![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
My former student's doing a special concert at the Met next week. Four Beethoven sonatas.
Oh, is she? Splendid! Would you like a whole day in NYC or just the evening?
[ After a thoroughly luxurious brunch at the Mandarin Oriental, they've had a good long walk on foot, ambling through the streets of Manhattan before drinking coffee (spiked, naturally, in Lucifer's case) from a small vendor in Central Park. It's a sunny day, beautiful and just a little crisp. Perfect for their date, really, and Lucifer's grateful for the distraction it provides, the chance to just be with Elio, bask in his company without having to think about his seemingly perpetually silent phone.
Right now, he's seated in the large dressing room of Northern Heights, an incredibly exclusive store in downtown Manhattan, situated on the top-most floor of an old industrial building. The store itself, however, is nowhere near industrial - it's all velvety surfaces and black granite, polished mirrors within gold-painted frames. They've had their own, personal shopping assistant hanging by Lucifer's elbow more or less since they set foot in the store - he's off, currently, searching for whatever Elio's been asking about, the other man currently in the midst of a dress change behind a set of thick curtains, hiding him from view.
Lucifer's leafing through one of the magazines on the glittering granite table. The upcoming spring looks look nice and sleek, maybe a little conservative in nature. He purses his lips and waits for Elio to show himself off for him. ]
Right now, he's seated in the large dressing room of Northern Heights, an incredibly exclusive store in downtown Manhattan, situated on the top-most floor of an old industrial building. The store itself, however, is nowhere near industrial - it's all velvety surfaces and black granite, polished mirrors within gold-painted frames. They've had their own, personal shopping assistant hanging by Lucifer's elbow more or less since they set foot in the store - he's off, currently, searching for whatever Elio's been asking about, the other man currently in the midst of a dress change behind a set of thick curtains, hiding him from view.
Lucifer's leafing through one of the magazines on the glittering granite table. The upcoming spring looks look nice and sleek, maybe a little conservative in nature. He purses his lips and waits for Elio to show himself off for him. ]
[ By the time Lucifer came by Elio's place (10 sharp) and unfurled his wings to take them to New York, Elio had already felt the atmosphere that would come to pervade the rest of the day, the easy-going, whatever-we-wanna-do air of it, of them, and he'd loved it. He'd loved it sitting in Lucifer's arms the fifteen minutes it took him to cover the ground from LA to the Big Apple and he'd loved it during brunch (luxurious) and he loves it even more so now, changing into a new outfit at the Northern Heights while their personal shopper goes in search of something Burberry within the Burgundy to Plum color scheme, next coming up. Also, different shoes, because the brown/blue combination, the assistant had insisted, was a bit dated. Blue with blue, sir, and they had some lovely D&G ones out back...
The Burberry suit he's currently trying on is a dusty baby blue, very eye-catching, though more conservative in its cut than in its color. It's light on his body, feels crisp, like the weather. White shirt, white tie. His hair has never looked more brown, nor has Elio ever looked as tall as he does with the fit of this suit jacket. He likes it.
Whether it'll survive under Lucifer's scrutinizing gaze is another matter altogether, they've been through one suit and two partial outfits already. Elio smiles, he likes that side of him, the one who knows the difference between navy and midnight. The side who cares. He likes it a lot.
Pulling the curtain aside, he finally steps out, raising an eyebrow at the other man leafing through whatever's available to keep him distracted, right? Elio straightens up, turns his side first, then his back, then front and center. ]
We need blue shoes, I'm told.
The Burberry suit he's currently trying on is a dusty baby blue, very eye-catching, though more conservative in its cut than in its color. It's light on his body, feels crisp, like the weather. White shirt, white tie. His hair has never looked more brown, nor has Elio ever looked as tall as he does with the fit of this suit jacket. He likes it.
Whether it'll survive under Lucifer's scrutinizing gaze is another matter altogether, they've been through one suit and two partial outfits already. Elio smiles, he likes that side of him, the one who knows the difference between navy and midnight. The side who cares. He likes it a lot.
Pulling the curtain aside, he finally steps out, raising an eyebrow at the other man leafing through whatever's available to keep him distracted, right? Elio straightens up, turns his side first, then his back, then front and center. ]
We need blue shoes, I'm told.
Edited 2021-08-28 17:55 (UTC)
[ Lucifer's apartment in NYC isn't much different than his penthouse in LA, as if built from the same blueprint, though the color schemes don't match up and the details give each space its own mood, orange and golden back home and blue and silver here. Elio wonders, while sitting around the living room idly, where from the blueprint has taken its inspiration, Heaven or Hell - if not neither, if not a mix or both, a different vibe for each place he sets up.
They finished shopping at Northern Heights after a good hour and a half that ended up costing Lucifer more than Elio could've made on his own in a year, the three suits he walked away with the kind of quality he might need to consider insuring, really, he'd half-jokingly thought to himself as they took the ride across Manhattan by cab afterwards. And after settling in at the apartment, they've given each other room, quiet, Elio reading one of the books that the other man's got standing around on his shelves, sitting in one of the Italian leather armchairs with his feet tugged up beneath him and a biography on Beethoven open in his lap. It looks old. He checks, late 19th century, it's a first edition. Original, probably.
It's getting late, before long he should think about hitting the shower, picking an outfit for the night, make ready. Before that, however... Elio looks up, glances over at yet another Steinway piano, looking at the way the afternoon sun reflects in the lid. You have to wonder, how many pianos can a man need? Shaking his head once, he decides it's a stupid question. A man like Lucifer? There're probably not enough pianos in the world for him.
A small smile, Elio leafing back to the page he'd reached. ]
They finished shopping at Northern Heights after a good hour and a half that ended up costing Lucifer more than Elio could've made on his own in a year, the three suits he walked away with the kind of quality he might need to consider insuring, really, he'd half-jokingly thought to himself as they took the ride across Manhattan by cab afterwards. And after settling in at the apartment, they've given each other room, quiet, Elio reading one of the books that the other man's got standing around on his shelves, sitting in one of the Italian leather armchairs with his feet tugged up beneath him and a biography on Beethoven open in his lap. It looks old. He checks, late 19th century, it's a first edition. Original, probably.
It's getting late, before long he should think about hitting the shower, picking an outfit for the night, make ready. Before that, however... Elio looks up, glances over at yet another Steinway piano, looking at the way the afternoon sun reflects in the lid. You have to wonder, how many pianos can a man need? Shaking his head once, he decides it's a stupid question. A man like Lucifer? There're probably not enough pianos in the world for him.
A small smile, Elio leafing back to the page he'd reached. ]
[ It's been a good few hours of quiet and Lucifer's spent the time closing up a couple of favours, one of which will leave the drugs flowing nicely in Lux for a long while to come. Perfect. He's in the bedroom, changing into his outfit for the night, going for a semi-formal look with a white shirt and a silk vest in athens blue, dark trousers, the end. Then, with a head-tilt, he adds a bowtie to the mix, fixes up his hair one last time, just to make sure that the curls are one hundred percent straight (thus, the only part of him to manage that distinction) and heads for the living room.
On the way, he pauses by one of his many drawers and slides it open, pulling out a box wrapped in sleek, black paper with burning pink silk ribbons. He shakes it very lightly, listening to the contents rattling gently within - mm. Good. There's a spark of heat already building in his belly at the mere idea of it - naturally, he can't actually be certain that it's Elio's taste, seeing as he can't mojo him (a fact that's grown on him, to the point where he doesn't truly wonder about it anymore) but if nothing else, he'll find that out about him, won't he? And adjust, accordingly.
In any case... well.
He thinks it might actually go down rather well. Gut feeling. Hard to describe. Or maybe that's just his cock talking, it's certainly waking up a bit as it were.
Stepping into the living room, he spots Elio in the leather armchair and heads on over. He pauses in front of him, glancing at the book he's reading for a moment (if Elio should turn to the last page, he'd find a scribbled greeting simply saying only reluctantly - w. e. gladstone). Then, he smiles. Waits. ]
On the way, he pauses by one of his many drawers and slides it open, pulling out a box wrapped in sleek, black paper with burning pink silk ribbons. He shakes it very lightly, listening to the contents rattling gently within - mm. Good. There's a spark of heat already building in his belly at the mere idea of it - naturally, he can't actually be certain that it's Elio's taste, seeing as he can't mojo him (a fact that's grown on him, to the point where he doesn't truly wonder about it anymore) but if nothing else, he'll find that out about him, won't he? And adjust, accordingly.
In any case... well.
He thinks it might actually go down rather well. Gut feeling. Hard to describe. Or maybe that's just his cock talking, it's certainly waking up a bit as it were.
Stepping into the living room, he spots Elio in the leather armchair and heads on over. He pauses in front of him, glancing at the book he's reading for a moment (if Elio should turn to the last page, he'd find a scribbled greeting simply saying only reluctantly - w. e. gladstone). Then, he smiles. Waits. ]
[ Lucifer has, probably with some foresight, seated them in the first tier, at one side, closest to the railing. Seeing as Aranya is still a new name, the tiers are only sparsely filled, though the parquet is almost full. Now that the lights are back on, Elio has a perfect view of a thousand people milling towards the exits, the large Steinway piano on the stage looking oddly lonely all by itself. The seats around them have been unoccupied throughout the whole first half of the recital, it's just been the two of them in the dark, Elio and Lucifer - as well as Aranya's beautiful music (Pathetique and Moonlight sonatas before intermission) that Lucifer has been merciful enough not to disrupt with a single buzz of the buttplug. After dinner, which saw a lot of such disruptions, Elio had been a bit worried whether he'd be allowed to enjoy the music at all.
He shouldn't have, of course. Worried. He knows Lucifer. Lucifer wouldn't make it uncomfortable for him. All Elio's had to account for is the half-gasps he's made every now and then when he had to shift and feel the plug press against his prostate at just the perfect angle.
Which explains why he's currently hard again and sitting quite restlessly, turning towards the other man next to him, his hand still a heavy weight on his knee. Oh, but he has to go higher, he has to... Elio reaches down, splays his fingers out over the back of Lucifer's hand gently and at the slowest, least obvious pace possible, nudges it up his thigh, inch by inch. His hard-on's throbbing hotly beneath the fabric of his baby blue suit pants. ]
Her Moonlight Sonata was perfect, don't you think?
[ The breathlessness in his voice is completely unapologetic. Sorry, but he's currently got a rather large sextoy up his ass. ]
He shouldn't have, of course. Worried. He knows Lucifer. Lucifer wouldn't make it uncomfortable for him. All Elio's had to account for is the half-gasps he's made every now and then when he had to shift and feel the plug press against his prostate at just the perfect angle.
Which explains why he's currently hard again and sitting quite restlessly, turning towards the other man next to him, his hand still a heavy weight on his knee. Oh, but he has to go higher, he has to... Elio reaches down, splays his fingers out over the back of Lucifer's hand gently and at the slowest, least obvious pace possible, nudges it up his thigh, inch by inch. His hard-on's throbbing hotly beneath the fabric of his baby blue suit pants. ]
Her Moonlight Sonata was perfect, don't you think?
[ The breathlessness in his voice is completely unapologetic. Sorry, but he's currently got a rather large sextoy up his ass. ]
[ They've reached intermission without either of them coming in their trousers which Lucifer regards as quite a power show, just - the sheer, mental aptitude required not to is bloody impressive at this point. He's rock hard again which has been more or less the status quo since they left the apartment, Elio's trousers snuck around his buttocks, the outline of the buttplug faintly visible mostly because Lucifer knew - oh, did he know - about it. He's had fun edging the other man throughout dinner, an experience only topped by getting him off in the restroom before dessert.
This beautiful man.
Right now, Elio's pulling at his hand a bit, gently, trying to get his fingers closer to his crotch. His voice, when he speaks, is full of air. Lucifer smiles and glances sideways at him, gaze roaming over the bulge in his trousers, the flush in his cheeks. His own cock gives an interested jerk. He groans, shifts a bit in his seat. He'd go down on him right here if it wouldn't get them thrown out on their arses, thus missing out on the second half of Aranya's surprisingly worthwhile recital. Shifting, he runs his palm up the inside of Elio's thigh, obligingly, pressing his palm very gently over his crotch. He doesn't rub or grab - instead, he simply curls his fingers over him, feeling his heat underneath, the hardness of his cock. He thinks about that buttplug, lodged inside him, about the way it must be pressing against his prostate.
Shift, shift, shift. ]
It was atmospheric. [ A loud, outdrawn breath. ] Fuck, darling, I can't actually think about that. Can you? Did you even hear anything?
This beautiful man.
Right now, Elio's pulling at his hand a bit, gently, trying to get his fingers closer to his crotch. His voice, when he speaks, is full of air. Lucifer smiles and glances sideways at him, gaze roaming over the bulge in his trousers, the flush in his cheeks. His own cock gives an interested jerk. He groans, shifts a bit in his seat. He'd go down on him right here if it wouldn't get them thrown out on their arses, thus missing out on the second half of Aranya's surprisingly worthwhile recital. Shifting, he runs his palm up the inside of Elio's thigh, obligingly, pressing his palm very gently over his crotch. He doesn't rub or grab - instead, he simply curls his fingers over him, feeling his heat underneath, the hardness of his cock. He thinks about that buttplug, lodged inside him, about the way it must be pressing against his prostate.
Shift, shift, shift. ]
It was atmospheric. [ A loud, outdrawn breath. ] Fuck, darling, I can't actually think about that. Can you? Did you even hear anything?
Edited 2021-08-30 17:18 (UTC)
[ They've made it home without either of them losing control which, again, impressive. Lucifer, on his part, is about ready to just drop his trousers, flip his cock out of the bloody window and wait for the breeze to get him off because honestly, that's all it would take. He keeps thinking about that plug in Elio's arse and how he's kept himself from touching it on the way home through his trousers only because the other man had been so very good for him throughout the performance, staying still, Lucifer's hand curled around his cock the entire time.
Right now, they're in his Manhattan penthouse again. The master bedroom is all floor-to-ceiling windows with a panoramic view of the East River stretching to either side, the view from this height gloriously unobstructed. Everything in here is black on chrome and blue, something that ought to remind him of Hell except, well, somehow it doesn't.
It probably helps, being this close to the stars. The moon's full tonight, reflecting off the river surface in splashes and fragments of silver.
