impossible otherwise--the reason Lucifer resisted human sex so long was because it felt so disjointed.

Break will be able to see every thought and every emotion Lucifer has, as long as he holds onto him. He's bewildered and delighted and suspicious and hopeful. He's exhausted and stubborn (no surprise there) and more determined to win now that he has his own family.

And, slyly coiled under the mess of images of the future and their history, is a thread of mischief. Oh, he does have so much to teach.

He gives that string a curious twang, like a child with a guitar, and then pulls back when the intensity gets to be too much.

He comes to on the floor, blinking.

Lucifer is sitting beside him, holding the baby against his shoulder. He doesn't have to worry about Break being damaged now, and it's given him a curiously playful side.

"And how was your first trip to Oz?"

"Pretty."

He tells him, reaching out to curl a hand around his ankle.

"Do you know the best thing about this?"

He smiles, Grace turning a pale blue.

"What?"

"The things I'll do to you."

For all the Break can bring him down, with a hand on his shoulder or a word in the right tone, that's really nothing compared to what they'll be able to do now.

Lucifer isn't able to see much more than he normally does of Break's mind--souls are enigmas. But he isn't at all worried about letting Break see the ripples that sends through his Grace, the way it sparks a little, and chills the air.

"You'd better."

"Are you afraid? You've never bowed to someone who could hurt you before."

He points out, idly, with impressive presence for someone sprawled on the floor from a faint.

"No, I haven't. And you'll have to make me."

He smirks, a wing brushing his leg.

"Be creative with me."

"Although I see the others more often, I haven't really topped in a long, long time."

He muses. Al babysitting is a pg affair. Even if they sometimes make Ryo sit in the corner.

"When was the last time with me?"

He has a long memory, but little details like dates are scant.

"Four years."

He smiles, as the four year old in question races across the hall upstairs, little feet slamming on the carpet.

Lucifer lets her draw on the walls, and he hears her settle in to finish a masterpiece in her bedroom.

"Four years," he echoes.

He looks down at Break and lazily slides his hand inside his shirt.

"Too long."

"Mind-"

He orders him, firmly, nodding at their second oldest on the couch.

"She won't mind."

Lucifer will have her nap, peacefully dreaming of lollipops and unicorns.

"Tch. You know the rules."

Pulling away.

"We can make our own rules now."

Laws of physics, time, nature--they get to bend or break or recreate them at will. Surely, Lucifer's look cajoles, they can remake this little house rule.