Chicago, while still an epicenter of human culture it seems far less fun than Los Angeles, at least in Lucifer's opinion. The wind and the cold weren't exactly his style, but it was a necessary sacrifice to make because his reaper, yes his, had decided to make his home in the city and certainly a little bit of bluster wasn't going to keep the devil himself away from the man.
Speaking of his reaper, Matthieu had had something to do with work, and so Lucifer had found himself whiling away time on his phone, only half paying attention to his surroundings in the meanwhile. He thought he had heard the other man come home, but he hand't seen him yet.
Ah, wait. There's movement near the door, that's all well and fine. If Matthieu was feeling lonely, of course he was more than welcome to com and bother the devil. Encouraged, even.
But movement turns to heavy footsteps, and before Lucifer can even think of asking what in the world the reaper was up to this time, there's a surge of something that shifts his stomach and his entire world seems to shift. There were arms about his waist? No, something, but he can't fathom any thoughts beyond the fact that suddenly his center of gravity is very, very off, and with a string of curses foul enough to make even his most hardened of officers flush he topples from the bed.
Thankfully there's something, or someone actually, to catch his fall, but he still hits the ground with a rather undignified thud.
"What the Hell was that?" He manages to spit out, but the words feel slick in his mouth, and as he pushes himself up, there it is again: the world feels like it's shifting. As he shifts and tries to push himself upright there's a sharp noise, fabric splitting and tearing, and he suddenly freezes, eyes wandering down to his pants. His very expensive-
the sight that greets him is suddenly much more important than his trousers.
"Matthieu," the word is slow, filled with tension, "darling, light of my life, what did you do?"
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AW YIS
Date: 2017-02-05 04:54 am (UTC)From:Speaking of his reaper, Matthieu had had something to do with work, and so Lucifer had found himself whiling away time on his phone, only half paying attention to his surroundings in the meanwhile. He thought he had heard the other man come home, but he hand't seen him yet.
Ah, wait. There's movement near the door, that's all well and fine. If Matthieu was feeling lonely, of course he was more than welcome to com and bother the devil. Encouraged, even.
But movement turns to heavy footsteps, and before Lucifer can even think of asking what in the world the reaper was up to this time, there's a surge of something that shifts his stomach and his entire world seems to shift. There were arms about his waist? No, something, but he can't fathom any thoughts beyond the fact that suddenly his center of gravity is very, very off, and with a string of curses foul enough to make even his most hardened of officers flush he topples from the bed.
Thankfully there's something, or someone actually, to catch his fall, but he still hits the ground with a rather undignified thud.
"What the Hell was that?" He manages to spit out, but the words feel slick in his mouth, and as he pushes himself up, there it is again: the world feels like it's shifting. As he shifts and tries to push himself upright there's a sharp noise, fabric splitting and tearing, and he suddenly freezes, eyes wandering down to his pants. His very expensive-
the sight that greets him is suddenly much more important than his trousers.
"Matthieu," the word is slow, filled with tension, "darling, light of my life, what did you do?"