Lucifer shrugs out of his suit - jacket, vest, shirt, trousers - putting each item away as carefully as he can be bothered. His hard-on is insane and when he pulls his trousers off, it actually springs upwards against his stomach, the tip flushed and almost painfully sensitive. He toes out of his socks. Glances at Elio out of the corner of his eyes before heading for the bed, lying down partially on his side, legs spread slightly. ]
You know.
[ His voice sounds hoarse. His cock jerks impatiently against his belly. ]
I've been thinking about taking that plug out of you all evening.
Right now, they're in his Manhattan penthouse again. The master bedroom is all floor-to-ceiling windows with a panoramic view of the East River stretching to either side, the view from this height gloriously unobstructed. Everything in here is black on chrome and blue, something that ought to remind him of Hell except, well, somehow it doesn't.
It probably helps, being this close to the stars. The moon's full tonight, reflecting off the river surface in splashes and fragments of silver.
Lucifer shrugs out of his suit - jacket, vest, shirt, trousers - putting each item away as carefully as he can be bothered. His hard-on is insane and when he pulls his trousers off, it actually springs upwards against his stomach, the tip flushed and almost painfully sensitive. He toes out of his socks. Glances at Elio out of the corner of his eyes before heading for the bed, lying down partially on his side, legs spread slightly. ]
You know.
[ His voice sounds hoarse. His cock jerks impatiently against his belly. ]
I've been thinking about taking that plug out of you all evening.
[ At night, it's like returning to a different apartment, all the high-ceilinged rooms somehow diminished by the shadows creeping in, even as the huge window panels show off the sky, the stars, the moon. The blues and the chromes of the bedroom look warmer that way, like the burn of the celestial bodies reflect inside them. Not that Elio cares about any of that, eyes following Lucifer as he gets out of his clothes, walking over to the bed with his huge, stiff cock bouncing against his stomach and lying down, on his side, facing Elio who still needs out of his shirt (too many buttons) and his briefs. Breathing slightly ragged, he's that hard, he finally shrugs out of his shirt and folds it away carefully only because it was a gift and because it's worth more than him, probably. Briefs don't get the same courtesy. He kicks them off to the side, sighing in relief as his cock's finally freed.
The buttplug's lodged so deeply inside of him, it's grown to almost feel like a part of himself at this point. The way it presses against his insides from all angles is driving him mad. Lucifer must know. Lucifer must know. He gave him this, after all.
This, everything.
Licking his lips, Elio walks over to the bed as well, looking over the mattress a bit skeptically for a moment. It's not Lucifer, it's not the sight of Lucifer naked, it's the idea of having to actually move to lie down, thinking about how the plug's going to rub over his prostate no matter how he positions himself. His eyes feel a bit glassy as he finally just kneels next to the other man. ]
Means we've both been waiting. [ His voice is just a little bit thin, breathy. Elio finally inhales deeply and slowly, slowly, carefully lies down on his side, opposite Lucifer, facing him back. His eyes are almost as intense as his hard-on. Elio looks at him a moment longer, the buttplug pressing in and his exhalations escaping him, then he reaches out and only a bit hesitantly, running his palm up Lucifer's throat, to his chin, his jawline, fingers following the sharp jut of bone structure there. Stubble. He still remembers the tone of Lucifer's voice earlier. Keep still. ] We aren't waiting much longer, right?
[ Please, it means. Say no. Elio's voice is almost a whisper. There's nothing affected about it. ]
The buttplug's lodged so deeply inside of him, it's grown to almost feel like a part of himself at this point. The way it presses against his insides from all angles is driving him mad. Lucifer must know. Lucifer must know. He gave him this, after all.
This, everything.
Licking his lips, Elio walks over to the bed as well, looking over the mattress a bit skeptically for a moment. It's not Lucifer, it's not the sight of Lucifer naked, it's the idea of having to actually move to lie down, thinking about how the plug's going to rub over his prostate no matter how he positions himself. His eyes feel a bit glassy as he finally just kneels next to the other man. ]
Means we've both been waiting. [ His voice is just a little bit thin, breathy. Elio finally inhales deeply and slowly, slowly, carefully lies down on his side, opposite Lucifer, facing him back. His eyes are almost as intense as his hard-on. Elio looks at him a moment longer, the buttplug pressing in and his exhalations escaping him, then he reaches out and only a bit hesitantly, running his palm up Lucifer's throat, to his chin, his jawline, fingers following the sharp jut of bone structure there. Stubble. He still remembers the tone of Lucifer's voice earlier. Keep still. ] We aren't waiting much longer, right?
[ Please, it means. Say no. Elio's voice is almost a whisper. There's nothing affected about it. ]
It's been a few days now. Is everything okay?
[ He'd got worried when he got half a reply and then, radio silence.
First, he'd texted Lucifer a long rant that would have sounded so much better in words, with his arms lodged tightly around the other man's neck, dragging his head down to his shoulder, holding him close. Then, when that didn't elicit a reply either, he'd just told him he was coming for him, no objections. Elio isn't afraid of him, he's seen Lucifer in the depths before, it's never bothered him, it's never frightened him. The other man's strong and he's charged, but he's never done anything to hurt him, never intentionally and never with the whole cosmic physique of his either. Elio is tiny in comparison, true, but Lucifer has never made him feel dwarfed. Easily destroyed.
The way he must feel now, after what Chloe did.
Elio's furious about that, to be honest, he didn't want to make it about his own reaction to it, but he feels so disappointed, so resentful and that's when anger isn't even a natural first response with him. He's mild-tempered. Generally pleasant. With her, he just wants to slap her awake, can't she see? Can't she see what she's done to him, what she's doing?
The elevator ride is mercifully short and he steps out into the living room, shadows eating into the gold and the yellows and the light. At first, he can't even spot Lucifer anywhere, feeling worried that he might have gone off somewhere. To not drink.
Shit. He stops right inside and just turns his head after him, one way, the other. ]
First, he'd texted Lucifer a long rant that would have sounded so much better in words, with his arms lodged tightly around the other man's neck, dragging his head down to his shoulder, holding him close. Then, when that didn't elicit a reply either, he'd just told him he was coming for him, no objections. Elio isn't afraid of him, he's seen Lucifer in the depths before, it's never bothered him, it's never frightened him. The other man's strong and he's charged, but he's never done anything to hurt him, never intentionally and never with the whole cosmic physique of his either. Elio is tiny in comparison, true, but Lucifer has never made him feel dwarfed. Easily destroyed.
The way he must feel now, after what Chloe did.
Elio's furious about that, to be honest, he didn't want to make it about his own reaction to it, but he feels so disappointed, so resentful and that's when anger isn't even a natural first response with him. He's mild-tempered. Generally pleasant. With her, he just wants to slap her awake, can't she see? Can't she see what she's done to him, what she's doing?
The elevator ride is mercifully short and he steps out into the living room, shadows eating into the gold and the yellows and the light. At first, he can't even spot Lucifer anywhere, feeling worried that he might have gone off somewhere. To not drink.
Shit. He stops right inside and just turns his head after him, one way, the other. ]
[ He's curled up in his armchair close to the windows, knees drawn up and his arms slung around them, chin resting on top like he's tiny and powerless which, honestly, that feels rather too close to the truth. For some reason, his mind keeps skipping from the expression on Chloe's face when he'd shown her his true face, when she's looked away, horrified, her eyes wet with tears - to the inescapable fact that he's thrown his phone over the bloody balcony, meaning whatever Elio might've written back to him, whatever comfort he might have offered, is lost. The two things aren't connected, really, not logically. But they keep getting entwined. Messed up.
It's all my fault, he thinks and that's not really true, is it, the phone, maybe, but not... not her reaction. Not the fact that she's been lying to him, going behind his back and plotting to - oh. He blinks, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. It comes away damp.
He hears the elevator's soft ding and Elio's footfalls are so familiar by now that his spine almost instantly relaxes a fraction. Next, the panic. The knowledge that he can't possibly give the man anything like this, he can't be anything like this, and why is he here, anyway? Why would he come at all? Drawing in a harsh breath, curling up a bit further amidst the shadows, he says, voice rough: ]
I'm sorry I never answered, Elio. This is not a good time.
It's all my fault, he thinks and that's not really true, is it, the phone, maybe, but not... not her reaction. Not the fact that she's been lying to him, going behind his back and plotting to - oh. He blinks, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. It comes away damp.
He hears the elevator's soft ding and Elio's footfalls are so familiar by now that his spine almost instantly relaxes a fraction. Next, the panic. The knowledge that he can't possibly give the man anything like this, he can't be anything like this, and why is he here, anyway? Why would he come at all? Drawing in a harsh breath, curling up a bit further amidst the shadows, he says, voice rough: ]
I'm sorry I never answered, Elio. This is not a good time.
[ He left L.A behind on a complete whim, an aggressively impulsive act without a clear goal or any thoughts of consequences. He just wanted Elio out of there. Himself, too. He'd flown on instinct, primarily, and when they'd touched down on the top-terrace of a luxury log cabin deep within the Boreal Forest, he'd taken at least half an hour simply finding his way back to conscious thought, his arms wrapped around Elio and his feathers shielding him from the cold. It had taken him another twenty minutes to get them both arranged more comfortably, turning on the outdoor fairy lights mostly for the look of it as well as the modern heater, getting pillows and blankets from the indoor living room on the upstairs floor. He knows who owns the cabin, obviously. He's owed this favour amongst a few others, really, so he simply takes what he needs.
Right now, he's in the middle of the heap of blankets and pillows near the terrace railing, the sparkling blue lake beneath them stretching out on either side of the cabin, framed by aspen trees and conifers. He's got Elio curled up against his chest, wrapped in a thick blanket, patchwork, clearly supposed to look homemade without actually being homemade. His wings are curved loosely around him, too, because the wind feels exactly as arctic as it should this far up north and the sky's frigidly clear. Still this close to the summer solstice, the days are long.
He's got cups of steaming-hot tea waiting for them on the low table, tea-lights burning brightly next to the old-fashioned ceramic cups. He's spiked his own with what the old-school brandy he found in the minibar downstairs and left the bottle up for grabs, in case Elio needs something to wipe away whatever's bound to be on his mind when he awakens.
Lucifer thinks about Michel, crumbled to the floor in a sobbing heap, and smiles, his arms tightening around Elio's sleeping form. ]
Right now, he's in the middle of the heap of blankets and pillows near the terrace railing, the sparkling blue lake beneath them stretching out on either side of the cabin, framed by aspen trees and conifers. He's got Elio curled up against his chest, wrapped in a thick blanket, patchwork, clearly supposed to look homemade without actually being homemade. His wings are curved loosely around him, too, because the wind feels exactly as arctic as it should this far up north and the sky's frigidly clear. Still this close to the summer solstice, the days are long.
He's got cups of steaming-hot tea waiting for them on the low table, tea-lights burning brightly next to the old-fashioned ceramic cups. He's spiked his own with what the old-school brandy he found in the minibar downstairs and left the bottle up for grabs, in case Elio needs something to wipe away whatever's bound to be on his mind when he awakens.
Lucifer thinks about Michel, crumbled to the floor in a sobbing heap, and smiles, his arms tightening around Elio's sleeping form. ]
[ He comes to with no conscious awareness of time having passed. He was in his apartment (Lucifer's) when he'd last had his eyes open, so as he blinks himself awake, he fully expects to be staring up at those high ceilings, the wide window panels to the balcony, LA by day. It's day here as well, there's definitely light. Just a backdrop behind the dark silhouette of Lucifer, holding him in his arms. Wings curved around him, too. Elio feels warm and cozy like that, held and cared for, enough that he only faintly registers the remnants of a hard-pounding headache and the way the side of his head feels sore. However, the light's different here. As he turns his head to look around, his vision's obstructed by pillows and blankets, like Lucifer's built him a regular fort (a nest), it becomes obvious this isn't the apartment he came from. This is somewhere else. Somewhere cold, he notices. Lucifer's taken him somewhere.
Like Michel had intended to do. Not that the two are remotely the same, of course. Seriously.
Slowly, he sits up, just a little hesitantly pushing himself off Lucifer's lap and getting upright, on his knees, looking around. His breathing is a bit uneven, a bit shallow. Okay, what does he see? Table with tea. Tea-lights. Fairy lights around them. It's quite pretty. In a heartbeat, he decides not to ask where they are, because it doesn't matter, he'll find out eventually, no doubt. Michel isn't here, Lucifer is, that's what matters. He spots the brandy on the table and, with a sideways glance up at Lucifer, almost apologetic, he leans forward, reaching for it. About to raise it to his lips, though, he falters, lets the bottle sink until it's resting on his thighs instead. ]
You heard me. [ A slight frown and Elio looks up at Lucifer more directly, gesturing vaguely with his free hand to indicate his prayer. ] Thank you for coming to my aid. [ Pause. His breathing goes from uneven to flat-out shaking, which he doesn't even try to hide. ] And here Michel thought he'd be the one to save me.
Like Michel had intended to do. Not that the two are remotely the same, of course. Seriously.
Slowly, he sits up, just a little hesitantly pushing himself off Lucifer's lap and getting upright, on his knees, looking around. His breathing is a bit uneven, a bit shallow. Okay, what does he see? Table with tea. Tea-lights. Fairy lights around them. It's quite pretty. In a heartbeat, he decides not to ask where they are, because it doesn't matter, he'll find out eventually, no doubt. Michel isn't here, Lucifer is, that's what matters. He spots the brandy on the table and, with a sideways glance up at Lucifer, almost apologetic, he leans forward, reaching for it. About to raise it to his lips, though, he falters, lets the bottle sink until it's resting on his thighs instead. ]
You heard me. [ A slight frown and Elio looks up at Lucifer more directly, gesturing vaguely with his free hand to indicate his prayer. ] Thank you for coming to my aid. [ Pause. His breathing goes from uneven to flat-out shaking, which he doesn't even try to hide. ] And here Michel thought he'd be the one to save me.
[ The bed in the master bedroom that they've unanimously, but without exchanging a single word, claimed as theirs is huge, because the master bedroom is huge, because the cabin is huge and whoever owes Lucifer this favor obviously has a lot of people owing favors to them in turn. As the trail of money goes, most of the time. Back and forth. Elio doesn't waste a lot of thought on the workings of the world tonight, he thinks he's had his taste already, really, no need for elaborations. After all, Michel has been sitting at the back of his mind all afternoon, while they've found their feet in this new place, Lucifer and him, as a critical voice commenting on everything. Every little thing Lucifer did, every little thing Lucifer didn't do, but Elio has kept his comments at an arm's length, simply remembering how Lucifer burnt himself in his company. How Lucifer might not have said the words, but he's showing it with his whole body.
