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[ After the abduction, the queen-napping, Elio's health has taken a turn for the worse. He's never been sickly, not aside from the occasional nosebleed or foot cramp, so it's a new way of experiencing his body. This uncooperative. The first couple of weeks, he continued to visit his father's hell loop, walking over lava pits and scorched ground to get there, his flowers and grass failing to sprout forth and like that, he quickly realized he couldn't do anything for him anymore, all his powers in that regard seemed dormant, slumbering far below the surface, out of reach. He knows they're there, the palace still responds, even if more faintly now, they're just not... readily available. Meanwhile, he got gradually more tired, more exhausted, stayed in bed longer, slept more. Paler. Ghostly.
Lucifer had insisted on flying him back to Earth and although Elio had protested, there's only so much you can do when the King of Hell has decided something's the right course of action, the only right course, even. But as they'd taken to the sky, the barrier hadn't opened and Lucifer had almost flown him headfirst into it in his frustration.
Which means, he's trapped here. He's trapped in Hell, more and more surely declining.
They're whispering words like death and end among themselves, he knows, the demons, though very quietly, because they don't want Lucifer to hear currently, not with Grigori stirring in a pit of tar outside. And Elio knows he should probably be afraid, but he isn't. Worried, sure, but not truly afraid.
He doesn't think this is endgame, it's a step on the way. He wasn't blessed for nothing.
It's been how long now? Time in Hell doesn't count itself, so Elio doesn't know. Years. He's sitting in bed, the sky outside dark and starlit, untouched by fire pillars and the like. Lucifer, still in his Devil form, he can't get out of it any longer, is sitting near the headboard of his bed, on the floor, guarding him. Always guarding him. Elio is reading Catullus, though he's less reading as blinking stupidly at the small text, even these short poems an insurmountable hill to climb at this point. Eventually, he sighs, letting the book slip into his lap, covered in a duvet. ]
However much I'd like to read about Catullus' lust for Juventius, I think it's a lost cause.
[ Leaning his head back, he plays with the edge of a page idly. After a long minute of quiet, a slow turn of his head. He looks over Lucifer's face, his strong shoulders, firm chest. His expression softens. ]
Lucifer had insisted on flying him back to Earth and although Elio had protested, there's only so much you can do when the King of Hell has decided something's the right course of action, the only right course, even. But as they'd taken to the sky, the barrier hadn't opened and Lucifer had almost flown him headfirst into it in his frustration.
Which means, he's trapped here. He's trapped in Hell, more and more surely declining.
They're whispering words like death and end among themselves, he knows, the demons, though very quietly, because they don't want Lucifer to hear currently, not with Grigori stirring in a pit of tar outside. And Elio knows he should probably be afraid, but he isn't. Worried, sure, but not truly afraid.
He doesn't think this is endgame, it's a step on the way. He wasn't blessed for nothing.
It's been how long now? Time in Hell doesn't count itself, so Elio doesn't know. Years. He's sitting in bed, the sky outside dark and starlit, untouched by fire pillars and the like. Lucifer, still in his Devil form, he can't get out of it any longer, is sitting near the headboard of his bed, on the floor, guarding him. Always guarding him. Elio is reading Catullus, though he's less reading as blinking stupidly at the small text, even these short poems an insurmountable hill to climb at this point. Eventually, he sighs, letting the book slip into his lap, covered in a duvet. ]
However much I'd like to read about Catullus' lust for Juventius, I think it's a lost cause.
[ Leaning his head back, he plays with the edge of a page idly. After a long minute of quiet, a slow turn of his head. He looks over Lucifer's face, his strong shoulders, firm chest. His expression softens. ]
[ He can't quite remember when he last left the palace - at this point, he feels as if his body's growing its own roots into the very foundation of Elio's home, of this place that used to shimmer into whichever shape or purpose the other man desired. It doesn't listen quite as readily anymore, just as the Hell loops have ceased changing or sprouting luminescent greens in the wake of his presence. Instead, there's Elio, here, on his bed, growing weaker and weaker with each passing day and Lucifer doesn't want to leave, so he stays, locked inside his Devil form and trying not to feel his own, damnable hopelessness.
He can't even fly him back to Earth. In retrospect, the idea seems absurd - he brought Elio down here, didn't he, allowed him to stay for decades and decades, allowed himself to be loved by him, to...
Anyway, of course he can't get all that for free. There was always going to be a price and as is true in Lucifer's life, in everything his Father has touched to punish him or to show him humility, someone else is going to suffer as a consequence. There's anger associated with the thought, obviously, but these days it's something not unlike the molten rivers of lava seeping through the chasms miles below the surface outside. It's slow, grinding, unyielding. And Hell, once more, burns in its wake.
