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totally without explanation la la la
“Using the available resources,” he says, defensively, before Lucifer can say anything.
So Lucifer doesn’t say anything. He looks through the half-open laziness of his eyes at the scrapes and angry cuts and tangled hair and thinks that if Hob was pretty when his heart was broken, Thom is illogically attractive when the damage is solely on the outside.
#
“Do you want to go back?”
Thom’s chin lifts in three-eighths of a nod and then falls down a diagonal, uncomfortably. His eyes just skim the ground. It’s a layered gesture, as these things go, but Lucifer can translate the twist of one thin shoulder that says there’s going to be explaining, and I hate that and the quick flash of purple as his eyes rise and fall that says don’t you want to stay, hey, wasn’t that fun? on the surface, but is accompanied by a kick of the foot that alters the meaning to it’s about instant gratification, isn’t it, for both of us and the sheer fluid complexity of his darting body language is almost enough to make Lucifer’s head hurt. He’s not used to seeing so much at once.
Maybe this is why they never spoke much, at the beginning. They were learning to read.
And...hmm. Lucifer rests the lengths of his fingers along Thom’s cheekbone and ah, perfect. He can feel the uncertainty rippling under the skin and the stubborn set of the young man’s jaw that adds steel to the false vulnerability in his eyes and this is Braille under his fingertips and a faint pulse where the palm of his hand cups under and against Thom’s throat.
He realises, when Thom bites his lip and there are patterns of confusion treading through the thin scrape on his cheek, that this is a ridiculously tender action. From the outside.
A test, then. He gives a wry kind of smile that could be ambiguous but his finger moves in an overtone that says so this is why I kept touching you, even though I didn’t bother to assign a motive at the time.
Thom’s eyes widen just a fraction in...comprehension. Well. And his hand shakes just a little bit as he kisses Lucifer this time because sex with someone who almost just killed you is one thing but sex when you can feel and talk and realise and be stripped of masks with every move is risk behaviour taken to a whole new level.
He keeps their faces close enough that there is no eye contact. Safer without, for now.
#
He wakes up and Thom turns from where he is sitting and smiles nervously and it only strikes Lucifer a few minutes later that the way the boy pulls at the red strands of his hair is an outright, blatant, fucking gorgeous lie.
So Lucifer doesn’t say anything. He looks through the half-open laziness of his eyes at the scrapes and angry cuts and tangled hair and thinks that if Hob was pretty when his heart was broken, Thom is illogically attractive when the damage is solely on the outside.
#
“Do you want to go back?”
Thom’s chin lifts in three-eighths of a nod and then falls down a diagonal, uncomfortably. His eyes just skim the ground. It’s a layered gesture, as these things go, but Lucifer can translate the twist of one thin shoulder that says there’s going to be explaining, and I hate that and the quick flash of purple as his eyes rise and fall that says don’t you want to stay, hey, wasn’t that fun? on the surface, but is accompanied by a kick of the foot that alters the meaning to it’s about instant gratification, isn’t it, for both of us and the sheer fluid complexity of his darting body language is almost enough to make Lucifer’s head hurt. He’s not used to seeing so much at once.
Maybe this is why they never spoke much, at the beginning. They were learning to read.
And...hmm. Lucifer rests the lengths of his fingers along Thom’s cheekbone and ah, perfect. He can feel the uncertainty rippling under the skin and the stubborn set of the young man’s jaw that adds steel to the false vulnerability in his eyes and this is Braille under his fingertips and a faint pulse where the palm of his hand cups under and against Thom’s throat.
He realises, when Thom bites his lip and there are patterns of confusion treading through the thin scrape on his cheek, that this is a ridiculously tender action. From the outside.
A test, then. He gives a wry kind of smile that could be ambiguous but his finger moves in an overtone that says so this is why I kept touching you, even though I didn’t bother to assign a motive at the time.
Thom’s eyes widen just a fraction in...comprehension. Well. And his hand shakes just a little bit as he kisses Lucifer this time because sex with someone who almost just killed you is one thing but sex when you can feel and talk and realise and be stripped of masks with every move is risk behaviour taken to a whole new level.
He keeps their faces close enough that there is no eye contact. Safer without, for now.
#
He wakes up and Thom turns from where he is sitting and smiles nervously and it only strikes Lucifer a few minutes later that the way the boy pulls at the red strands of his hair is an outright, blatant, fucking gorgeous lie.