Elio matters to him, he matters enough.
And so, the past hour, Michel has been blissfully quiet. Maybe, soon, he'll be completely gone and Elio will fit right back in his own skin again. He drops his briefs on his side of the bed and climbs naked beneath the covers, leaving Lucifer to get ready as he wishes. There are no expectations, there never is between them.
It requires some wriggling about to get comfortable, the duvets are heavy, the covers only adding to that weight. Elio's completely weighed down into a soft mattress, navy blue sheets, everything's smooth and soft. With a sigh, he turns onto his side, looking over at the other man. Not too mindful of staying on his own half of the bed, already halfway sprawled out across the middle, shins, feet. He keeps his eyes on Lucifer's legs, the lines of him, how beautiful he is. There's an ass somewhere up there, too. ]
I like it here. [ It's a completely genuine, non-ironic observation. He rests his cheek on his upper arm, smiles lazily. ] It's got a nice view.
[ By which he means both him and the cabin, of course, though Lucifer's backside will beat Yukon country any day. The dining table's got a view over the lake, they ate their dinner all but drowning in deep blues and what Elio's really saying is: thank you for taking me. ]
Elio matters to him, he matters enough.
And so, the past hour, Michel has been blissfully quiet. Maybe, soon, he'll be completely gone and Elio will fit right back in his own skin again. He drops his briefs on his side of the bed and climbs naked beneath the covers, leaving Lucifer to get ready as he wishes. There are no expectations, there never is between them.
It requires some wriggling about to get comfortable, the duvets are heavy, the covers only adding to that weight. Elio's completely weighed down into a soft mattress, navy blue sheets, everything's smooth and soft. With a sigh, he turns onto his side, looking over at the other man. Not too mindful of staying on his own half of the bed, already halfway sprawled out across the middle, shins, feet. He keeps his eyes on Lucifer's legs, the lines of him, how beautiful he is. There's an ass somewhere up there, too. ]
I like it here. [ It's a completely genuine, non-ironic observation. He rests his cheek on his upper arm, smiles lazily. ] It's got a nice view.
[ By which he means both him and the cabin, of course, though Lucifer's backside will beat Yukon country any day. The dining table's got a view over the lake, they ate their dinner all but drowning in deep blues and what Elio's really saying is: thank you for taking me. ]
[ It's been a long day and he's spent the time coming to terms with this, with the two of them, here, and not in L.A. where he thought he'd been home. For the first time in... but it doesn't matter. He's decided that it doesn't. He's had several messages since he left, some from Amenadiel, some from Linda, some from Maze and a single one from Chloe that he hasn't read, not yet. He wants to, obviously. A part of him is aching to know that she's still all right, that she hasn't needed him in his absence.
Then, he thinks about that tiny, seemingly unremarkable vial and something inside of him, consequently, tries to choke itself, to burst into fragments.
So he doesn't.
He keeps her at an arm's length, still, and tells Amenadiel not to worry, tells Maze that he'll let her know. Tells Linda that he'll do his next appointment by phone. Elio's been doing his own, mental homework throughout the day and like that, they've been synchronized, finding their way forward to this point of reference, whatever it might be. Right now, Lucifer's getting ready for bed, standing naked in front of the full-length mirror and looking himself over, feeling Elio's gaze on him all the while. It's got a nice view, huh?
You don't say.
With a smirk, Lucifer actually wiggles his arse in his direction, then fixes a few strands of hair near his forehead that have started curling because evidently, they have absolutely no respect for the King of Hell. He turns and heads for the bed, slipping in next to Elio and throwing one leg over his in the process, seeing as he's basically draped himself all over the bed. ]
Let's go for that, shall we? On our little adventure.
[ He shuffles down onto his back, glancing sideways at Elio and holding out his arm in invitation. ]
Spectacular views.
Then, he thinks about that tiny, seemingly unremarkable vial and something inside of him, consequently, tries to choke itself, to burst into fragments.
So he doesn't.
He keeps her at an arm's length, still, and tells Amenadiel not to worry, tells Maze that he'll let her know. Tells Linda that he'll do his next appointment by phone. Elio's been doing his own, mental homework throughout the day and like that, they've been synchronized, finding their way forward to this point of reference, whatever it might be. Right now, Lucifer's getting ready for bed, standing naked in front of the full-length mirror and looking himself over, feeling Elio's gaze on him all the while. It's got a nice view, huh?
You don't say.
With a smirk, Lucifer actually wiggles his arse in his direction, then fixes a few strands of hair near his forehead that have started curling because evidently, they have absolutely no respect for the King of Hell. He turns and heads for the bed, slipping in next to Elio and throwing one leg over his in the process, seeing as he's basically draped himself all over the bed. ]
Let's go for that, shall we? On our little adventure.
[ He shuffles down onto his back, glancing sideways at Elio and holding out his arm in invitation. ]
Spectacular views.
[ As he'd informed Mafalda, they arrive in the early afternoon, flying from the Yukon to Milan where they got equipped to spend a still undetermined amount of time in the summer house near B, Lucifer's apparently endless fortune buying them everything from suitcases, a whole new wardrobe to a car. Like that, they drive from Milan to Bordighera, from Bordighera to the house. Mafalda had been waiting for them in the doorway, more or less attacking Elio upon sight, kissing his whole face and calling him angioletto, her angel boy. Honestly, Elio thought he'd taken it in stride, what with Lucifer as front-row spectator to that little scene.
As it is, Mafalda evidently doesn't like him, though, Lucifer, Elio even caught her muttering her little Neapolitan curses in his general direction while she'd showed off how she'd stocked them up on all the basic necessities. You won't be in want of anything, Elio, she'd said, I'll come every night with dinner, homemade. He'd have told her that he was perfectly capable of doing the cooking himself, if he hadn't thought she'd just curse him, too. Instead, he'd thanked her profusely and asked her about the orchard, were the peaches ripe?
She'd told him yes. Manfredi and Anchise would start harvesting in a couple of days.
Which explains why Elio has more or less dragged Lucifer out into the gardens, first things first, the sky a spotless blue, September heat hanging in the air all around. Another month and the winds will be cooling everything down, gradually. He doesn't wonder whether they'll still be here by then, it doesn't matter, they're here now, right? They're here now. He almost can't believe it, this place seemingly never changes. ]
I haven't actually been back here for the past three or four years. [ Elio halts beneath a big peach tree, leaning his head back to look up at the myriad of fruits above them. ] I'd tell myself it was because I'm always busy, over summer, during Hanukkah, but I think in reality... I've been avoiding it.
As it is, Mafalda evidently doesn't like him, though, Lucifer, Elio even caught her muttering her little Neapolitan curses in his general direction while she'd showed off how she'd stocked them up on all the basic necessities. You won't be in want of anything, Elio, she'd said, I'll come every night with dinner, homemade. He'd have told her that he was perfectly capable of doing the cooking himself, if he hadn't thought she'd just curse him, too. Instead, he'd thanked her profusely and asked her about the orchard, were the peaches ripe?
She'd told him yes. Manfredi and Anchise would start harvesting in a couple of days.
Which explains why Elio has more or less dragged Lucifer out into the gardens, first things first, the sky a spotless blue, September heat hanging in the air all around. Another month and the winds will be cooling everything down, gradually. He doesn't wonder whether they'll still be here by then, it doesn't matter, they're here now, right? They're here now. He almost can't believe it, this place seemingly never changes. ]
I haven't actually been back here for the past three or four years. [ Elio halts beneath a big peach tree, leaning his head back to look up at the myriad of fruits above them. ] I'd tell myself it was because I'm always busy, over summer, during Hanukkah, but I think in reality... I've been avoiding it.
Edited 2021-09-16 03:24 (UTC)
[ Arriving at Elio's family residence feels oddly like coming home, like the scents and the sounds and the shadows streaked across the wooden stone walls of the villa all co-exist in his mind somewhere, a secret life. It's the dreams, of course. Elio's already brought him here in the most intimate manner possible and Lucifer, consequently, loves it like he'd love any other little part of him. He doesn't particularly love the old crone of a lady who keeps muttering religious curses at him beneath her breath but then again, she doesn't know how right she is and he's just about petty enough to enjoy the implications.
Score one for... either of them, probably. The point is, he won't be keeping count. It doesn't matter anyway.
They've spent the afternoon getting settled in and now, the sky's burning off the last vestiges of sunlight, stretched above their heads in a beautiful, unblemished blue. Lucifer watches Elio as he halts beneath one of the peach trees, folding his hands behind his back and tilting his head sideways a fraction. ]
I get why you'd want to avoid a place, certainly. Even if it might've felt like home, once.
[ A quick glance upwards, then a shrug. ]
Why did you want to come here? Now?
Score one for... either of them, probably. The point is, he won't be keeping count. It doesn't matter anyway.
They've spent the afternoon getting settled in and now, the sky's burning off the last vestiges of sunlight, stretched above their heads in a beautiful, unblemished blue. Lucifer watches Elio as he halts beneath one of the peach trees, folding his hands behind his back and tilting his head sideways a fraction. ]
I get why you'd want to avoid a place, certainly. Even if it might've felt like home, once.
[ A quick glance upwards, then a shrug. ]
Why did you want to come here? Now?
[ He lands outside the villa with a loud thump, kicking up dust upon impact. His wings are flared out, feathers harshly erect and straining in the stillness. There's not a lot of wind tonight, no angry clouds on the horizon, no storms brewing. It's quiet. It's too quiet.
The sea, too, had been silent as he'd paced and paced on the beach, pulling at his hair, first, and then his feathers. He's got bald spots here and there, the feathers in the surrounding areas either broken or bent. He'd thought about cutting the wings off again and failed, thinking about Elio's fingers combing through them. Sweet Elio. Sweet Elio who's definitely not as ordinary as he'd seemed, back when they'd first met. He's known, of course, for a long time. That he couldn't possibly be ordinary, this man, immune to the Devil's mojo, unfazed by divinity.
All the same, well, he hadn't quite thought...
Well.
Screwing his eyes shut, he resists the urge to bury his hands in his hair and and stands, staring up at the villa, thinking I have to tell him and Why did no one tell me we were fighting a war, still, something like this, why wouldn't anyone tell me and that last part feels the worst, really.
The idea that he could've even, for one moment, pretended that the world had finally stilled. ]
The sea, too, had been silent as he'd paced and paced on the beach, pulling at his hair, first, and then his feathers. He's got bald spots here and there, the feathers in the surrounding areas either broken or bent. He'd thought about cutting the wings off again and failed, thinking about Elio's fingers combing through them. Sweet Elio. Sweet Elio who's definitely not as ordinary as he'd seemed, back when they'd first met. He's known, of course, for a long time. That he couldn't possibly be ordinary, this man, immune to the Devil's mojo, unfazed by divinity.
All the same, well, he hadn't quite thought...
Well.
Screwing his eyes shut, he resists the urge to bury his hands in his hair and and stands, staring up at the villa, thinking I have to tell him and Why did no one tell me we were fighting a war, still, something like this, why wouldn't anyone tell me and that last part feels the worst, really.
The idea that he could've even, for one moment, pretended that the world had finally stilled. ]
[ Elio had left them alone in the living room to talk, Lucifer and his brother, the other angel who'd come to have a word with him, not considering the whys of it too much. After all, if he'd had people in LA who cared, they'd probably have reached out too by now. Instead, Elio has severed all ties there, meaning this is his new life, this is all he has, really, the old house, the orchard and the sea, the Devil - and it's plenty, it's enough.
Going for a late night swim, the muted voices from inside had died at some point and after half an hour, he'd glanced discreetly through the windows, finding the living room completely abandoned. No Lucifer. No brother. Frowning, Elio had wandered through the house in search of him, Lucifer - the brother could no doubt fend for himself, go wherever he wanted. Lucifer on the other hand couldn't go, Elio would very much like him here, please. When he didn't find him anywhere, a knot had started to form in his belly.
Now, ten minutes and five empty rooms later, he's in the master bedroom, shrugging into a t-shirt, jeans already pulled over his bathing suit, when he hears the flutter of wings, the thump of someone landing outside. Quickly, he moves over to the open window, catching a glimpse of Lucifer on the terrace, swimming pool and dark orchard for backdrop. He looks - is it the shadows? Is it the shadows that make him look - ?
He literally runs down the hallway to the living room, halting in the door leading out, one hand on the doorframe. Lucifer's got his eyes screwed shut. It wasn't just the shadows, then.
Carefully, he says, no accusations: ]
You disappeared.
Going for a late night swim, the muted voices from inside had died at some point and after half an hour, he'd glanced discreetly through the windows, finding the living room completely abandoned. No Lucifer. No brother. Frowning, Elio had wandered through the house in search of him, Lucifer - the brother could no doubt fend for himself, go wherever he wanted. Lucifer on the other hand couldn't go, Elio would very much like him here, please. When he didn't find him anywhere, a knot had started to form in his belly.
Now, ten minutes and five empty rooms later, he's in the master bedroom, shrugging into a t-shirt, jeans already pulled over his bathing suit, when he hears the flutter of wings, the thump of someone landing outside. Quickly, he moves over to the open window, catching a glimpse of Lucifer on the terrace, swimming pool and dark orchard for backdrop. He looks - is it the shadows? Is it the shadows that make him look - ?
He literally runs down the hallway to the living room, halting in the door leading out, one hand on the doorframe. Lucifer's got his eyes screwed shut. It wasn't just the shadows, then.
Carefully, he says, no accusations: ]
You disappeared.
[ They're in the large kitchen with the stone oven, Elio standing by the counter, arranging the selection of cold spreads and fish dishes that Mafalda's delivered to their door for today's lunch. It's going to be a late lunch, though, because it's already two pm, but they've both been elsewhere engaged all morning, so food's not really been a priority. Elio's been looking through old transcriptions of Bach, with Lucifer snooping around the house, the grounds, Elio has caught glimpses of him through doorways, through windows and most of the time, the other man's been almost obsessively preoccupied scratching his back. Up against trees (making them shake, fruit falling down all around him), against the building's stone walls (making those shake, Elio caught him getting hit over the head by a painting that fell down just an hour ago), against furniture, one time against Elio who'd come over to offer him a tumbler of whiskey, new purchase from Bordighera, old and expensive.
He's sitting by the kitchen table now, Lucifer. Still trying to scratch himself just a little bit against the backrest of the chair. Elio smiles, it must be his wings. Naturally, he can't say for sure, because he hasn't actually seen them since the gift revelation the previous night, but he imagines that they've born the brunt of Lucifer's frustration, the way they've always reflected his moods, right?
