It should not surprise Lucifer that, of all his siblings, Raphael is the hardest to reconcile with.
Michael is the first and simplest, even if easy is not in either of their vocabularies. Perhaps it's because Michael approaches him with the bearing of someone who knows they have also done great wrong and does not expect to be forgiven in turn. There is a part of Michael that loves him, still, or at least, loved him for what he once was and might learn to love him again. Lucifer would not have pleaded with him to walk away if he didn't love him back. Forgiveness may be a long way off and forgetting impossible, but Michael stared him down in Stull and strode past the graves and apologized.
Gabriel was, understandably, more reluctant to trust that Lucifer, or Michael for that matter, would lay down their weapons. Trying to reason with his brother might have gotten Gabriel killed once, if he hadn't grown past even Lucifer's tricks in order to fake his death again. (Something Lucifer can't help but be proud of. His little brother, pulling the wool over his eyes, and saving his own skin from Lucifer's... lackluster conflict resolution skills.) It's because he lingered afterwards, because he watched Lucifer grieve him in the weeks that followed, that Gabriel is willing to give him a chance at all. It comes sharp-edged and tight-lipped, both of them skirting around the worst hurts, but it's something. It's a start.
And Raphael...
Lucifer barely recognizes them.
They would probably say the same about him.
He doesn't know where to start. He takes a suggestion from Gabriel. In hindsight, he thinks it might have been a joke. Gabriel laughed when he said it, too sharp and too quick, hate fuck and make up. Lucifer hadn't laughed with him, and Gabriel hadn't wanted him to. Gabriel probably also hadn't wanted him to actually consider it. Only, Raphael is bitter and tired and closed-off, and Lucifer understands.
He changes the phrasing around a little. No hate fucking in his offer, not explicitly. Not off the table, either. "Time to do whatever you want to me," he says, and Raphael listens. "I won't stop you." If you want to fuck me. If you want to hurt me. Raphael deserves to have somewhere to put their new anger at him and Michael for stopping at the eleventh hour. It needs to go somewhere before it settles into them, another layer on top of the layers of crushing sediment burying the glowing core of Raphael. Lucifer can, will, take it.
He doesn't expect them to actually want this. This. Him on his hands and knees. Raphael behind him, working him open slowly. It's an unnecessary step, but they always shared that trait, hands-on, hands dirtied. Lucifer anchors himself into his vessel to feel all of it in return, the stretch and burn of muscles that have never done anything like this before, the fullness that increases with each methodical finger Raphael presses inside him. He's surprised at how good it feels, how often he needs to bite back moans. His cock hardens under their attention. Raphael doesn't touch it. Lucifer reaches to, once, but they stop fucking him with their fingers and he can feel their gaze burning on the back of his neck until he lets go.
When they finally replace their fingers with the fake cock harnessed around their hips, he can't manage to stifle his noises. He'll give this to humans: they've gotten very inventive about sex, and he's reaping the rewards now. Raphael slides the toy inside him in small thrusts, forward and back and in further. With each inch, nerves spark in ways he didn't know they could. Raphael's hands splay over his sides and pull him back onto their cock. They don't have to. Lucifer rocks back on his own, curiosity over the sensations turned to pure pleasure-seeking.
He's almost sure he can't fit any more inside him when they finally bottom out. He has nothing to compare the toy to, and so it feels too big, too thick. He can't hide the tremor that starts deep in his grace when they barely roll back and forth, rubbing every sensitive part of him. Raphael stops. Lucifer tries to steady himself. It's so hard to think past the pleasure and need and lust, and oh, this is why humans consider it a sin. How could they stand to do anything else when this all-consuming ecstasy lingered in the back of their minds?
It fades slightly when Raphael doesn't move. There's no friction, no pressure beside the ever-present fullness. They've been so quiet this entire time. Their stillness sets him on edge. He shifts back, the toy hilted so deep inside him, and Raphael's hand slides up to the top of his spine.
"Be still," they order, and Lucifer forces himself to obey. This is what Raphael needs. For once, he can bow. Their hand slides down to between his shoulderblades, nails scratching lightly over his back. On another plane, his wings twitch and tuck in.
"I thought you wanted to fuck me," he teases, hoping to draw them back into motion. Raphael deserves to take out their resentment on his body and grace.
"I never said that," Raphael says. Lucifer tries to shift again, and they bear down until he's pressed into the sheets. "Be. Still."