At Elio's comment - his voice too soft these days - Lucifer shrugs with one shoulder and leans back against the bed. Holds out one, clawed hand in his direction and turns his head to meet Elio's eyes further up. He looks so tired, like the exhaustion's bone-deep. ]
Let me see.
[ His voice is growly, still, though it's gaining nuances the more he uses it in Elio's company where anger or commands are useless. Instead, there's softness. Gentleness.
Quiet. ]
He can't even fly him back to Earth. In retrospect, the idea seems absurd - he brought Elio down here, didn't he, allowed him to stay for decades and decades, allowed himself to be loved by him, to...
Anyway, of course he can't get all that for free. There was always going to be a price and as is true in Lucifer's life, in everything his Father has touched to punish him or to show him humility, someone else is going to suffer as a consequence. There's anger associated with the thought, obviously, but these days it's something not unlike the molten rivers of lava seeping through the chasms miles below the surface outside. It's slow, grinding, unyielding. And Hell, once more, burns in its wake.
At Elio's comment - his voice too soft these days - Lucifer shrugs with one shoulder and leans back against the bed. Holds out one, clawed hand in his direction and turns his head to meet Elio's eyes further up. He looks so tired, like the exhaustion's bone-deep. ]
Let me see.
[ His voice is growly, still, though it's gaining nuances the more he uses it in Elio's company where anger or commands are useless. Instead, there's softness. Gentleness.
Quiet. ]
[ Elio wasn’t fishing for a favor, he wasn’t implying that he wanted Lucifer to read to him, but if Lucifer is offering, neither is he going to refuse. He likes the other man’s voice like this, he likes how he can hear the change around them in it, the fire and brimstone simmering away into implications, the same way that Elio’s powers are mere traces now. Smiling gratefully regardlessly, he reaches for the book, a side-by-side Latin and English reader, and hands it over to Lucifer, to his claws and to his charred palms, burned fingers, their fingertips brushing as Lucifer accepts the book like it was his own, although the King of Hell has always struck Elio as happier snorting coke off super models than buried in the textual evidence of bisexuality, first century BC. What use does the Devil have of that anyway, he was no doubt around Earth first century BC, feeling the proof as a physical reality. Orgies and such, Elio thinks. Smiling.
Still, this is Elio’s comfort pastime, the milk he grew up on as the professor’s son, always reading, inevitably learning, listening to the academical discussions his father had with the friends and the colleagues that were always visiting, dropping by, calling on the phone. Elio loves literature almost as much as he loves music. And he loves Antiquity the way you love your stepbrother, because your father loved him first, right?
So he looks Lucifer over, Lucifer with the book, the columns of text, English and Latin, thinking it is one of the most tender sights he’s ever encountered. Maybe because it’s his alone. ]
You decide what language to read it. [ He doesn’t sound like he’s showing off as much as he’s encouraging him. Besides, the meter sounds better in the original. No translations do it justice.
Not to mention, he’s too tired for any such shows of pride. ] I’m almost equally fluent in both.
Still, this is Elio’s comfort pastime, the milk he grew up on as the professor’s son, always reading, inevitably learning, listening to the academical discussions his father had with the friends and the colleagues that were always visiting, dropping by, calling on the phone. Elio loves literature almost as much as he loves music. And he loves Antiquity the way you love your stepbrother, because your father loved him first, right?
So he looks Lucifer over, Lucifer with the book, the columns of text, English and Latin, thinking it is one of the most tender sights he’s ever encountered. Maybe because it’s his alone. ]
You decide what language to read it. [ He doesn’t sound like he’s showing off as much as he’s encouraging him. Besides, the meter sounds better in the original. No translations do it justice.
Not to mention, he’s too tired for any such shows of pride. ] I’m almost equally fluent in both.
[ It's hard to say how much time has passed when Lucifer finally ventures out beyond the palace again. With Elio's condition gradually worsening, he's been standing guard by his bed ceaselessly, the other man's demon servant Terry keeping its distance now, wary of getting in the way. Of what, Lucifer doesn't quite know at this point. Elio's not getting better.
These days, he's mostly just asleep.
Ever since his last attempt to take them past the barrier, only to be slapped back, nearly injuring Elio in the process, Lucifer's simply taken it for granted that the door had been shut, that the power to open it, to leave, had been permanently stripped from him. Hell, after all, has always been a jail. A punishment. And what a fitting punishment for God's only, declared opponent, isn't it, the God that doesn't believe in free will or in choice or in anyone's right to individual happiness? Having to watch the only being he'll ever love waste away without any means to save him and naturally, letting Elio feel it every step of the way, just because he's been so foolish as to love Lucifer back.