A frown. Elio returns to moving tuna crudo from Mafalda's tupperware to a plate. ]
He's sitting by the kitchen table now, Lucifer. Still trying to scratch himself just a little bit against the backrest of the chair. Elio smiles, it must be his wings. Naturally, he can't say for sure, because he hasn't actually seen them since the gift revelation the previous night, but he imagines that they've born the brunt of Lucifer's frustration, the way they've always reflected his moods, right?
A frown. Elio returns to moving tuna crudo from Mafalda's tupperware to a plate. ]
[ He had a rough night, following the discovery of his Father's most recent manipulations and consequently, he's got no less than five bald spots on his wings, courtesy of some very impulsive and - honestly - juvenile feather pulling. Aside from the pain of it (not unlike pulling your fingernails off, really), the re-growing process is obscenely annoying. The blood feathers have started setting here and there and Lucifer's basically trying not to cut his wings clean off and be done with it. He's decided to keep his wings, after all, even after yesterday's events. Perhaps especially after that, even.
Meaning, the feathers will have to re-grow and he'll have to stay itchy for another three or four days, at the least.
He's currently trying to read something that Amenadiel sent over by e-mail a couple of hours ago, brow furrowed in concentration. A few feet away, Elio's busy preparing lunch for them and there's something so comfortably familiar about his presence, something intimate that's only grown stronger ever since he found out that they were, in fact, connected by his Father's holy douchebaggery. He's trying not to think about why that might be. After all, if it weren't for Lucifer, Elio could've had a normal life, unblemished by celestial bullshit. Taking comfort in his fate seems horribly selfish.
Particularly as he suddenly becomes an impromptu scratching pole for Lucifer's left wing as it materializes. Lucifer's blissfully oblivious to its appearance. All he knows is that he's suddenly getting one of his itches scratched and oh, that's nice, a little soft, a little hard, very warm, perfect scratching pole, absolutely perfect. He actually groans a little at the back of his throat.
Scratchscratchscratch! ]
Meaning, the feathers will have to re-grow and he'll have to stay itchy for another three or four days, at the least.
He's currently trying to read something that Amenadiel sent over by e-mail a couple of hours ago, brow furrowed in concentration. A few feet away, Elio's busy preparing lunch for them and there's something so comfortably familiar about his presence, something intimate that's only grown stronger ever since he found out that they were, in fact, connected by his Father's holy douchebaggery. He's trying not to think about why that might be. After all, if it weren't for Lucifer, Elio could've had a normal life, unblemished by celestial bullshit. Taking comfort in his fate seems horribly selfish.
Particularly as he suddenly becomes an impromptu scratching pole for Lucifer's left wing as it materializes. Lucifer's blissfully oblivious to its appearance. All he knows is that he's suddenly getting one of his itches scratched and oh, that's nice, a little soft, a little hard, very warm, perfect scratching pole, absolutely perfect. He actually groans a little at the back of his throat.
Scratchscratchscratch! ]
[ Late afternoon, they're in the backyard, both of them, a stone's throw from the terrace where the water of the old stone swimming pool's grown pleasantly warm in the sun. Elio's gone for a dip, leaning on the edge of the pool, arms folded and his chin resting on top, an old collection of Paul Celan poetry flipped open in front of him. Did he use to like this stuff, idolize it, even? It's so gloomy, shit.
Still, Elio hums a bit, reading over a particular poem, at least two summers' worth of memories springing to mind, every so often glancing up at Lucifer who's lying on his back on a big towel, placed close enough to be a whole display and far enough away to be out of immediate reach. Tempting, though he wouldn't say so himself, would he? No, Lucifer's just naked, completely and utterly naked, because that's really how he prefers to be. The Italian sun is nice and warm, after all, even this far into September. Why wouldn't he be naked? Why wouldn't he?
Watching him quietly, Elio lets his book sink a bit. He's already told the other man about the stone pool, an original from the late 18th century, popes and presidents and royalty have bathed at this villa, but he hasn't told him about how he's placed himself in the exact same spot that Oliver used to frequent. His place in Heaven.
What would Lucifer say, then, and the only place he'll get? Elio frowns, treads water, raises his voice a bit when he finally speaks, to make sure it carries over. ]
Are you sleeping?
[ He knows he isn't. His breathing pattern's all wrong. Elio just wants to catch his attention. ]
Still, Elio hums a bit, reading over a particular poem, at least two summers' worth of memories springing to mind, every so often glancing up at Lucifer who's lying on his back on a big towel, placed close enough to be a whole display and far enough away to be out of immediate reach. Tempting, though he wouldn't say so himself, would he? No, Lucifer's just naked, completely and utterly naked, because that's really how he prefers to be. The Italian sun is nice and warm, after all, even this far into September. Why wouldn't he be naked? Why wouldn't he?
Watching him quietly, Elio lets his book sink a bit. He's already told the other man about the stone pool, an original from the late 18th century, popes and presidents and royalty have bathed at this villa, but he hasn't told him about how he's placed himself in the exact same spot that Oliver used to frequent. His place in Heaven.
What would Lucifer say, then, and the only place he'll get? Elio frowns, treads water, raises his voice a bit when he finally speaks, to make sure it carries over. ]
Are you sleeping?
[ He knows he isn't. His breathing pattern's all wrong. Elio just wants to catch his attention. ]
[ The sunlight's pleasant out here, the sky just a little bit cloudy today, a little bit unruly. His sunbath is basically a mixed experience, alternating continuously between warm, direct heat and cooler shade, functioning within no discernible rhyme or pacing. He's got his eyes closed right now, though he didn't ten minutes earlier because Elio's in the pool, utterly and gloriously naked. It's such a good look on him, isn't it? Sweet, beautiful Elio.
Right now, though, Lucifer's mostly taking in the quiet around them, simply indulging. They have time, after all. Who knows for how long? The past two nights, he's dreamt of Hell for the first time in quite a while. They aren't nightmares, exactly, because Hell doesn't frighten him - but it beckons, forcibly these days, as if the revelation of Elio's blessing has thrown a door open into the darkness.
At Elio's question, he stirs. Turns his head lazily to the side and opens his eyes, seeking out Elio's brown gaze where he's leaning against the pool, threading water. He raises an eyebrow in question, a half-smile forming on his face. What does it look like? ]
Right now, though, Lucifer's mostly taking in the quiet around them, simply indulging. They have time, after all. Who knows for how long? The past two nights, he's dreamt of Hell for the first time in quite a while. They aren't nightmares, exactly, because Hell doesn't frighten him - but it beckons, forcibly these days, as if the revelation of Elio's blessing has thrown a door open into the darkness.
At Elio's question, he stirs. Turns his head lazily to the side and opens his eyes, seeking out Elio's brown gaze where he's leaning against the pool, threading water. He raises an eyebrow in question, a half-smile forming on his face. What does it look like? ]
[ Al Ceppo is the choice restaurant for the local Romans if they want to dine expensively, but rustically, food like their Mama made it, basically, if their Mama did anything with a twist ever, it's well out of the way of the normal tourist traps and you can take anyone, ranging from your picky wife to your even pickier business parter here and they'll leave satisfied. Elio? Elio has taken Lucifer. It's not a Michelin star affair at all, though they're definitely Michelin recommended and endlessly proud of it, with its bistro-like aesthetic, the wooden panelling on the walls and the shelved wines at the far end, but it's got plenty of charm. Atmosphere.
They're here late, even by Italian standards, it's almost half past nine when they arrive, people beginning to leave which means they have no trouble securing themselves the best table by one of the windows. They're having drinks while they decide, the waiter watching them discreetly from the other end of the room, ready to step in at any notice. Having not even touched the menu yet, Elio raises his whisky to his lips, savors a mouthful, looking across the rim of his glass at the other man. The waiter fidgets.
They're dressed for a night on the town, because that's where they're going. All Elio's idea, Lucifer's probably only in it for the fun.
Though, usually their fun ends up being equal parts beautiful and romantic and intense, doesn't it? He thinks about their game before they left the house, about Cinque Terre, eating and sleeping and fucking with an unobstructed view of the ocean. The sound of waves. The sound of Lucifer's breathing in the early morning... ]
While I lived here, this was the place to take your date if it was serious enough. [ He isn't omitting the fact that he never did, because nothing was ever serious enough, it simply doesn't seem relevant and besides, Lucifer can probably imagine. He knows, after all. How Elio used to be. ] I liked to bring my professional network. You're the first date I've taken.
They're here late, even by Italian standards, it's almost half past nine when they arrive, people beginning to leave which means they have no trouble securing themselves the best table by one of the windows. They're having drinks while they decide, the waiter watching them discreetly from the other end of the room, ready to step in at any notice. Having not even touched the menu yet, Elio raises his whisky to his lips, savors a mouthful, looking across the rim of his glass at the other man. The waiter fidgets.
They're dressed for a night on the town, because that's where they're going. All Elio's idea, Lucifer's probably only in it for the fun.
Though, usually their fun ends up being equal parts beautiful and romantic and intense, doesn't it? He thinks about their game before they left the house, about Cinque Terre, eating and sleeping and fucking with an unobstructed view of the ocean. The sound of waves. The sound of Lucifer's breathing in the early morning... ]
While I lived here, this was the place to take your date if it was serious enough. [ He isn't omitting the fact that he never did, because nothing was ever serious enough, it simply doesn't seem relevant and besides, Lucifer can probably imagine. He knows, after all. How Elio used to be. ] I liked to bring my professional network. You're the first date I've taken.
[ As they drove south from the coast of Cinque Terre, he'd received a text message from Amenadiel, telling him that something seemed to be happening with his necklace, something that made it glitter at night which, you know, the joke about his neon-rod had been inevitable. All the same, it's been at the back of Lucifer's mind since; the notion that yes, indeed, something is changing. Hard to say what it means, of course. Amenadiel has gone to the Silver City for answers which he'll obviously never have because no one up there knows anything of value and Dad, as always, is content to remain MIA.
Anyway, Lucifer's prepared to handle this when he must. Whatever it is.
But for now, he's delighted to be on a date, the kind that he hasn't even arranged himself. Can't remember when he'd been on one of those, last. If ever. The restaurant, Al Ceppo, is a lovely choice for the evening, all luxury authenticity, rustic, wooden panels and glimmering, gold-rimmed mirrors. The wine is excellent, too, and he's actually quite surprised that he's never heard of this place before. Then again, Rome's never been high on his list of preferred vacation spots. The Vatican, visible from their panoramic hotel windows, really is a mighty eyesore indeed.
At Elio's words, Lucifer sips his wine and cocks his head. ]
I'm flattered. Though, now I wonder - If you weren't serious about me, where would we have gone? [ A small smile. ] You see, people rarely take me on any kinds of dates.
Anyway, Lucifer's prepared to handle this when he must. Whatever it is.
But for now, he's delighted to be on a date, the kind that he hasn't even arranged himself. Can't remember when he'd been on one of those, last. If ever. The restaurant, Al Ceppo, is a lovely choice for the evening, all luxury authenticity, rustic, wooden panels and glimmering, gold-rimmed mirrors. The wine is excellent, too, and he's actually quite surprised that he's never heard of this place before. Then again, Rome's never been high on his list of preferred vacation spots. The Vatican, visible from their panoramic hotel windows, really is a mighty eyesore indeed.
At Elio's words, Lucifer sips his wine and cocks his head. ]
I'm flattered. Though, now I wonder - If you weren't serious about me, where would we have gone? [ A small smile. ] You see, people rarely take me on any kinds of dates.
[ It's not home, this, Elio is acutely aware as he ascends the staircase to the upper floor with its view of the dance floor, square in the middle of the establishment, a regular hunting ground for everyone and anyone interested, but Censored had felt like home once and there's a certain nostalgia associated with that. Coming home to the place that isn't home any longer. He's glad he was able to bring Lucifer this time.
Lucifer whom he's left on the dance floor, saying in his ear as he left, loud enough to be heard, but low enough to be sultry, give me a show before pointing in the direction of the railing above their heads. You'll find me there, it had meant, watching you. So that's where Elio's at now, hands resting lightly on the handrail, cold iron, hard to the touch, right, like other things in here.
It's like the topsy-turvy world of Al Ceppo where they'd had an absolutely lovely meal, Lucifer's foot pressing against Elio's throughout most of it, like a fixing point, focus here. Censored is blues and blacks, flashing lights across the dance floor, men in little to no clothing and drugs and dark rooms, if you know who to ask. Maybe not much different than Lux, really, but still grittier, somehow, harder. All male, for instance. No women to soften the picture.
Just for tonight, it's fine. Elio will take them somewhere else tomorrow - or Lucifer will, whichever. Tonight they're here and it's making a heat spread in the pit of Elio's abdomen, looking down on the other man among all the other men. Tomorrow, they'll be somewhere else and as long as Lucifer's there, too, Elio's happy. ]
Lucifer whom he's left on the dance floor, saying in his ear as he left, loud enough to be heard, but low enough to be sultry, give me a show before pointing in the direction of the railing above their heads. You'll find me there, it had meant, watching you. So that's where Elio's at now, hands resting lightly on the handrail, cold iron, hard to the touch, right, like other things in here.
It's like the topsy-turvy world of Al Ceppo where they'd had an absolutely lovely meal, Lucifer's foot pressing against Elio's throughout most of it, like a fixing point, focus here. Censored is blues and blacks, flashing lights across the dance floor, men in little to no clothing and drugs and dark rooms, if you know who to ask. Maybe not much different than Lux, really, but still grittier, somehow, harder. All male, for instance. No women to soften the picture.
Just for tonight, it's fine. Elio will take them somewhere else tomorrow - or Lucifer will, whichever. Tonight they're here and it's making a heat spread in the pit of Elio's abdomen, looking down on the other man among all the other men. Tomorrow, they'll be somewhere else and as long as Lucifer's there, too, Elio's happy. ]
[ The music is loud and hard, something dance-slash-techno meant for people too off their kites to care. Though it isn't exactly one for the records, it's definitely a suitable bit of noise for what's currently happening around him - half-naked (or indeed, wholly naked - hello!) men, writhing amongst each other, all thrusting hips and hardening cocks and nipple studs glittering in the flashing lights. Lucifer's managed to find a spot right in the middle and when he tilts his head upwards just right, he can see Elio far above him on the upper floor, leaning over the railing, watching.
Watching him back.
