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blue_bells» Title: Clay
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Pairing(s)/Character(s): Lucifer/Meg
» Warnings: Scarification
» Spoilers: None
» Summary: It’s the first time she’s refused him. It will also be the last.
» Author's Notes: An out-of-context vignette. I wrote this before the end of the season five and had no reason to post it until one conversation about scarification with the usual snowflakes made me realise I'd accidentally written a form of it here.
Meg shakes her head, eyeing the long knife in Lucifer’s hand.
“No. No, I don’t want to.”
It’s the first time she’s refused him. It will also be the last.
Lucifer takes her hand and presses the knife into her shaking palm. He ignores that her eyes are shining with tears, that she’s betraying weakness as she bites her lip to keep her mouth from twisting into a sob.
“My lord, I’d do anything for you –“ She begs, fingers limp as he closes them around the knife.
And that’s why she’s the one he has to ask.
“You’re the only one I would trust,” Lucifer cups her cheek and smiles.
Meg makes a trembling noise as though his request somehow hurts her, but then she nods and he knows she is with him.
“If it’s your wish.”
Lucifer blows on the knife’s steel until the vapours of cold lick like fire. He lies on his stomach on the metal table and Meg’s warm palm presses a slow line up his back, fingers trailing in the dip of his spine. There’s another sniff, dryer this time, and then her touch becomes firm at the base of his neck, pulling the skin tight as she begins to carve.
Meg doesn’t go deep, she doesn’t need to, and Lucifer feels the initial tremor in her knifework. She still doesn’t want to harm her Lord. The knife slices bright and swift into his hairline. It curls whorls towards his shoulder blades, around his spine, into his neck. He feels each cut, fresh and clean, before she pours in the ash and sets her work on fire.
Lucifer groans, feeling the lines of the sigils ignite and drive through flesh, through bone into his grace, as the symbols connect and come into their meaning. He can smell the burn of his own meat, and the tang of the herbs and ancient oil in the ash as it rises in smoke.
It lasts for less than a minute and he’s very still, fingers clenched around the table’s edge.
Meg has set the knife down on the table beside him, too shaken to wipe his blood from the blade. She stands at his side, fingers twitching as though she wars with herself to stay back or reach out to him, perhaps to soothe the fading lines of the spell etched into his skin.
He eventually pushes himself up, gingerly, because every movement sets an arc of pain through his muscles – and it’s strange and heavy to be aware of that now. He is slow and clumsy; graceless.
Lucifer releases his first breath as a human and meets Meg’s eyes. If it’s possible, she looks more terrified than ever before.
“My Lord....?” She still steps in to meet the hand he reaches for, and lets it curl in her hair.
“Shh.” He shakes his head and, when he kisses her, he feels himself growing warm for the first time since he can remember.
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Pairing(s)/Character(s): Lucifer/Meg
» Warnings: Scarification
» Spoilers: None
» Summary: It’s the first time she’s refused him. It will also be the last.
» Author's Notes: An out-of-context vignette. I wrote this before the end of the season five and had no reason to post it until one conversation about scarification with the usual snowflakes made me realise I'd accidentally written a form of it here.
Meg shakes her head, eyeing the long knife in Lucifer’s hand.
“No. No, I don’t want to.”
It’s the first time she’s refused him. It will also be the last.
Lucifer takes her hand and presses the knife into her shaking palm. He ignores that her eyes are shining with tears, that she’s betraying weakness as she bites her lip to keep her mouth from twisting into a sob.
“My lord, I’d do anything for you –“ She begs, fingers limp as he closes them around the knife.
And that’s why she’s the one he has to ask.
“You’re the only one I would trust,” Lucifer cups her cheek and smiles.
Meg makes a trembling noise as though his request somehow hurts her, but then she nods and he knows she is with him.
“If it’s your wish.”
Lucifer blows on the knife’s steel until the vapours of cold lick like fire. He lies on his stomach on the metal table and Meg’s warm palm presses a slow line up his back, fingers trailing in the dip of his spine. There’s another sniff, dryer this time, and then her touch becomes firm at the base of his neck, pulling the skin tight as she begins to carve.
Meg doesn’t go deep, she doesn’t need to, and Lucifer feels the initial tremor in her knifework. She still doesn’t want to harm her Lord. The knife slices bright and swift into his hairline. It curls whorls towards his shoulder blades, around his spine, into his neck. He feels each cut, fresh and clean, before she pours in the ash and sets her work on fire.
Lucifer groans, feeling the lines of the sigils ignite and drive through flesh, through bone into his grace, as the symbols connect and come into their meaning. He can smell the burn of his own meat, and the tang of the herbs and ancient oil in the ash as it rises in smoke.
It lasts for less than a minute and he’s very still, fingers clenched around the table’s edge.
Meg has set the knife down on the table beside him, too shaken to wipe his blood from the blade. She stands at his side, fingers twitching as though she wars with herself to stay back or reach out to him, perhaps to soothe the fading lines of the spell etched into his skin.
He eventually pushes himself up, gingerly, because every movement sets an arc of pain through his muscles – and it’s strange and heavy to be aware of that now. He is slow and clumsy; graceless.
Lucifer releases his first breath as a human and meets Meg’s eyes. If it’s possible, she looks more terrified than ever before.
“My Lord....?” She still steps in to meet the hand he reaches for, and lets it curl in her hair.
“Shh.” He shakes his head and, when he kisses her, he feels himself growing warm for the first time since he can remember.