But as he steps outside, gaze dark and wings arched behind him, he feels it. The shift. Gasping, he takes off, his wings slapping harshly through the air.
The barrier is no longer locked.
He stares at it for all of a couple of seconds before charging back, head nearly blank from a sudden rush of panic - nownownownow - and the process of grabbing Elio, folding him tightly in his covers and cradling him close to his chest happens in a blur. Wordlessly, he holds him as gently as he can manage and takes off, shooting upwards through ash and falling embers, wings beating rapidly. ]
These days, he's mostly just asleep.
Ever since his last attempt to take them past the barrier, only to be slapped back, nearly injuring Elio in the process, Lucifer's simply taken it for granted that the door had been shut, that the power to open it, to leave, had been permanently stripped from him. Hell, after all, has always been a jail. A punishment. And what a fitting punishment for God's only, declared opponent, isn't it, the God that doesn't believe in free will or in choice or in anyone's right to individual happiness? Having to watch the only being he'll ever love waste away without any means to save him and naturally, letting Elio feel it every step of the way, just because he's been so foolish as to love Lucifer back.
But as he steps outside, gaze dark and wings arched behind him, he feels it. The shift. Gasping, he takes off, his wings slapping harshly through the air.
The barrier is no longer locked.
He stares at it for all of a couple of seconds before charging back, head nearly blank from a sudden rush of panic - nownownownow - and the process of grabbing Elio, folding him tightly in his covers and cradling him close to his chest happens in a blur. Wordlessly, he holds him as gently as he can manage and takes off, shooting upwards through ash and falling embers, wings beating rapidly. ]
[ Elio is constantly locked in his mind these days. Although he’s a little feverish and tired beyond belief as a rule rather than as an exception now, which counts for all the time, basically, his condition is less a mental strain and more a physical one. His body doesn’t obey him any longer, restricting his movements to reaching for (glasses of water, Lucifer’s hand) and stumbling to the bathroom (to pee, to shower, washing the sweat away). And while he has to fight, while he has to struggle to perform these actions, his head runs at normal speed, thoughts popping in and out uninvited (if I die, at least I’m where I belong or I’m not leaving him, I can’t). Yes, Elio might be stuck right now, in the realm of Hell and in his own weak limbs, but his mind soars, absolutely. He thinks about Lucifer a lot, Lucifer who won’t make a liar of himself by saying I love you, yet makes himself a promise-keeper by loving him in the flesh.
There’s a greater comfort to that, anyway. Words are just words, as Oliver taught him early on.
The shift feels like nothing to him, his connection to Hell fading gradually, more and more, so all he can do when Lucifer comes barging in from outside, smelling like smoke and lava fumes as he leans in over the bed, wrapping Elio up tightly in his covers, is not to fight it. The other man lifts him up in his arms, the way he can because he’s the Devil and Elio weighs nothing to him, lesser now, even, and Elio rests his head by his shoulder, scarred and burned, blinking tiredly against the moving air as they take off. The palace becomes nothing behind them. Ash and embers, still glowing, catch in his covers but don’t burn holes.
He thinks, something has changed, we’re going up. Then, he realizes that it’s in essence his guardian angel taking him to the heavens and maybe this is the time. It’s now. With a lot of shallow breathing, he frees one arm from his duvet and wraps it around Lucifer’s neck, stubbornly. No, it means. ]
Where are you taking me?
There’s a greater comfort to that, anyway. Words are just words, as Oliver taught him early on.
The shift feels like nothing to him, his connection to Hell fading gradually, more and more, so all he can do when Lucifer comes barging in from outside, smelling like smoke and lava fumes as he leans in over the bed, wrapping Elio up tightly in his covers, is not to fight it. The other man lifts him up in his arms, the way he can because he’s the Devil and Elio weighs nothing to him, lesser now, even, and Elio rests his head by his shoulder, scarred and burned, blinking tiredly against the moving air as they take off. The palace becomes nothing behind them. Ash and embers, still glowing, catch in his covers but don’t burn holes.
He thinks, something has changed, we’re going up. Then, he realizes that it’s in essence his guardian angel taking him to the heavens and maybe this is the time. It’s now. With a lot of shallow breathing, he frees one arm from his duvet and wraps it around Lucifer’s neck, stubbornly. No, it means. ]
Where are you taking me?