"What do you want, then, stormcloud?" The nickname slips out by mistake, and he can feel Raphael's hand clench, their nails digging into his back. He waits for a repercussion, but Raphael exhales slowly and they run their fingers over the small marks left behind, soothing the pain.
"I want the paradise that was promised," Raphael says. Lucifer tries to turn his head, and they dig their hand into his hair to keep him from looking at them. "I want Father to return. I want you to be our brother again."
"I'm trying," Lucifer says, quietly. Raphael's grip relaxes.
"I can't let you. Not like this." Raphael says. "You are still fallen, Lucifer. Broken. Sinful. You'll hurt us again." Lucifer would rather Raphael rip into him, not repeat back to him the thoughts he heard echo the Cage for thousands of years. Because Raphael is right. He will hurt them again. It's in his nature. It's what he is. Whatever reprieve they've reached can't last. He doesn't realize his shoulders have started trembling until Raphael begins smoothing their hand over his skin again.
"Why bring me here, then?" He lets too much of his hurt bite back.
"To cleanse you." It's so simple, so sure. Lucifer laughs. It's not a nice sound.
"It's a little late for that." Raphael is petting down his spine, slow and steady. It's meant to lure him to vulnerability, and Lucifer won't let it.
"For water to wash your sins away, I agree." Raphael's hand lifts off his back. "We'd need something stronger. A baptism by fire." Fear strikes through Lucifer's grace like lightning.
"Raphael-"
"Don't move," they order, their voice distant as though they've turned away from him. The toy in him slides back with them, a brush of friction that mixes confusingly with his alarm. Raphael has brought him here and laid him out, all to burn him. He's not sure if an angel can be killed by being doused in holy oil. With his luck, it'll cling to him forever, and he will never die. (A horrible whisper in the back of his mind insists that it's exactly what he deserves.)
Hot liquid spills over his back. Lucifer struggles, but Raphael's hand fastens over his shoulder and panic makes him weaker. His wings thrash, terrified that the fire will spread to them next. Raphael holds him still as the burn spreads, dripping over the sides of his ribs. They're rocking slowly, pushing the toy inside him back and forth, and pleasure rings through his fear.
The fire begins to cool. That shouldn't be possible.
"Lucifer," Raphael is saying, "calm down, brother. Calm down." Their hands pet up his sides.
"What did you..." Raphael leans forward very carefully. It pushes the toy into Lucifer's prostate, and he shivers. His vessel lost its erection while he was panicking, but it's still good. They place something beside him before leaning back. Lucifer lifts his head and peers over. It is not a jug of holy oil. It's a candle. Only a candle, hot wax dripping down one side. It doesn't take long to connect the dots.
"You don't have to do this," Raphael says.
"I thought you were going to kill me," Lucifer admits, and Raphael makes a noise, sharp and surprised, like the idea hadn't even crossed their mind. "If this is all you want, I can take it. Let me do this for you." He closes his eyes and settles into the sheets. There's a fading sting under the wax that's already cooling on his back. "Cleanse me, Raphael?" With effort, he makes his wings spread in a sign of submission. He can only hold the position for a few seconds before they snap back in, but Raphael must see. They lean over him again to take the candle back. They linger, ticklish hair trailing over his back. They kiss the nape of his neck before they straighten.
Lucifer is prepared this time. Still, when more wax falls onto him, he hisses and tenses up. It burns, but Raphael ties it into the slow friction of their strap. They drip more over his shoulders and thrust into him. He can't tell the difference between the pain and the pleasure. It's all too sharp. He's getting hard again. He should probably feel some sort of shame for getting off on his own penance, but Raphael is the one pushing their cock inside him in slow, deep thrusts.
"You took that one very well," Raphael praises as another stream of wax pours hot and heavy over his spine. He arches up into it this time, anticipating the burn, relishing the wave of pleasure that comes with it when his sibling fucks him through it. "This is how you can earn our forgiveness. Submit to the fire, and come out the other side worthy." Raphael pulls some of the cooled wax off his back, tracing the pink skin beneath. Lucifer lets out a shaky breath.
It's nothing like hellfire, like falling. The heat of the wax is purifying, not maleficent. Raphael's presence is steadying, not cruel. He bows and he burns, just to hear them murmur, "Very good, brother." The praise curls inside his grace. His wings are falling loose now, too disoriented by the constant barrage of sensation. Raphael's own wings sweep forward to brush against his, only adding to the mess. Wax falls in heavy splashes over the small of his back. Lucifer groans.