Twisting against whomever's currently trying to wriggle up behind him, Lucifer feels a couple of large, long-fingered hands slipping around his waist, searching for naked skin and finding buttons instead. He smiles, eyes falling shut, as he pulls his shirt free from his trousers. He's left his suit jacket somewhere off to the left so the going's easy from here, the stranger taking full advantage and sliding both hands up his stomach.
There's a definite poke against his backside, too, and that's maybe a little presumptuous, so Lucifer twists away with ease, finding himself up against another nameless stranger, long and slim. He thinks about Elio, up there by himself in the dark and they're connected by invisible strings, the two of them, he feels it even now at a distance, even with (or perhaps, especially) Mister long-and-slim reaching for his waist and pulling him in a little. The dance floor smells strongly of sweat and alcohol and arousal; Lucifer gives him a long, heavy look.
Around them, the crowd begins to close in around them. Drawn, as it were.
He moves to the beat languidly. ]
Watching him back.
Twisting against whomever's currently trying to wriggle up behind him, Lucifer feels a couple of large, long-fingered hands slipping around his waist, searching for naked skin and finding buttons instead. He smiles, eyes falling shut, as he pulls his shirt free from his trousers. He's left his suit jacket somewhere off to the left so the going's easy from here, the stranger taking full advantage and sliding both hands up his stomach.
There's a definite poke against his backside, too, and that's maybe a little presumptuous, so Lucifer twists away with ease, finding himself up against another nameless stranger, long and slim. He thinks about Elio, up there by himself in the dark and they're connected by invisible strings, the two of them, he feels it even now at a distance, even with (or perhaps, especially) Mister long-and-slim reaching for his waist and pulling him in a little. The dance floor smells strongly of sweat and alcohol and arousal; Lucifer gives him a long, heavy look.
Around them, the crowd begins to close in around them. Drawn, as it were.
He moves to the beat languidly. ]
[ The beige and golden interior of Hotel Eden's lavish suite brightens up the late night-early morning dusk outside, especially where Elio's left the doors to the balcony wide open, the light from inside falling out onto the tiles in long streaks of contrast. Welcoming Lucifer back when he gets here at some point, of course he could go for the walk, but Elio doesn't think so. He wants to think the other man's exactly as ravenous as he is himself, he'll want to cross town fastest way possible. Flight line.
The arm chair he's currently slouching in has been moved to face the entrance, so what will greet the other man upon landing is the sight of Elio there, naked, freshly showered, legs widely spread, one thrown over the arm rest, and his spit-slick palm stroking himself slowly, unhurriedly, his hard cock looking all dark and shadowy in his grip. Definitely throbbing. Definitely waiting. In his other hand, Elio's got a flute of champagne, sipping it every so often, head tipped back against the backrest and his eyes half-closed. Savoring. Enjoying. He's gone ahead and opened the huge, huge bottle of champagne he ordered at the reception upon arriving at the hotel, they've sent it to their suite in an even bigger ice bucket, now standing on the small table next to the chair, arranged neatly along with another flute, meant for Lucifer.
He likes his alcohols. He likes his indulgences. Elio wanted to give him both, after that show, right? He wants to give him the world.
Instead, he closes his eyes completely, takes another sip of champagne, stroking himself through the light buzz (it's dry and delicious, not too sweet), thumb rubbing over the head of his cock slowly, lightly, lazily. Elio's listening for him, the telltale flapping of wings.
That very particular, celestial whoosh. ]
The arm chair he's currently slouching in has been moved to face the entrance, so what will greet the other man upon landing is the sight of Elio there, naked, freshly showered, legs widely spread, one thrown over the arm rest, and his spit-slick palm stroking himself slowly, unhurriedly, his hard cock looking all dark and shadowy in his grip. Definitely throbbing. Definitely waiting. In his other hand, Elio's got a flute of champagne, sipping it every so often, head tipped back against the backrest and his eyes half-closed. Savoring. Enjoying. He's gone ahead and opened the huge, huge bottle of champagne he ordered at the reception upon arriving at the hotel, they've sent it to their suite in an even bigger ice bucket, now standing on the small table next to the chair, arranged neatly along with another flute, meant for Lucifer.
He likes his alcohols. He likes his indulgences. Elio wanted to give him both, after that show, right? He wants to give him the world.
Instead, he closes his eyes completely, takes another sip of champagne, stroking himself through the light buzz (it's dry and delicious, not too sweet), thumb rubbing over the head of his cock slowly, lightly, lazily. Elio's listening for him, the telltale flapping of wings.
That very particular, celestial whoosh. ]
[ Leave nothing to the imagination, Elio wrote with a delicious promise hidden in the entire bloody text message and honestly, Lucifer left the club about five minutes after, giving him fifteen to 1) book a nearby, cheap hotel room, 2) shower and 3) fix his hair which has been grabbed so many times that it simply wasn't an option to leave it as it were. He then checked out, stood in the busy street for a few seconds to catch his breath and took to the air in a whoosh of feathers, leaving a group of young people nearby looking wind-blown and existentially discomfited. Knowing humans, they'll no doubt chalk it up to temporary group psychosis, drugs or both. Fine by him, either way. He's got somewhere to be.
He takes flight over the rooftops, spotting the Vatican in the distance and feeling, for the slightest moment, spiteful enough to want to take a leak. On it. But no, no no no, eyes on the prize, Luci - he flaps his way to the hotel room. The light from inside is spilling out onto the balcony through the open doors and as he lands, gently, amidst the golden glow, the first thing he sees...
Oh.
He pauses. Licks his lips and stares. Elio's a vision. Seated in the armchair and turned fully towards the open door, he's beautifully naked, his hard cock dark between his fingers while he works it at a lazy pace. The champagne glistens on his lips. Lucifer wants nothing more than to lick it off. Folding his wings against his back, he steps through the open doors and heads over, gaze heated and focused and unblinking. He smells of nothing but himself and the fresh air outside, his clothes aren't rumbled and his skin is slightly damp still, like Elio, who's clearly fresh from the shower. Lovely. Lovely, lovely Elio.
He goes to his knees in front of the armchair and looks up at the other man, something higher, deeper and heavier than praise written all over his face. Even like this, he's tall enough to lean in, balancing himself with one hand on each of Elio's naked thighs, thumbs pressing in along his groin. ]
You know, I'd rather smell like you. [ He leans in, breathes against Elio's lips. ] Clean canvas and all that.
He takes flight over the rooftops, spotting the Vatican in the distance and feeling, for the slightest moment, spiteful enough to want to take a leak. On it. But no, no no no, eyes on the prize, Luci - he flaps his way to the hotel room. The light from inside is spilling out onto the balcony through the open doors and as he lands, gently, amidst the golden glow, the first thing he sees...
Oh.
He pauses. Licks his lips and stares. Elio's a vision. Seated in the armchair and turned fully towards the open door, he's beautifully naked, his hard cock dark between his fingers while he works it at a lazy pace. The champagne glistens on his lips. Lucifer wants nothing more than to lick it off. Folding his wings against his back, he steps through the open doors and heads over, gaze heated and focused and unblinking. He smells of nothing but himself and the fresh air outside, his clothes aren't rumbled and his skin is slightly damp still, like Elio, who's clearly fresh from the shower. Lovely. Lovely, lovely Elio.
He goes to his knees in front of the armchair and looks up at the other man, something higher, deeper and heavier than praise written all over his face. Even like this, he's tall enough to lean in, balancing himself with one hand on each of Elio's naked thighs, thumbs pressing in along his groin. ]
You know, I'd rather smell like you. [ He leans in, breathes against Elio's lips. ] Clean canvas and all that.
[ Elio falls asleep surrounded, on all sides embraced, by body, by emotion, and when he wakes up, it's early in the morning, the grayish morning light hasn't fully penetrated the room yet and at that time, he's surrounded as well, though not in the same way. Lucifer's wings have sunk to his sides, huge feathery blankets stretched out, one to the side, the other half-slung over his face and he does that sometimes, it's adorable. And because it's so utterly cute, Elio doesn't notice them immediately, not until he turns his head a bit and glances out into the dimness, finding flickering shadows of people on all sides of the bed, just standing like vertical barriers walling them in, like he'd have to cross through the echoes of people to get to the toilet and have a leak.
Softly, he gasps, shifting atop Lucifer, trying not to wake him immediately, because some part of him, deeply buried and uninvited, knows this is the beginning of the end for them and he doesn't want the other man to wake to that, doesn't want to wake to it himself either. Go away, he wants to tell these shadows on every side, soundless and colorless, he isn't here.
But, of course, the wings tell a different story, don't they? With their light and their size and their feathers that respond to Elio's touch. Lucifer as a whole tells a different story, he is a different story, but Elio hasn't heard all of it yet and it isn't fair! It isn't fair!
Go away, but he doesn't say it, he turns his head slowly, licking his lips and kissing Lucifer's cheek, his breath still smelling like ass and sweat and other sex-related scents. He kisses him again, steals the touch while he can. ]
You have to wake up, love. [ A small pause. Elio breathes, in, out, in. ] I think someone's here for you.
Softly, he gasps, shifting atop Lucifer, trying not to wake him immediately, because some part of him, deeply buried and uninvited, knows this is the beginning of the end for them and he doesn't want the other man to wake to that, doesn't want to wake to it himself either. Go away, he wants to tell these shadows on every side, soundless and colorless, he isn't here.
But, of course, the wings tell a different story, don't they? With their light and their size and their feathers that respond to Elio's touch. Lucifer as a whole tells a different story, he is a different story, but Elio hasn't heard all of it yet and it isn't fair! It isn't fair!
Go away, but he doesn't say it, he turns his head slowly, licking his lips and kissing Lucifer's cheek, his breath still smelling like ass and sweat and other sex-related scents. He kisses him again, steals the touch while he can. ]
You have to wake up, love. [ A small pause. Elio breathes, in, out, in. ] I think someone's here for you.
[ Wake up, Elio tells him, kissing his cheek, silvery ash sticking to his curls, his eyelashes, and he's see-through, is Elio, and it's too cold like this, like someone's left the window open for too long.
He did.
It was him.
Lucifer comes awake slowly, pushing his face against Elio's lips, smelling himself there, along with Elio's own, unique markers. He takes a moment to open his eyes because he doesn't want to know how the dream's bled into the world. For just a moment, he'd like to flee again, to cut his wings off, to tell them all no. It's a part of him that can't he quelled. He does open them, though, seeing a close-up of Elio's cheek, his curls - and in the background, the washed-out contours of something else entirely. He goes very still. I think someone's here for you.
Very gently, he nudges Elio off his back down along his left side, leaving him to find his own purchase against the bed. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he raises his wings high and folds them away into nothing before shifting onto his back and sitting up. Around him, the dead are watching him and he can feel the sadness coming from them in silent waves, something like begging and crying and screaming. He stares them down in turn, his eyes turning glittery-red. They flicker a little in response. Glancing out of the window, he can sense them all over the streets below as well. They're here. Slipped through the open window, didn't they, or maybe they were pulled. ]
Don't worry, darling. [ He runs his hand down Elio's shoulder gently before getting to his feet, naked, still staring at the lost around them, seeing how little they do in response. ] They're untethered. Not demons, just...
[ He pauses in front of one of them, head slightly tilted in thought. ]
He did.
It was him.
Lucifer comes awake slowly, pushing his face against Elio's lips, smelling himself there, along with Elio's own, unique markers. He takes a moment to open his eyes because he doesn't want to know how the dream's bled into the world. For just a moment, he'd like to flee again, to cut his wings off, to tell them all no. It's a part of him that can't he quelled. He does open them, though, seeing a close-up of Elio's cheek, his curls - and in the background, the washed-out contours of something else entirely. He goes very still. I think someone's here for you.
Very gently, he nudges Elio off his back down along his left side, leaving him to find his own purchase against the bed. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he raises his wings high and folds them away into nothing before shifting onto his back and sitting up. Around him, the dead are watching him and he can feel the sadness coming from them in silent waves, something like begging and crying and screaming. He stares them down in turn, his eyes turning glittery-red. They flicker a little in response. Glancing out of the window, he can sense them all over the streets below as well. They're here. Slipped through the open window, didn't they, or maybe they were pulled. ]
Don't worry, darling. [ He runs his hand down Elio's shoulder gently before getting to his feet, naked, still staring at the lost around them, seeing how little they do in response. ] They're untethered. Not demons, just...
[ He pauses in front of one of them, head slightly tilted in thought. ]
[ It's a quiet morning by the small lake in Bordighera when Lucifer touches down on the grassy flats close to the water. He stands still for a brief, brief moment, breathing the air in, the freshness of it. The sounds of birds chirping. A lonely car, approaching in the distance. This is Earth, he thinks, a none-too-small part of him marveling at the sheer concept of it.
Life.
He folds his wings away, ash flickering in the air behind him. Then, he walks. Follows the trail back to the house, the summer home. Elio's Eden and his, too, once upon a time. More than two hundred years ago. It's nothing, obviously, to the span of an immortal existence but right now, he's stepping onto the plane of mortals, isn't he, where even three days can mean a world of difference.
Like, say, the difference between life and death.
On this way to the main door of the house, he pauses again. Just looks at it, that old, Italian villa and the shadows it casts in the early morning light. He remembers days spent here, warm hands, Elio's mouth. His eyes. Taking another deep breath, he feels his spine prickle and turns, knowing exactly what he'll find behind him.
The old man, recently dead, looks desperately sad, his eyes wide and his cheeks wet with tears. Please, he whispers, like they always do, and Lucifer sees how familiar he looks, how achingly well-known. With a soft flick of his hand, he sends the soul surging downwards, through the Earth, further yet, feeling the barrier opening and closing. He thinks about Elio. About Elio, locked in that darkness for thousands and thousands of years. The thought chills him to the core, even now, even after contemplating it for decades.
Then, shoulders set, he walks to the house and knocks on the door. He promised, after all.
He promised. ]
Life.
He folds his wings away, ash flickering in the air behind him. Then, he walks. Follows the trail back to the house, the summer home. Elio's Eden and his, too, once upon a time. More than two hundred years ago. It's nothing, obviously, to the span of an immortal existence but right now, he's stepping onto the plane of mortals, isn't he, where even three days can mean a world of difference.
Like, say, the difference between life and death.
On this way to the main door of the house, he pauses again. Just looks at it, that old, Italian villa and the shadows it casts in the early morning light. He remembers days spent here, warm hands, Elio's mouth. His eyes. Taking another deep breath, he feels his spine prickle and turns, knowing exactly what he'll find behind him.
