Gabriel's heart thudded in his chest. Lucifer loomed over him, his face and neck half-illuminated by the moonlight spilling in through the window, his forearm pressed against the wall above the other's head. All Gabriel could do to meet his gaze was tilt his head back - but he regretted it as soon as he had done it. Lucifer was beautiful, radiant in the light (heaven's brightest angel), and being forced to look at that, forced to see him again - Gabriel realized with sudden, crushing acuteness that everything he'd worked so hard for was falling apart right in front of him. He couldn't exist alongside Lucifer without being the little brother, the lesser angel, the less-impressive son. Here he'd carved an identity for himself. He'd left heaven and then made himself his own person. And now, Lucifer was back, a haunt from his memories, taking that all away, because Lucifer wouldn't leave him alone (he didn't want him to). He wouldn't be able to escape his past, now. Lucifer was his past, right in front of him, all flesh and bones and grace and painful, inviting beauty in a borrowed body.
"I don't want you here." His voice sounded raw and forced even to his own ears. He didn't; he didn't want Lucifer here. It was a bad idea, had always been a bad idea, would never stop being a bad idea-
"Nonsense. You knew I was coming. You would have warded the place against me." Gabriel said nothing. He never stopped looking at Lucifer, though, his eyes roving over every part of his new face, conflicted and awed and tempted, like every breath from Lucifer's lips was something both awful and sorely missed.
"You've been lonely without me." Lucifer stated, the corners of his mouth tugging shamelessly into a grin.
"Shut up." Gabriel's voice trembled as Lucifer raised his hand to cup his cheek. He resisted every urge his body was screaming at him to lean into the touch. "I was doing fine without you."
"I can see that. Because sleeping around with pagans and homemade illusions for centuries is so healthy." Gabriel tensed; gave a look of crushed disdain. Lucifer switched tactics and stroked a slow thumb along the side of his mouth. When he got no response, he slid his fingers to Gabriel's jaw, instead, tracing a path down the side of his neck to his collarbone, which was nearly exposed under his shirt and utility jacket. Gabriel gave a small shudder and unsteadily exhaled. Lucifer continued, sliding his arm off the wall and bringing it down to card through Gabriel's hair while his other hand made its way down from the collar bone, grazing across his chest and stomach and finally coming to a rest against his hip. Gabriel's eyes had slipped shut, and as Lucifer continued, his breaths became more erratic.
Lucifer knew exactly how to manipulate his body. Gabriel knew this, and he knew Lucifer would use it to his advantage. Wherever he touched, it burned, like electricity gone haywire. He was gone, now; he knew it (had known all along): it was like hell was being raised in his veins, all heat and energy and inescapable flames, like the essence of the place had clung onto Lucifer as he had risen and was infecting Gabriel, now, too, the longer this went on.
Lucifer let his hand slip even lower, brushing across his lower stomach and eliciting an stuttered inhale from Gabriel, the next destination on his list obvious.
A hand gripping his wrist stopped him.
"Lucifer." His voice came out broken and only half firm, but the intent behind it was obvious: stop. Lucifer paused.
He could do it: he could stop this, right here and right now. He could push Lucifer away and make him go and never come back (except Lucifer would always come back). He could. And yet he had never wanted or missed someone so bad in his life. He looked up, then: it wasn't hard to find Lucifer's eyes watching him in the illuminated darkness. They were a cool, grey-blue, everything hell wasn't, and everything Lucifer was. They made his heart ache. Gabriel realized then that he was still gripping Lucifer's wrist.
You've been lonely without me. He hated him for saying it. Of fucking course he'd been lonely. He hadn't spoken to any of his brothers in centuries. He was just starting to reconcile his friendship with Castiel. But he had also managed. He'd managed well. He enjoyed the freedom, much more than he'd enjoyed heaven and being the youngest and their screwed up family and whatever he and Lucifer had had. Archangels, as a rule, didn't change. Didn't grow up. They weren't designed to.
Gabriel had. Lucifer hadn't.
And now Lucifer was back and everything was going to go to hell. But then, Gabriel had always had a proclivity for bad decisions. His own pulse was still ringing in his ears, sharp and quick and frustratingly responsive to Lucifer. He knew better than to trust him; he knew what centuries spent in the cage could do to someone, especially someone like Lucifer. But he also knew his personality, almost had it down to a science. After all, he'd learned everything from Lucifer. Lucifer had played big brother for him when Michael was too caught up with being dad's perfect son and Raphael too aloof to care.
Except he didn't want to go back to that; couldn't go back to that. He didn't want to be the little brother again. He didn't want, had never asked for, any reminders of his life in heaven. And Lucifer was the living embodiment of all of that. It hurt just looking at him, because Lucifer was his past, right in front of him, all flesh and bones and grace and painful, inviting beauty in a borrowed body. Gabriel's hold on his wrist loosened, just the smallest amount, and Lucifer took it as permission, slipping his hand out of the grip and bringing it back up to retrace his face.
Gabriel looked up, then, the anxiety and hurt about all of this clearly written on his face. Lucifer continued, sliding his thumb across Gabriel's bottom lip, enjoying the uneven breaths his touches were still eliciting. Gabriel gave a small shudder and finally leaned into the touch.
You've been lonely without me.
Lucifer had nothing to lose. Gabriel had everything to lose. That had, somehow, always been the difference. Gabriel fisted his hands into the fabric of Lucifer's shirt and pulled him forward into an absolutely desperate kiss.
Both of them knew he wasn't okay.