[ The barrier parts with a swiftness that feels new, almost, or perhaps it's simply been too long. Either way, they go up, up, and Lucifer's going so fast that he almost can't think to answer when Elio wraps his arm around his neck and asks him where. They're bursting over the sky, cloudy now, and beneath them, the fog clears within something less than seconds to reveal the ocean, dark and unruly, night time reflected upon its surface in various shades of black. He doesn't pause, not even then, simply takes them over the shore and into the forest area north of Bordighera.
They land in a small clearing close to a stream, the ground crumbling and scorching beneath his bare feet, the air heating up where he walks. It's pitch black around them, the sky clouded still, starless. He comes to a crouch on the ground, keeping Elio safe between his arms, cradled against his chest still. Only then does he speak, his voice gravelly and strange, the shadows resonating with it. ]
Earth.
[ He looks up between the tree tops, his red eyes narrowed in warning, stance tight. Come at me at your fucking peril, it means, but as usual, no one's listening in. That's how these things go. ]
Don't speak.
[ He muzzles Elio's hair with his lips. Everything in his body is on fire, high alert, his flight-or-fight response aching to release itself upwards. Instead, he stays right where he is, speaking against Elio's hot scalp, the ground cold beneath his feet. Slowly, he folds his wings around them, cocooning Elio within them along with himself. ]
Sleep.
They land in a small clearing close to a stream, the ground crumbling and scorching beneath his bare feet, the air heating up where he walks. It's pitch black around them, the sky clouded still, starless. He comes to a crouch on the ground, keeping Elio safe between his arms, cradled against his chest still. Only then does he speak, his voice gravelly and strange, the shadows resonating with it. ]
Earth.
[ He looks up between the tree tops, his red eyes narrowed in warning, stance tight. Come at me at your fucking peril, it means, but as usual, no one's listening in. That's how these things go. ]
Don't speak.
[ He muzzles Elio's hair with his lips. Everything in his body is on fire, high alert, his flight-or-fight response aching to release itself upwards. Instead, he stays right where he is, speaking against Elio's hot scalp, the ground cold beneath his feet. Slowly, he folds his wings around them, cocooning Elio within them along with himself. ]
Sleep.
[ The barrier opens.
He knows because it makes something along his spine spark, a quiet sense of aggravation that he can't ignore. Though he's in the middle of whipping the skin off a man who's thanking him for every single, bloodying stroke, Lucifer turns his head upwards, frowning, the air down here in the deeper pits heavy with ash fall. Ignoring the crumbled soul on the floor, he turns and walks away.
Burning embers flying around him, he takes off, ascending with heavy strokes of his wings. They've taken damage over the past thousand years - here and there, the skin is torn and burned, a few of the spikes broken off, leaving jagged, black growths in their steads. It doesn't hinder him in flight, which probably means that the wounds are mental rather than physical - it's an objective observation, uninteresting.
But it's there, regardless, isn't it.
That's new.
The barrier is open, yes, and the sky of Hell - orange, burned, shimmering from heat - parts before him upon his arrival. He pauses for a couple of seconds. Tries to close it again and fails. So, what is this, then? Another taunt? He can't keep his father's influences out any longer, he can't even be allowed that much? With a growl of irritation, Lucifer takes himself past the barrier and rises up, through the Earth, through the ground - and materializes in a wholly stereotypical inferno of flames and fire and brimstone, right in the middle of an orchard that he'd remember even after a million years.
Every tree in his immediate vicinity catches on fire.
Lucifer, meanwhile, stops, his wings outstretched and hellfire burning in his eyes. And stares.
Oh. ]
He knows because it makes something along his spine spark, a quiet sense of aggravation that he can't ignore. Though he's in the middle of whipping the skin off a man who's thanking him for every single, bloodying stroke, Lucifer turns his head upwards, frowning, the air down here in the deeper pits heavy with ash fall. Ignoring the crumbled soul on the floor, he turns and walks away.
Burning embers flying around him, he takes off, ascending with heavy strokes of his wings. They've taken damage over the past thousand years - here and there, the skin is torn and burned, a few of the spikes broken off, leaving jagged, black growths in their steads. It doesn't hinder him in flight, which probably means that the wounds are mental rather than physical - it's an objective observation, uninteresting.
But it's there, regardless, isn't it.
That's new.
The barrier is open, yes, and the sky of Hell - orange, burned, shimmering from heat - parts before him upon his arrival. He pauses for a couple of seconds. Tries to close it again and fails. So, what is this, then? Another taunt? He can't keep his father's influences out any longer, he can't even be allowed that much? With a growl of irritation, Lucifer takes himself past the barrier and rises up, through the Earth, through the ground - and materializes in a wholly stereotypical inferno of flames and fire and brimstone, right in the middle of an orchard that he'd remember even after a million years.
