Real Gods Require Blood

Summary: So now that Raphael is Michael’s good friend, and Gabriel and Auriel are best friends now, shouldn’t that make Michael and Lucifer something a little more. . .? Let’s go and find out here, or go back and read the latest LIVE chapter of The Primes here!

Artist: Camille C.

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As the court manager, Lucifer is used to beating Michael to the punch, often peppers his pretty big birdie with little smooches as an offering before he’s out and about. So, he should be confused upon groggily waking [one day], his shaggy, flaxen lost tossed in every which direction. Once semi-aware that he exists, his hand darts out to seek out The Host behind him.

No Michael. Lucifer frowns some, jerks upright now as he looks to the empty divot that was his. Strange. That sleepy blonde hated getting up early, would sooner sleep ‘til dusk than get up by first sun. 

No matter. A mystery is afoot for Lucifer once he blinks the last winks of slumber out of his eyes, slams his hands down in the mattress to launch himself out of its reach and onto the smooth, clay floor beneath him. It still retained the heat from last night’s hearth, for they’d let the fire go out of its own volition as they embraced each other in the night. This puts a smile on his face as he rakes some of his bangs out of his eyes –

“Hey, what’s this?”

Lucifer asks nobody in particular, cocks his head a little before approaching the vanity. For somebody with the largest desk space possible, Michael wasn’t very organized; the whole surface was arranged by ‘piles’ that were smooshed together with no clear boundary, lotion and oil, hair tools and colognes alike. If you asked The Light,  it made the least sense that the angel who spent the most time pruning himself would leave his desk like this if he wanted to find things,

Which is why Lucifer marvels at it today for The Host moved his piles around to leave in the center what were three clear gestures for him: a single flower, a drawing, and a short letter.

Oh my God, is this what he meant by courting?

Lucifer thinks with glee, smacks both his cheeks at the same time as he tip-taps harder than he has before. He had loved all the little trinkets Michael gave him in passing, things like smoothed-out pebbles and ripe fruit from the Garden; here, however, the brunette sees these were trinkets of time, something the blonde had to work on before he could even present it.

Micah, you’re so thoughtful, Lucifer concludes with a heartened smile, catches sight of himself in the vanity while he’s approaching it. He’d take a long second here to decide where to start, his eyes darting between all three things with indecision. In the end, the colorful peacocking of the flower grabs his eye first, has him plucking it up by the stem with tender hand. A second glance upon it and he’d found in it a beauty most exotic with its spiked shape and fluorescent-orange petals. The download told him this was a Bird of Paradise, and from what he remembered seeing in the Garden, this was a rarity even amongst their abundance, telling him that Michael had to scout for one like it.

Oh, it makes Lucifer so happy to realize this, tip-taps again real hard as he clutches the flower close to his chest. He’d take a couple more ticks here to enjoy it before setting it down to pluck what interested him next, which was the letter. It was short, but for what it lacked in words, it’d make up with in the third gift. It’d go a little something like this:

To my Darling Helel,

Hello! This is my first attempt at a letter.

I’m not exactly sure how it should go, since the one Jibreel wrote to me did not leave much instruction (fucking loser, saying I have a stick up my ass)! After reading it a few more times, however, I’ve since gleaned that the point of writing is to express something. . .it seems like a different way to communicate how one feels if they can’t always talk like your beautiful singing was, so I thought what goes in here should reflect things maybe even I haven’t been able to say to you proper.

Well, Helel, I am uncertain if you know this since we don’t have to think much about it, but you had my heart the moment we met. I’d found it incredulous when you told me that some being called ‘God’ made us, for all I saw when I was summoned was you, just you. And I am loathe here to think that I can’t describe it even now, try as I might. . .so, Helel,  the only way I can think is to tell you about a dream I had back in the the Garden and hope it will convey.

It was the first night I stepped away from you mid-slumber. I’d dreamt of much glory just beforehand; we were all in a massive arena that wasn’t yet built, with more angels than are present today. And in that dream, you were something like an announcer. . .you were introducing an opponent and I to the audience. Then, I was presented most divine in wears I feel I’ve worn before, yet know not how if it hasn’t happened yet.

No matter, my sweet Light. I enjoyed it all the same, for you basked me the most with glorious praise and told me I could have whatever I wanted if I won (which was you, by the way. You are something I always seem to want). 

That’s what inspired me to win in the end. I had to struggle some for my victory but when I did, you were there as I hoped, congratulating me, told me to meet you in a chamber designated for victors. Funny, though; the room felt more like a place only you and I owned, a right I basked in as I straddled your lap.

And would you know it, Helel? Perhaps you would think the obvious thing that happened is that I claimed you in full, sheathed myself in you as you have so deliciously whispered into my ear once or twice by now. But no. No, it was you who claimed me, who thrust into and filled me as I cried out for more. Such a feeling left me empty when I woke – I’d not only since yearned to feel what that’s like, but am left to wonder if you were supposed to put something else inside me. Of what, I could not tell you – I don’t have your fancy-schmancy ‘wisdom’ ability, so I don’t know what in God’s name it should be. I only tell it to you like this because that feeling of yearning hasn’t left, won’t leave, probably can never leave me. Though you and I have since grown even closer, I ache for more and, upon now being your boyfriend, hope to share all that I have as a show of my undying affections for you.

So, I beg of you, dear Helel, to not come by the room once you leave it for my preparations shall take all day. Come back once the third sun is halfway across the horizon so that you may receive your other gifts.

With my heart,

Lucifer clutches the edges of the scroll so fiercely that it could break beneath his grip. How funny that it should be Gabriel who is the designated messenger, yet it was Michael who wrote with such elegance that The Light should like to see a book made from him! 

And here he was, the first benefactor of such divinity. He had to re-read the letter a few times so he could laugh again, sigh again, and most of all –

I never thought about Micah being the one to receive,  Lucifer now realizes with a flush, shifts awkwardly in the stool he perched upon as he feels heat pool deep in his belly. Just the thought of that pretty big birdie splayed out, pleading for him, aching for him, oh, it had stirred something so beastly in his chest that he fancied he could rip himself from his vessel! 

Well,

Lucifer now realizes here that courting can and should go both ways, can’t it? That he would most like to do whatever it took to make Michael happy, a fact he’ll seek to make true after he flips over the final gift: the drawing.

It looks like this with a small note attached:

It’s a first draft, I still have to fill it in. . .I do hope you enjoy it, though.

And if the letter alone wasn’t enough, the depiction of them was everything, everything! The Host had captured their likeness with such elegance that Lucifer was beaming, literally beaming for his golden aura started to project beyond him.

Micah drew this for me! He now thinks breathlessly, clutches both letter and art alike so tight to his chest it could conform to it. Just for me, he shows so much care!

That settles it. With renewed vigor filling the brunette, he leaps to his feet, runs to his room so the gifts could be front and center in his view. Briefly, his eyes linger on his blank parchment; he should write a letter back to Michael, wants to right this instant, but he wouldn’t have time to do that and all his check ins before dinner, and he felt it more important to show on time than to dawdle.