the space between a demon's wings is sensitive. to touch it is an act of intimacy. the skin there is delicate, tender enough that a light kiss can draw from a demon a pleased shiver, a pleased sound.

for Lucifer, it is painful.

his back bears the marks of his self-inflicted trauma--scars, gnarled and deep. he has not allowed anyone to touch the space between his wings since the scars were raw and bloody. it hurt then. it hurts now.

the last time someone touched that space, it was agonizing. a medic's touch, cold and calculating as they tried to seal to seal his wounds.

it didn't work.

the gashes in his flesh were far too big to be stitched shut. magic couldn't heal them. so he simply lived with blood-soaked bandages over them, until four of his wings grew back and the others turned to scars.

"agonizing" is an understatement.

it has been so long since then. thousands of years have passed. but a demon's life is long, and the memory cannot be forgotten easily. the pain is ever-present, a constant reminder, and although he has learned to live with it it still hurts.

so the first time you touch Lucifer there--a harmless, simple touch, a mere brush of your fingers over the space between his wings--it's hard. he flinches away as if burned, and you are left worried and confused.

he doesn't explain it to you then. it's too much. all the memories. all the pain. this intimacy he is not yet ready for.

he guides your hands away. he pretends his own don't shake.

you are more careful after that. not all of his scars are visible, you know. not all of his trauma healed. you want to ask, but you don't. he loves you all the more for it. for allowing him time.

when he tells you at last why he can't bear you touching that space, it is hard to hear. harder for you to hear, perhaps, than it is for him to say. he is calm when he explains how it hurts. how it brings up memories of torn flesh and open wounds.

he is calm, but his fingers are trembling. a telltale heart that gives away the rapid beating of his own.

but it gets easier after that.

the process of healing is slow. it took time for his wounds to turn to scars, and it takes time for him to be able to let you touch him. when you finally do, it is with so much tenderness, so much gentle adoration, that it makes his breath catch.

you never touch the space between his wings when he can't handle it, and never without his permission. there are days where he is fine. there are weeks where he is not. you understand. you ride out those painful weeks with him.

and eventually, the weeks turn to days. days to hours. he heals, slowly but surely, with your touch to soothe him. it is not always easy; there are still nights where your hands on his scars send him plummeting back into memories.

but it is easier, with you by his side.

I FORGOT TO SAY BC IM AN IDIOT but this was directly inspired by this thread from Des https://twitter.com/grabthemhorns/status/1269434162978656259?s=21 https://twitter.com/grabthemhorns/status/1269434162978656259