The old man, recently dead, looks desperately sad, his eyes wide and his cheeks wet with tears. Please, he whispers, like they always do, and Lucifer sees how familiar he looks, how achingly well-known. With a soft flick of his hand, he sends the soul surging downwards, through the Earth, further yet, feeling the barrier opening and closing. He thinks about Elio. About Elio, locked in that darkness for thousands and thousands of years. The thought chills him to the core, even now, even after contemplating it for decades.
Then, shoulders set, he walks to the house and knocks on the door. He promised, after all.
He promised. ]
[ The second night, too, he sits wake from midnight till morning, Miranda having just arrived to take his place. Ollie's still sleeping, she says, tired but strong, your mother's in the kitchen making breakfast, his father has always chosen strong women, Elio's mother is the same way. Italian, granted, but sturdy. Once he loved someone like Elio loved Oliver, his father did, but he never put a gender to them, it's just... Elio wouldn't be surprised. His father was full of hidden depths, nooks and corners Elio only ever had time to glimpse. He was a man who knew many things and now, he's gone.
Elio moves into the kitchen at a slow pace, like someone much older than his thirty-four years, the door to the living room ajar, a glimpse of terrace doors and piano there. He kisses his mother's cheek, grabbing one of the bowls of cut fruit she's been making on the way and sits down at the kitchen table, remembering Lucifer's wings, remembering the blood feathers and the itching. The itch to touch. Always that, with Lucifer. The need for contact.
It's been three days now.
Then, there's a knock on the front door.
His mother turns slowly, reminiscent of Miranda, tired but strong. If it's Giovanni again, we don't need more bread, she says, referring to the baker in town who's been by three times since they returned with his father's body, offering them (mostly non-kosher) baked goods. He means well, they're Jews of discretion, after all, how could he know? Elio nods and leaves his untouched fruit on the table, moving down the hallway to the door, feeling worn. Feeling empty.
Alone.
Though, apparently, someone's now waiting on the other end, right? Elio opens the door, also slowly, everything slowly, about to tell Giovanni thanks, but no thanks, when he looks up - and up and up and it isn't Giovanni at all, it's... it's... A small gasp. ]
Oh. [ He did promise. And he did keep his promise, too. Elio blinks, once, twice, then smiles, wider than he has for days, and meets the other man's eyes. ] I'm so glad to see you, Lucifer.
Elio moves into the kitchen at a slow pace, like someone much older than his thirty-four years, the door to the living room ajar, a glimpse of terrace doors and piano there. He kisses his mother's cheek, grabbing one of the bowls of cut fruit she's been making on the way and sits down at the kitchen table, remembering Lucifer's wings, remembering the blood feathers and the itching. The itch to touch. Always that, with Lucifer. The need for contact.
It's been three days now.
Then, there's a knock on the front door.
His mother turns slowly, reminiscent of Miranda, tired but strong. If it's Giovanni again, we don't need more bread, she says, referring to the baker in town who's been by three times since they returned with his father's body, offering them (mostly non-kosher) baked goods. He means well, they're Jews of discretion, after all, how could he know? Elio nods and leaves his untouched fruit on the table, moving down the hallway to the door, feeling worn. Feeling empty.
Alone.
Though, apparently, someone's now waiting on the other end, right? Elio opens the door, also slowly, everything slowly, about to tell Giovanni thanks, but no thanks, when he looks up - and up and up and it isn't Giovanni at all, it's... it's... A small gasp. ]
Oh. [ He did promise. And he did keep his promise, too. Elio blinks, once, twice, then smiles, wider than he has for days, and meets the other man's eyes. ] I'm so glad to see you, Lucifer.
[ The barrier lets them through with a shimmer and he has a second to wonder at it, at the feel - usually, it feels more akin to ripping a piece of fabric apart (or a flap of skin). This time, it's almost like dust exploding along his arms and wings. It's soundless, undramatic. He doesn't look down at Elio, still cradled safely in his arms, too afraid of what he might see. What this might have done to him, bracelet or not.
He looks around for a place to land, the dark, swirling air above Hell continuing onwards across all horizons, seemingly forever. Below, there are the rooms. The loops. Rocks, cliffs, nothing truly inviting, just cells for guilty souls and barren land, besides. He feels oddly self-conscious, really, like he's invited his lover into an uncleaned, messy house. Lip curling, he feels Hell reaching out to him in greeting and he thinks about a safe landing in response, a place which he can actually allow Elio's feet to touch.
And then, out of nowhere, a precipice-like rock formation appears many feet below, stretching upwards from the ground at least a hundred feet. It's narrow but big enough, he sees, for him to land comfortably. Like a... helicopter pad, almost, which is flat-out ridiculous. He holds Elio closer, glaring at the new protrusion mistrustfully but then again, he can go down or they can go back. No point in the latter.
So he touches down on the rocky surface, setting Elio onto it and waiting for him to find his feet. He can feel Hell responding to them both in a way that feels distinctively strange, unfamiliar. But Elio is breathing, he can tell, and he's whole.
They've made it this far. ]
He looks around for a place to land, the dark, swirling air above Hell continuing onwards across all horizons, seemingly forever. Below, there are the rooms. The loops. Rocks, cliffs, nothing truly inviting, just cells for guilty souls and barren land, besides. He feels oddly self-conscious, really, like he's invited his lover into an uncleaned, messy house. Lip curling, he feels Hell reaching out to him in greeting and he thinks about a safe landing in response, a place which he can actually allow Elio's feet to touch.
And then, out of nowhere, a precipice-like rock formation appears many feet below, stretching upwards from the ground at least a hundred feet. It's narrow but big enough, he sees, for him to land comfortably. Like a... helicopter pad, almost, which is flat-out ridiculous. He holds Elio closer, glaring at the new protrusion mistrustfully but then again, he can go down or they can go back. No point in the latter.
So he touches down on the rocky surface, setting Elio onto it and waiting for him to find his feet. He can feel Hell responding to them both in a way that feels distinctively strange, unfamiliar. But Elio is breathing, he can tell, and he's whole.
They've made it this far. ]
[ Elio doesn't know how to describe it. How do you describe more or less disappearing into the ground, but the ground is a barrier, not an ending point, as it is for humans in general? How do you describe the way it seems to ripple around them, as if Lucifer's a stone someone's tossed into water, and they're in another world, another realm? His human brain isn't reeling at the unfamiliarity of it, because Elio has never drawn away from any of Lucifer's othernesses and besides, he's safe and sound in his arms like this, but he's fighting to find the words. Usually, Elio has plenty of those.
But there are no words for Hell.
It's all grays and swirling, ash-filled skies and doors, down below, faint bluish neon-like lights. Split ground and hard, pointy rocks. It doesn't seem very welcoming, but then again, Elio knew it wouldn't be. No war welcomes you, least of all the Devil's war on himself. He tightens his grip in Lucifer's shirt as the man, and man seems the wrong word for him down here, but Elio will continue to use it for convenience, familiarity, and catches sight of a huge rock growing out of the ground, the top flat, like a helicopter pad and it's the first sign of welcome they're shown. Elio thinks they should take it.
Lucifer apparently thinks so, too, touching down with some force, his wings bright and foreign in this landscape. Carefully, Elio feels himself getting put down on the ground, feeling his feet connect with hard surface and he only releases his hold in Lucifer's clothes reluctantly, looking around, feeling ash drip into his hair, getting in his face and that makes him reach up, run a hand through his curls. It comes back with flakes of ash clinging to his skin. He just looks at it for a moment, until he realizes that it's not the ash clinging to him he really notices, it's something else, as if the air itself is latching itself onto his frame. It's heavy. It's a heavy feeling.
It's missed you, Lucifer said about his bracelet. I've missed you too, Elio thinks, really looking.
Around his feet, bluish-translucent grass springs forth. Just a small circle of it, touching his shoes and marking the spot, although Elio doesn't notice right away. ]
But there are no words for Hell.
It's all grays and swirling, ash-filled skies and doors, down below, faint bluish neon-like lights. Split ground and hard, pointy rocks. It doesn't seem very welcoming, but then again, Elio knew it wouldn't be. No war welcomes you, least of all the Devil's war on himself. He tightens his grip in Lucifer's shirt as the man, and man seems the wrong word for him down here, but Elio will continue to use it for convenience, familiarity, and catches sight of a huge rock growing out of the ground, the top flat, like a helicopter pad and it's the first sign of welcome they're shown. Elio thinks they should take it.
Lucifer apparently thinks so, too, touching down with some force, his wings bright and foreign in this landscape. Carefully, Elio feels himself getting put down on the ground, feeling his feet connect with hard surface and he only releases his hold in Lucifer's clothes reluctantly, looking around, feeling ash drip into his hair, getting in his face and that makes him reach up, run a hand through his curls. It comes back with flakes of ash clinging to his skin. He just looks at it for a moment, until he realizes that it's not the ash clinging to him he really notices, it's something else, as if the air itself is latching itself onto his frame. It's heavy. It's a heavy feeling.
It's missed you, Lucifer said about his bracelet. I've missed you too, Elio thinks, really looking.
Around his feet, bluish-translucent grass springs forth. Just a small circle of it, touching his shoes and marking the spot, although Elio doesn't notice right away. ]
Edited 2021-10-17 08:50 (UTC)
[ Once the door falls shut behind Elio (remnants of luminescent blue blossoming all over the doorframe and along the sides of the rocky walls), Lucifer takes flight. He felt it immediately, the challenge emitted from near the throne itself - Hell, calling to him, specifically, the ground trembling.
Whilst he'd been away in L.A. and later, traversing the world with Elio, Hell had lost some of its shape and structure, leaving cracks in the walls and the ground, huge chasms going down into absolute and total blackness. The ground beneath the throne had been coming apart, molten lava sizzling and smoking where the foundation had split. It had been... not unlike the first thousand years, really. The initial years. And his demons, too, had reverted back to something that used to be, to chaos and mayhem, fighting amongst themselves and taking souls apart without any rhyme or reason.
He'd had to re-establish order, of a sort. He'd had to be thorough about it.
But even now, there are those who'll challenge him at the first sign of instability. It's some primal kind of anxiety, presumably, something about striking first because Lucifer did leave them, he did, and as a direct consequence, they - and their home - fell apart at the seams.
So, at the sight of Dromos seated by the foot of the throne, one foot resting provocatively on its rocky foundation, Lucifer doesn't pause to ask questions, doesn't reach for diplomacy of any sort because he knows what they need, even if he wishes he didn't. They're his, after all. Instead, he goes straight for the demon's throat, grabbing him mid-flight and flinging him against the nearest cliffside. Dromos laughs in his face, his black eyes wide and crazed, bloody spittle running down his chin. Hell doesn't need a Queen! he rasps, his sharp teeth glinting. The boy will ruin everything! He'll turn you into a fucking wimp and shit his nasty colours all over the place, disgusting, disgusting! Take him away!
Lucifer deals with him. When he's done, he leaves him sitting by the cliffside, his legs broken, half his face in ruins, and when he heals up, he'll probably behave himself for another hundred years or so. Lucifer pushes him completely and utterly from his mind. Gone. Be gone. The demon winces and whimpers, curling in on himself, incapable of slinking back any further but around him, the others have drawn away and that's really all Lucifer cares about. He notes Maze amongst them, watching him from between the shadows, her half-face expressionless.
He goes to meet Elio by his father's door, blood staining his clothes and hands, realising only when he lands that he really... ought to shower, first. Change his clothes. He turns away, about to take flight again, feeling suddenly exactly as dirty as he looks. ]
Whilst he'd been away in L.A. and later, traversing the world with Elio, Hell had lost some of its shape and structure, leaving cracks in the walls and the ground, huge chasms going down into absolute and total blackness. The ground beneath the throne had been coming apart, molten lava sizzling and smoking where the foundation had split. It had been... not unlike the first thousand years, really. The initial years. And his demons, too, had reverted back to something that used to be, to chaos and mayhem, fighting amongst themselves and taking souls apart without any rhyme or reason.
He'd had to re-establish order, of a sort. He'd had to be thorough about it.
But even now, there are those who'll challenge him at the first sign of instability. It's some primal kind of anxiety, presumably, something about striking first because Lucifer did leave them, he did, and as a direct consequence, they - and their home - fell apart at the seams.
So, at the sight of Dromos seated by the foot of the throne, one foot resting provocatively on its rocky foundation, Lucifer doesn't pause to ask questions, doesn't reach for diplomacy of any sort because he knows what they need, even if he wishes he didn't. They're his, after all. Instead, he goes straight for the demon's throat, grabbing him mid-flight and flinging him against the nearest cliffside. Dromos laughs in his face, his black eyes wide and crazed, bloody spittle running down his chin. Hell doesn't need a Queen! he rasps, his sharp teeth glinting. The boy will ruin everything! He'll turn you into a fucking wimp and shit his nasty colours all over the place, disgusting, disgusting! Take him away!
Lucifer deals with him. When he's done, he leaves him sitting by the cliffside, his legs broken, half his face in ruins, and when he heals up, he'll probably behave himself for another hundred years or so. Lucifer pushes him completely and utterly from his mind. Gone. Be gone. The demon winces and whimpers, curling in on himself, incapable of slinking back any further but around him, the others have drawn away and that's really all Lucifer cares about. He notes Maze amongst them, watching him from between the shadows, her half-face expressionless.
He goes to meet Elio by his father's door, blood staining his clothes and hands, realising only when he lands that he really... ought to shower, first. Change his clothes. He turns away, about to take flight again, feeling suddenly exactly as dirty as he looks. ]
[ He leaves his father's loop easily, nothing attempting to hold him back and he thinks, as he steps out into the hallway beyond, that maybe Lucifer did wish him luck, in his own way, maybe the colors are just all the luck they get for now. The colors and the grass that has spread all over the hallway, still not overtaking the ground completely, but fighting a brave battle in circular patches. Tuffs of it springing forth here and there around his feet. It feels like a carpet beneath the soles of his shoes, old trainers, jeans, t-shirt. Bracelet. He doesn't look much Queen of anything, but then again, this is not the Greek pantheon, he isn't Persephone, their stories simply reflect each other.
Looking up, he catches sight of Lucifer's back, wings out, huge and ash-grey at this point, about to retreat and Elio quickly closes the door behind himself, cutting off his father's groaning, to hurry after him, pushing one hand flat and soft against the arch of one wing. Wait, it means, where are you going? ]
Stay.
