[Francis can't help smiling at that approval, and then his eyes are drawn almost helplessly, watching as Lucifer strips out of the last of his clothes. And oh, he's gorgeous, and he glows. He's already half-hard and Francis looks, shameless in how he lets his gaze slide over his skin.]
You're like a star.
[The words are a little bit thoughtless, fall from his lips with Francis hardly thinking about them, because it's so unavoidably true. His voice is sweet and a little bit awed, almost like worship. He was a little bit blind to a lot of the trappings of religion, the associations, but some of them were obvious enough when held before him.
And he does as he's told without hesitation, laying back on the bed, his legs spread wide, willing to put himself on display for Lucifer's enjoyment. He likes doing as he's told- from certain people, at least, and the Lord of Hell is more or less at the top of that list, although where the differences between Lucifer and Dodger are in that regard are murky and complicated.]
You really think I'm lovely?
[Francis is not particularly used to praise, and so he's helplessly greedy for it, eats up every word, every whisper. He doesn't even bother trying to pretend otherwise, a slight arch to his back, all spread out on the sheets, like a particularly pornographic pinup.]
no subject
You're like a star.
[The words are a little bit thoughtless, fall from his lips with Francis hardly thinking about them, because it's so unavoidably true. His voice is sweet and a little bit awed, almost like worship. He was a little bit blind to a lot of the trappings of religion, the associations, but some of them were obvious enough when held before him.
And he does as he's told without hesitation, laying back on the bed, his legs spread wide, willing to put himself on display for Lucifer's enjoyment. He likes doing as he's told- from certain people, at least, and the Lord of Hell is more or less at the top of that list, although where the differences between Lucifer and Dodger are in that regard are murky and complicated.]
You really think I'm lovely?
[Francis is not particularly used to praise, and so he's helplessly greedy for it, eats up every word, every whisper. He doesn't even bother trying to pretend otherwise, a slight arch to his back, all spread out on the sheets, like a particularly pornographic pinup.]