Sometimes it falls over wax that's already cooled, the heat duller as it travels through. Sometimes, Raphael peels off a cooled strip to reveal the sensitive skin beneath, and the heat of more being dripped over that spot is twice as overpowering. At some point, Lucifer slides from his hands and knees to his elbows, legs spreading wider. He tries to rut against the sheets beneath him, but the friction isn't enough. Raphael's thrusts haven't sped up. The only variation is the wax, how much is poured onto him, how hot it is when it hits his skin, how long Raphael leaves it there to cool. His entire back is radiating confused pain and pleasure, and another splash has him sprawling further into the sheets, his cock jumping and spurting come.
"Do you think you're worthy of forgiveness, Lucifer?" Raphael asks. It takes Lucifer a minute to register. "Do you think you've earned it?" He's... not sure. He deserves worse, doesn't he? For everything he did, for the rifts his absence caused. Raphael hasn't brought his wings onto the same plane as his vessel and the wax. They could burn those, too. Lucifer wouldn't fight them.
"I want to," he answers. "Raphael, I want to be good." Raphael is pulling strips of wax off of him again, methodically. More is being peeled away with them, he thinks. All the hurt he's caused. All his sins. Lifted from his skin by Raphael's careful touch. Raphael's quiet for a minute as they work. Lucifer squirms. "Was I good?" he asks, so soft he's not sure Raphael can hear. They pause.
"You were," they say. "You are." Lucifer relaxes. Raphael doesn't hate him. Raphael thinks he's good. He can come home. Raphael pulls their cock out of him, and the friction is almost painful for how good it feels. He rolls his hips against the sheets, finds his cock soft and sensitive. He came? He hadn't even noticed. Raphael guides him to lay down on his stomach. His wings flop uselessly around him, too heavy to be moved.
"I missed you," he tells them. His tongue feels as loose as the rest of him. Raphael hums in acknowledgment, peeling the last bits of wax off of his back.
"Me? Not Gabriel? Or Michael?" Their tone is one that's grown tired of platitudes and broken promises. Lucifer marvels, briefly, at the fact that they've all been separated for so long, and yet each of their Father's children speak in the same voice.
"All of you," he concedes, "but there are no healers in Hell." Raphael lays their palm flat between his shoulderblades again. He shivers and settles. He knows they're looking at his wings. He can feel their eyes, the ones that stretch above and beyond human comprehension, the physical weight of a gaze like humidity clinging to his feathers. For some reason, that doesn't bother him as much as he's sure it would otherwise. He doesn't even flinch when their hand slides impossibly over his right wing, skirting carefully around a scar that he can't remember if Michael caused when he fell or he did to himself in the Cage.
"If you stay," they say, "I'm not going to allow you to walk around like an open wound. You will let me fix these." Lucifer nods. It's not even a choice, really. They've hurt so much for so long that he hardly even notices anymore. He doesn't think Raphael can fix all of the damage, but if anyone could... "You're not going to fight with Michael again." This is a list of demands. He smiles, proud. Clever Raphael, to leave these for when he's thoroughly worn out.
"No more war, little stormcloud. No more fighting." Unlike his Father, he keeps his promises.
"And you're going to help us find our Father. If He is not dead." Lucifer frowns.
"So He can convince us back into our roles?" It's sharper than Raphael deserves, especially when they respond with,
"So we can confront Him as a family." There's anger under their steady tone. It's the resentment Lucifer's seen hiding behind Gabriel's grins. It's the glimmer of righteous fury that Michael's eyes have started to have as he watches his younger siblings reconcile. It's a feeling that Lucifer is very, very familiar with.
"Gabriel reckons He always was scared of us all turning against Him."
"Good. He should be. He has a lot to answer for." Lucifer summons up the energy to roll onto his back. He arches up off the sheets when he does with a surprised gasp. He thought he'd healed already. Raphael looks very unimpressed. They crawl over him, and Lucifer reaches up automatically, as though he'd been doing this every day since they were created and not spent most of that time locked away. He cups their face and tilts their head down, pushing himself up to kiss their forehead. Raphael blinks twice, eyes watering, and it doesn't take much for them to lay down with him. They curl up facing each other.
"I missed you, too," Raphael confesses. Their wings rest over his. The gesture is protecting him from being taken away again, by their Father or himself, whoever dared first.
"Do you forgive me?" Raphael looks at him, sad but hopeful. That's what's been missing. That's what they lost when he was gone, when Gabriel ran, when Michael paid them no attention: Hope.
"I will." Raphael keeps their promises, too.