[ He notices the blood stains in his clothes before the other man has turned around towards him fully, stepping back enough to leave his wings clean pass, but once they're face to face, his hands are looking pretty beaten up and bloody, too. Elio's gaze softens, he imagines he'd also have liked to change into something clean, something as clean as a conscience, before meeting his lover slash new partner on the job.
But the job is this, obviously. It's blood and cracked foundations and people crying as they try to escape themselves. Elio's seen that now. He's seen that and he isn't afraid of it. Stay, he repeats, more softly this time, shaking his head, knowing some things remain, they can't change that, not yet at least, maybe never, though eternity is a long time, so who really knows, but just because the conditions are what they are, doesn't mean they can't suck and it can't hurt and Lucifer hates not presenting himself at his absolute best. Elio knows. Stepping up to him, he slings his arm around his neck and pulls him down, embracing him tightly.
They're probably still being watched. This is Elio's quiet, but evident fuck you to the eyes that see. He's feeling a little tired himself now, to be honest. It isn't only intimacy for Lucifer's sake. ]
Do you want to talk about it?
[ Any answer acceptable, it means. Otherwise I have other things we can talk about, it means. Leave it to me. ]
Looking up, he catches sight of Lucifer's back, wings out, huge and ash-grey at this point, about to retreat and Elio quickly closes the door behind himself, cutting off his father's groaning, to hurry after him, pushing one hand flat and soft against the arch of one wing. Wait, it means, where are you going? ]
Stay.
[ He notices the blood stains in his clothes before the other man has turned around towards him fully, stepping back enough to leave his wings clean pass, but once they're face to face, his hands are looking pretty beaten up and bloody, too. Elio's gaze softens, he imagines he'd also have liked to change into something clean, something as clean as a conscience, before meeting his lover slash new partner on the job.
But the job is this, obviously. It's blood and cracked foundations and people crying as they try to escape themselves. Elio's seen that now. He's seen that and he isn't afraid of it. Stay, he repeats, more softly this time, shaking his head, knowing some things remain, they can't change that, not yet at least, maybe never, though eternity is a long time, so who really knows, but just because the conditions are what they are, doesn't mean they can't suck and it can't hurt and Lucifer hates not presenting himself at his absolute best. Elio knows. Stepping up to him, he slings his arm around his neck and pulls him down, embracing him tightly.
They're probably still being watched. This is Elio's quiet, but evident fuck you to the eyes that see. He's feeling a little tired himself now, to be honest. It isn't only intimacy for Lucifer's sake. ]
Do you want to talk about it?
[ Any answer acceptable, it means. Otherwise I have other things we can talk about, it means. Leave it to me. ]
[ It's been a decade. Time in Hell hurries, where Earth drags behind, he has thought about his mother continuously since his arrival. How she and Miranda will be preparing for his father's funeral now, alone. With his disappearance on top of everything. It's not truly a sense of guilt as much as it's a sense of mourning, like Elio buries his father a little every time he returns to his hell loop and his mother won't ever know.
I've recited the Kaddish for him, Mama. How many times more do I have to say it for him to find peace?
Other than that, existence here has fallen into a kind of routine. Lucifer carries out his duties and Elio attempts to make sense of his own. So far, only his father's hell loop has beckoned for him, so that's where he goes, dependably every day. Fixes his father's books, reads to him, because it's still all the contact they can manage. Elio reading, his father commenting, but never as a dialogue. Solo. They're two soloists playing over each other, still.
It'll get better, he knows. Hopes. He went there this morning, read Heraclitus before adding a few titles to his father's growing book collection and then, Elio returned to his palace.
Where he is now. The kitchen as it manifests is a big country kitchen, open fireplace, a view of sunflower and lavender fields. Elio's baking pancakes, because his father asked about his mother today, expecting no answer, and he's found the food he makes actually tastes like, well, food. He's newly showered, dressed in a red shirt and a pair of black jeans, more comfortable than most clothes on Earth.
Hell cares for him, he's discovered. That's the blessing. ]
I've recited the Kaddish for him, Mama. How many times more do I have to say it for him to find peace?
Other than that, existence here has fallen into a kind of routine. Lucifer carries out his duties and Elio attempts to make sense of his own. So far, only his father's hell loop has beckoned for him, so that's where he goes, dependably every day. Fixes his father's books, reads to him, because it's still all the contact they can manage. Elio reading, his father commenting, but never as a dialogue. Solo. They're two soloists playing over each other, still.
It'll get better, he knows. Hopes. He went there this morning, read Heraclitus before adding a few titles to his father's growing book collection and then, Elio returned to his palace.
Where he is now. The kitchen as it manifests is a big country kitchen, open fireplace, a view of sunflower and lavender fields. Elio's baking pancakes, because his father asked about his mother today, expecting no answer, and he's found the food he makes actually tastes like, well, food. He's newly showered, dressed in a red shirt and a pair of black jeans, more comfortable than most clothes on Earth.
Hell cares for him, he's discovered. That's the blessing. ]
[ As Amenadiel leaves Hell, his wings beat up swirls of ash in his wake and Lucifer wipes off his suit jacket irritably, feeling wrung inside-out. He's had very few news from above, aside from the knowledge that souls are not, in fact, running amok on the surface of the Earth any longer. Haven't, it seems, for the last day. Day.
Down here, it's been...
He shakes his head. It doesn't matter. What matters is the conversation they had near the end of his visit, his brother and him. About Elio. About the changes he's been bringing to Hell. Trails of luminescent grass, footprints blossoming along the hallways, greenery beginning to crawl along his father's doorway. And what of you, Brother asked Amenadiel, How are you changing?
I'm not, he'd answered. It all turns to dust when I go near it.
To which his brother had looked at him with that particularly infuriating brand of pity, the one that never fails to make Lucifer want to beat him over his stupid, bald head with whatever passes for a shovel around these parts. Do better, Luci, he'd said. Do better by him.
So, Lucifer enters Elio's palace for the first time in quite a while, aware that he's been trying not to visit too often, trying not to... well. Not to ruin things, as he seems predestined to do at every possible turn. But of course, down here these things are probably connected, meaning when the grass withers in response to him, he's basically ruining Elio's efforts, his traces.
Obviously not acceptable.
He follows the delicious scent of cooking to the kitchen, folding his wings away to avoid another ash-fall and entering, pausing briefly at the sight of Elio in his red shirt and black jeans, his slim built and casual stance making him feel even hungrier than the scent of food. He licks his lips. ]
Hello, darling.
[ Crossing to the counter, he stops there and leans against it. ]
Down here, it's been...
He shakes his head. It doesn't matter. What matters is the conversation they had near the end of his visit, his brother and him. About Elio. About the changes he's been bringing to Hell. Trails of luminescent grass, footprints blossoming along the hallways, greenery beginning to crawl along his father's doorway. And what of you, Brother asked Amenadiel, How are you changing?
I'm not, he'd answered. It all turns to dust when I go near it.
To which his brother had looked at him with that particularly infuriating brand of pity, the one that never fails to make Lucifer want to beat him over his stupid, bald head with whatever passes for a shovel around these parts. Do better, Luci, he'd said. Do better by him.
So, Lucifer enters Elio's palace for the first time in quite a while, aware that he's been trying not to visit too often, trying not to... well. Not to ruin things, as he seems predestined to do at every possible turn. But of course, down here these things are probably connected, meaning when the grass withers in response to him, he's basically ruining Elio's efforts, his traces.
Obviously not acceptable.
He follows the delicious scent of cooking to the kitchen, folding his wings away to avoid another ash-fall and entering, pausing briefly at the sight of Elio in his red shirt and black jeans, his slim built and casual stance making him feel even hungrier than the scent of food. He licks his lips. ]
Hello, darling.
[ Crossing to the counter, he stops there and leans against it. ]
[ It's only taken them a minute to reach his father's door, because when Lucifer says he doesn't know, he senses, what he means it that he senses it so strongly that a trip which would have taken Elio half an hour normally takes the both of them together about three steps, give or take. Having left the door open behind himself to let Lucifer in, Elio steps inside with a familiar, hello Papa, looking around. The loop pauses, then, the demon playing the Woman filtering out the door all but in a hurry, so it's only Elio and his father there. Well, Elio and his father and Lucifer, the King of Hell. Elio is so used to silence at this point, that he starts checking out the bookshelves, tall wooden structures taking up the entire end wall now, the hotel room looking much more homely than you'd usually find it. The armchair has yet to manifest, but Elio knows it will once he needs it. Once the reading starts.
Because the reading will start, the reading always does.
Elio grabs Medea off the top shelf, almost out of reach, but only almost, and turns towards Lucifer, still glancing sideways at his father, sitting on the edge of the bed, the way he usually does. One time he got up and Elio had almost embraced him, only to find him turning away, looking towards the door through which the Woman had disappeared and marveling out loud, like the water of the stream, who said that, Elio. Elio had answered, Heraclitus, Papa and waited, but nothing more came of it. He'd waited a long time, too. A long time. ]
This is how far I can get right now. Even when we talk, we don't really converse. [ And to show what he means, Elio looks over at his father and says, pleasantly. ] Do we, Papa?
[ As per usual, his father doesn't answer. His eyes are fixed on Lucifer. Lucifer who looks strangely at home in the middle of Samuel Perlman's regrets and Elio grabs the English translation of Medea between both hands, like an anchor, looking at the other man through his father's eyes for a second. The Punisher. A cock of his head and he feels a weird sense of unrest, like something is shuffling beneath his feet, although nothing happens. The hotel floors remain hotel floors. The bookshelves still stand.
But something has changed, Elio's sure of it. ]
Because the reading will start, the reading always does.
Elio grabs Medea off the top shelf, almost out of reach, but only almost, and turns towards Lucifer, still glancing sideways at his father, sitting on the edge of the bed, the way he usually does. One time he got up and Elio had almost embraced him, only to find him turning away, looking towards the door through which the Woman had disappeared and marveling out loud, like the water of the stream, who said that, Elio. Elio had answered, Heraclitus, Papa and waited, but nothing more came of it. He'd waited a long time, too. A long time. ]
This is how far I can get right now. Even when we talk, we don't really converse. [ And to show what he means, Elio looks over at his father and says, pleasantly. ] Do we, Papa?
[ As per usual, his father doesn't answer. His eyes are fixed on Lucifer. Lucifer who looks strangely at home in the middle of Samuel Perlman's regrets and Elio grabs the English translation of Medea between both hands, like an anchor, looking at the other man through his father's eyes for a second. The Punisher. A cock of his head and he feels a weird sense of unrest, like something is shuffling beneath his feet, although nothing happens. The hotel floors remain hotel floors. The bookshelves still stand.
But something has changed, Elio's sure of it. ]
[ He calls for the loop and it calls back to him, loudly enough that it doesn't take him any sort of time, locating the appropriate door. Sometimes, it'll be a bit more of a struggle. Perhaps Elio's footsteps emphasize the call somehow - as they step inside, it certainly feels different, even as Belios in an admittedly attractive human form gets to its feet and scurries out. That part, too, is new. Usually, the demons will remain to do their jobs unless he specifically excuses them.
Clearly, they are meant to be here alone, him and Elio and the soul sitting on the edge of the bed. He's a slim man, too, Elio's father. Shorter by a few inches, it seems. Right now, he looks frail, like he's stepped out of his mortal coil late enough in the process to bring aspects of his death with him into the afterlife. Elio, meanwhile, has grabbed a book off the shelf and Lucifer pauses at the sight of them. They feel new, somehow. Unblemished. Meaning, no doubt, Elio's created them and now, they manifest for him when he enters.
The loop, responding in kind.
Curious. ]
Obviously, I can't speak for you.
[ He glances at Elio before he moves closer to the bed. The man - Elio's father - watches him warily, though he doesn't look particularly afraid. Of course, he wouldn't be. Elio is definitely his son. ]
Usually, my presence in the loops exists on a spectrum, I suppose you could say. From completely unseen to completely present, interactive. This is up to me. Like so:
[ He pauses in front of Elio's father, only a couple of feet away. The man is looking directly at him, clearly sensing his presence, understanding that there's something here of significance. Lucifer amps it up a fraction and then, then and there, Elio's father blinks and steps back just half a step, looking up at him like he's coming out of a trance. "I --" he says, then stops. His gaze jumps sideways, over Lucifer's shoulder.
A complicated set of emotions swipe across his features.
"Elio," he says, and there's something in his voice that makes Lucifer take an instant liking to him which, hey, that's awesome, he's his frickin' father-in-law, isn't he? Thank Dad he isn't an arsehole like the rest of the men in Elio's life. He'd had to, what, tie him to a boulder and sent it hurtling down a cliff otherwise, what a sad predicament for everybody involved.
Instead, Lucifer watches Elio's father, wondering why the nether layers of his loop feel... oddly out of bounds. ]
Clearly, they are meant to be here alone, him and Elio and the soul sitting on the edge of the bed. He's a slim man, too, Elio's father. Shorter by a few inches, it seems. Right now, he looks frail, like he's stepped out of his mortal coil late enough in the process to bring aspects of his death with him into the afterlife. Elio, meanwhile, has grabbed a book off the shelf and Lucifer pauses at the sight of them. They feel new, somehow. Unblemished. Meaning, no doubt, Elio's created them and now, they manifest for him when he enters.
The loop, responding in kind.
Curious. ]
Obviously, I can't speak for you.
[ He glances at Elio before he moves closer to the bed. The man - Elio's father - watches him warily, though he doesn't look particularly afraid. Of course, he wouldn't be. Elio is definitely his son. ]
Usually, my presence in the loops exists on a spectrum, I suppose you could say. From completely unseen to completely present, interactive. This is up to me. Like so:
[ He pauses in front of Elio's father, only a couple of feet away. The man is looking directly at him, clearly sensing his presence, understanding that there's something here of significance. Lucifer amps it up a fraction and then, then and there, Elio's father blinks and steps back just half a step, looking up at him like he's coming out of a trance. "I --" he says, then stops. His gaze jumps sideways, over Lucifer's shoulder.
A complicated set of emotions swipe across his features.
"Elio," he says, and there's something in his voice that makes Lucifer take an instant liking to him which, hey, that's awesome, he's his frickin' father-in-law, isn't he? Thank Dad he isn't an arsehole like the rest of the men in Elio's life. He'd had to, what, tie him to a boulder and sent it hurtling down a cliff otherwise, what a sad predicament for everybody involved.
Instead, Lucifer watches Elio's father, wondering why the nether layers of his loop feel... oddly out of bounds. ]
[ It's later, midnight judging by the depth of the darkness coloring the skies outside his bedroom's windows. There are stars blinking down at him, a full moon, beautiful illustrations of time passing in a way that doesn't work outside Elio's own realm, of course. Once he steps out of his palace, the skies are ashen and the darkness much deeper than midnight, there's no difference between morning and evening, no sense of hours, minutes, seconds. Only eternity, stretching on and on. He likes that, too, but his own realm recognizes the clock, if nothing else then because it's beautiful to look at and easier for his system to adjust to. On Earth, time is a mentality as well. One he has found it difficult to rid himself of - so Hell has made sure he didn't have to.
Lucifer has.
Elio still has the Moonlight Sonata prickling in his fingers. In the end, he'd played the whole thing for his father, because as he'd let the music unfold inside the loop, he'd felt the top layer crack open, egg-like. Suddenly, halfway through the third movement, the door that the Lord of Hell himself has struggled with, fought and lost against and torn right off, opened and Elio had finished the sonata, only to leave it like that.
The thing is, he thinks, that he can't go deeper without Lucifer. He needs to be guided, to understand what he's looking at to isolate the elements that need tweaking. Elio's here to tweak, not to break down, after all, it's becoming clearer and clearer. And it's what Lucifer still struggles to accept, that everything's already here, right, everything they need in order to change Hell. Elio only shapes what's already present. The rest is Lucifer's own doing. The rest is all him.
Hanging his shirt away in the huge walk-in closet on the right, Elio starts in on the button of his pants, zipper, wriggles out of them easily, back on the door. No one comes here anyway that isn't allowed, Terry makes sure of that. Sometimes with Maze's help, because she doesn't trust him with the task.
Not trusting people to be fit for their tasks seems a common problem down here, doesn't it? Elio takes a deep breath, releases it, lets his pants fall to the floor. ]
Lucifer has.
Elio still has the Moonlight Sonata prickling in his fingers. In the end, he'd played the whole thing for his father, because as he'd let the music unfold inside the loop, he'd felt the top layer crack open, egg-like. Suddenly, halfway through the third movement, the door that the Lord of Hell himself has struggled with, fought and lost against and torn right off, opened and Elio had finished the sonata, only to leave it like that.
The thing is, he thinks, that he can't go deeper without Lucifer. He needs to be guided, to understand what he's looking at to isolate the elements that need tweaking. Elio's here to tweak, not to break down, after all, it's becoming clearer and clearer. And it's what Lucifer still struggles to accept, that everything's already here, right, everything they need in order to change Hell. Elio only shapes what's already present. The rest is Lucifer's own doing. The rest is all him.
Hanging his shirt away in the huge walk-in closet on the right, Elio starts in on the button of his pants, zipper, wriggles out of them easily, back on the door. No one comes here anyway that isn't allowed, Terry makes sure of that. Sometimes with Maze's help, because she doesn't trust him with the task.
Not trusting people to be fit for their tasks seems a common problem down here, doesn't it? Elio takes a deep breath, releases it, lets his pants fall to the floor. ]
[ He's had a bit of a fight with Grigori, a demon not of the Lilim but strong enough to grow arrogant. Perhaps he'd also become used to a Hell without its ruler - to be fair, Lucifer hasn't visited the deeper parts of the realm since he left for L.A., back when. It's been ages. Millenia.
So, when Grigori heard the tones of the Moonlight Sonata trailing down even to the deepest pits of Hell where the white rooms are, where souls are torn to pieces and spat out, the demon instantly began to sow dissent amongst its ranks. Naturally, all that gibberish made its way to Mazikeen who took it back to Lucifer once she realised that there were talks of somebody going rogue, of queen-napping.
Grigori, happily, put up a semi-decent fight and when Lucifer returns to his throne, he's got a nice, foot-long gash running up his left side, courtesy of the demon's stolen, Hell-forged blade. Good for him he didn't steal it from Maze, supposedly. With Lucifer, he mostly just lost the power of speech, sight and movement.
In Hell, it can always be worse.
Slumping a bit on his throne, Lucifer closes his eyes for a moment, the tones of Beethoven's masterpiece still echoing in his mind. Beautiful. Then, abruptly, his spine starts tingling and he looks up to see a door etched onto the cliff side further down, all alone, all pretty and white and French-looking. Elio's pet demon is clinging to the handle, looking thoroughly disgruntled. Lucifer tilts his head sideways, stares at the door for a moment, feeling something inside soften at the sight. It takes him another few seconds to properly identify the feeling, the tension in his shoulders and back dissipating a fraction. Then, he spreads his ashen wings and flies, ignoring the demon (lucky demon) and slipping in.
Right into Elio's bedroom, it seems.
He pauses. Stares at the glory in front of him.
Elio, naked, slim lines and soft-looking skin, the moonlight silvery as it flows in through the windows. ]
Oh.
[ He just stands there, his wings curved down his shoulders and his mouth a tiny bit agape. ]
So, when Grigori heard the tones of the Moonlight Sonata trailing down even to the deepest pits of Hell where the white rooms are, where souls are torn to pieces and spat out, the demon instantly began to sow dissent amongst its ranks. Naturally, all that gibberish made its way to Mazikeen who took it back to Lucifer once she realised that there were talks of somebody going rogue, of queen-napping.
Grigori, happily, put up a semi-decent fight and when Lucifer returns to his throne, he's got a nice, foot-long gash running up his left side, courtesy of the demon's stolen, Hell-forged blade. Good for him he didn't steal it from Maze, supposedly. With Lucifer, he mostly just lost the power of speech, sight and movement.
In Hell, it can always be worse.
Slumping a bit on his throne, Lucifer closes his eyes for a moment, the tones of Beethoven's masterpiece still echoing in his mind. Beautiful. Then, abruptly, his spine starts tingling and he looks up to see a door etched onto the cliff side further down, all alone, all pretty and white and French-looking. Elio's pet demon is clinging to the handle, looking thoroughly disgruntled. Lucifer tilts his head sideways, stares at the door for a moment, feeling something inside soften at the sight. It takes him another few seconds to properly identify the feeling, the tension in his shoulders and back dissipating a fraction. Then, he spreads his ashen wings and flies, ignoring the demon (lucky demon) and slipping in.
Right into Elio's bedroom, it seems.
He pauses. Stares at the glory in front of him.
Elio, naked, slim lines and soft-looking skin, the moonlight silvery as it flows in through the windows. ]
Oh.
[ He just stands there, his wings curved down his shoulders and his mouth a tiny bit agape. ]
[ On all accounts, it could've been a decently boring process, fixing some damage to the Southern Rockside with Maze by his side. It's taken them less than an hour, in total, the trip to the area and setting things right - it happens, sometimes, this degradation and unfortunately, it messes up the surrounding hell loops which, honestly, is there a janitor around?! Shouldn't there be?
Anyway, they're done and then, before they can even think about returning, Asmodeus - named after the actual Asmodeus, though nowhere near as attractive or sensual - catches up to them, panting from exertion, telling them that Grigori has abducted Elio to the deeper pits, down where the fires used to burn when the place was younger. We were told by the lower demon, Tiharire, my Lord, he says, Obviously, it could not protect the Queen.
From there, it gets blurry.
He's in the air and then, he goes down, the ground parting, smashing itself to pieces around him to clear the path. Behind him, he senses Maze near his shoulder and when he reaches out to grab her neck, his hand is big, clawed, the skin a burning, smoldering red. Round them up, he growls, the traitors! and then, he forgets about her.
Instead, he finds Elio because Hell wants nothing more at that moment, it tears itself down to discover his whereabouts and as he descents upon the cave-like structures of the Deeper Regions, the ground smokes, then catches fire. He walks right through, the air red-hot in his wake. One demon - not Grigori but equally guilty and a lot more doomed than it's ever been before - runs up to him, gesticulating wildly and dropping to its knees with its arms outstretched. You're back, my Lord it cries, sounding fucking well ecstatic and Lucifer reaches down, grabs it by the skull and watches as its body melts, top-first, skin and bone and flesh smoking. Another demon tries to flee over the rocks and falls as Hell crumbles beneath it. Lucifer watches dispassionately as it falls away, screeching, gone.
Good.
He stalks towards the cave opening. Grigori is nowhere to be seen and he'll deal with it, he'll deal with it exactly as he ought to. Right now, however, he focuses only on getting to Elio who's... been strung up by his wrists, one of them clearly broken, one side of his head splattered in dried blood. He stares. Stares. His wings arch out to either side of him and his hands curl into fists and it doesn't even occur to him what he must look like to the other man, not even as he strides over to him, grabbing onto the chain linking Elio's cuffs. It turns to dust between his claws. ]
Anyway, they're done and then, before they can even think about returning, Asmodeus - named after the actual Asmodeus, though nowhere near as attractive or sensual - catches up to them, panting from exertion, telling them that Grigori has abducted Elio to the deeper pits, down where the fires used to burn when the place was younger. We were told by the lower demon, Tiharire, my Lord, he says, Obviously, it could not protect the Queen.
From there, it gets blurry.
He's in the air and then, he goes down, the ground parting, smashing itself to pieces around him to clear the path. Behind him, he senses Maze near his shoulder and when he reaches out to grab her neck, his hand is big, clawed, the skin a burning, smoldering red. Round them up, he growls, the traitors! and then, he forgets about her.
Instead, he finds Elio because Hell wants nothing more at that moment, it tears itself down to discover his whereabouts and as he descents upon the cave-like structures of the Deeper Regions, the ground smokes, then catches fire. He walks right through, the air red-hot in his wake. One demon - not Grigori but equally guilty and a lot more doomed than it's ever been before - runs up to him, gesticulating wildly and dropping to its knees with its arms outstretched. You're back, my Lord it cries, sounding fucking well ecstatic and Lucifer reaches down, grabs it by the skull and watches as its body melts, top-first, skin and bone and flesh smoking. Another demon tries to flee over the rocks and falls as Hell crumbles beneath it. Lucifer watches dispassionately as it falls away, screeching, gone.
Good.
He stalks towards the cave opening. Grigori is nowhere to be seen and he'll deal with it, he'll deal with it exactly as he ought to. Right now, however, he focuses only on getting to Elio who's... been strung up by his wrists, one of them clearly broken, one side of his head splattered in dried blood. He stares. Stares. His wings arch out to either side of him and his hands curl into fists and it doesn't even occur to him what he must look like to the other man, not even as he strides over to him, grabbing onto the chain linking Elio's cuffs. It turns to dust between his claws. ]
[ Of course Elio can’t say how long it’s been. Time in Hell doesn’t tick by in straight lines, it smolders and degenerates, like the place its keeping track of, right, but it feels like quite a while. His wrist has been throbbing many, many times. It’s the only kind of count he’s been able to keep. The demons have filtered in and out of his line of vision, but he hasn’t bothered to turn his head after them, only stubbornly stared straight ahead, patiently, waiting. He knows the demons are waiting, too, and he knows they are waiting for completely different things. Elio isn’t waiting for the Devil, he’s waiting for Lucifer and if he gets the Devil in addition, that’s how it’ll have to be, supposedly. No king would take something like this lightly. Lucifer in particular. His feelings are always ablaze.
And thus, when he arrives, in his Devil form, so Elio gets both in the end, Lucifer the Punisher, he’s ablaze - or the ground is, fire rising from the stone wherever he sets foot, smoking and smelling like destruction, like lava. The rock tears and crumbles. One demon flees and falls which seems to be a common theme among the rock walls leading down to the pits. Someone fell first, after all, and the rest must follow after him, Elio imagines. The other demon, the smaller one, literally falls apart between Lucifer’s hands, as he grabs him by the skull, melting him into nothing and it’s to nothing demons return. Elio watches the inferno and realizes that he should probably be terrified. The being that comes over to him, turning the chains that link his hands into dust is the personification of everything any religious person learns to hate, fear.
In themselves, though. This is Lucifer, it’s got nothing to do with him. He’s just angry. He’s just feeling, tangibly.
Once the other man, Devil this time around, releases him from his chains, Elio pulls his broken wrist to his chest, letting it find a more natural angle, wincing at the stabs of pain. Oh, it hurts. He’s never broken a limb before. His system is left cold, shocked to its core and Elio hardly even feels the heat emitting from Lucifer’s whole body. He sees it, though, the charred skin, fiery red, heatwaves around him, huge bat-like wings flaring, more a scare tactic than a protective one. He goes for a smile, but it’s weak. Holding out his un-injured hand, he looks up into Lucifer’s face, his head bald, his eyes red. To match the rest. He always liked color coordination, always had a good sense for it. Lucifer. ]
Please - [ A heavy intake of breath at another sharp pang of pain. Give me a hand, it’s yours, I want to touch it, it means. I’m feeling a little shaky. ] - help me to my feet.
And thus, when he arrives, in his Devil form, so Elio gets both in the end, Lucifer the Punisher, he’s ablaze - or the ground is, fire rising from the stone wherever he sets foot, smoking and smelling like destruction, like lava. The rock tears and crumbles. One demon flees and falls which seems to be a common theme among the rock walls leading down to the pits. Someone fell first, after all, and the rest must follow after him, Elio imagines. The other demon, the smaller one, literally falls apart between Lucifer’s hands, as he grabs him by the skull, melting him into nothing and it’s to nothing demons return. Elio watches the inferno and realizes that he should probably be terrified. The being that comes over to him, turning the chains that link his hands into dust is the personification of everything any religious person learns to hate, fear.
In themselves, though. This is Lucifer, it’s got nothing to do with him. He’s just angry. He’s just feeling, tangibly.
Once the other man, Devil this time around, releases him from his chains, Elio pulls his broken wrist to his chest, letting it find a more natural angle, wincing at the stabs of pain. Oh, it hurts. He’s never broken a limb before. His system is left cold, shocked to its core and Elio hardly even feels the heat emitting from Lucifer’s whole body. He sees it, though, the charred skin, fiery red, heatwaves around him, huge bat-like wings flaring, more a scare tactic than a protective one. He goes for a smile, but it’s weak. Holding out his un-injured hand, he looks up into Lucifer’s face, his head bald, his eyes red. To match the rest. He always liked color coordination, always had a good sense for it. Lucifer. ]
Please - [ A heavy intake of breath at another sharp pang of pain. Give me a hand, it’s yours, I want to touch it, it means. I’m feeling a little shaky. ] - help me to my feet.
Page 2 of 3