Every tree in his immediate vicinity catches on fire.
Lucifer, meanwhile, stops, his wings outstretched and hellfire burning in his eyes. And stares.
Oh. ]
[ It’s harvest season. Mafalda and Manfredi are plucking fruit down from the trees for hours on end, dawn till dusk. Anchise is helping, though the old man is getting... well, old. Since Elio’s last student has gone back to Rome with her family, he is lending them a hand, plucking down peaches from the trees farthest back, most in shadow, least ripe still. He’s filled maybe the third basket today and is standing with his back to the small clearing, balancing the last two peaches on top of the rest when there’s the heat of Hell, suddenly bursting to life behind him, the roar of flames and the heavy smell of lava and brimstone in the air. The two peaches, precariously positioned, tumble to the ground first, then he quite simply just drops the whole basket, peaches rolling everywhere around his naked feet. Elio turns around. His mother’s trees, about four of them, have caught fire and are crackling happily, it’s been a dry August. In front of them, Lucifer stands, in his Devil form (still? all that grief and self-loathing on full display), batwings spread wide. There’s fire in his eyes. Everything is in shades of red and orange and yellow like the sun.
After all, Lucifer lit the sun once. It’s his.
Staring at him, Elio feels his breathing catch in his throat, his chest heaving shallowly. It isn’t fear, it’s never fear with Lucifer, not that kind, not like this either. It’s just - he’s been waiting and waiting and waiting and he didn’t know. He didn’t know. There’s a moment when he has to bite his lip hard, releasing it with a dent in the middle before relaxing his shoulders and straightening up, looking from the still burning trees to Lucifer again. The equivalent of pinching yourself to check you’re not dreaming. Because he has dreamt, oh. At night, alone. ]
Can you put out the trees before I throw myself at you? My mother is going to get furious otherwise.
[ His voice is low and pleasant, gentle. Most of all, he wants to cry, but he cried when they parted last, didn’t he? He owes Lucifer better than that now. He’s so extremely happy to see him, though. His arms hang by his sides, fingers flexing, again and again. Cyclic.
He’s turned golden over summer, sun-kissed. Like he said, the sun belongs to Lucifer. Elio, from the Greek, means sun. ]
After all, Lucifer lit the sun once. It’s his.
Staring at him, Elio feels his breathing catch in his throat, his chest heaving shallowly. It isn’t fear, it’s never fear with Lucifer, not that kind, not like this either. It’s just - he’s been waiting and waiting and waiting and he didn’t know. He didn’t know. There’s a moment when he has to bite his lip hard, releasing it with a dent in the middle before relaxing his shoulders and straightening up, looking from the still burning trees to Lucifer again. The equivalent of pinching yourself to check you’re not dreaming. Because he has dreamt, oh. At night, alone. ]
Can you put out the trees before I throw myself at you? My mother is going to get furious otherwise.
[ His voice is low and pleasant, gentle. Most of all, he wants to cry, but he cried when they parted last, didn’t he? He owes Lucifer better than that now. He’s so extremely happy to see him, though. His arms hang by his sides, fingers flexing, again and again. Cyclic.
He’s turned golden over summer, sun-kissed. Like he said, the sun belongs to Lucifer. Elio, from the Greek, means sun. ]
[ Pause. Blink, blink, blink.
Slowly, oh so slowly, Lucifer raises one, scarred hand and flicks his fingers. The fire dies instantly, leaving the trees partially scorched but living, still, the smell of burned peaches hanging in the air around them. He stares at Elio, his throat feeling so dry that it's a fight, remembering how to speak - because he can feelit, feel Hell calling out for them both. Not just him. Elio. Elio, whose palace still stands, boarded up and inaccessible to all. Lucifer's tried the door, once, in a moment of weakness but naturally, it wouldn't budge.
He'd thought... well. He'd thought.
But here is Elio, right as rain, right in front of him and Hell is calling him back. ]
I don't understand.
[ His voice sounds deeper than ever and hoarse from lack of use. Not much to talk about down there when all you have for company is demons. Demons who stay out of your way, yes, though they were meant to service him, they aren't inherently self-destructive and he's had little need of them, even less desire for their presence. They've seen Grigori. Though the fire doesn't necessarily burn them, Lucifer's anger certainly does. ]
You escaped. I made certain.
[ Stepping closer, his claws long enough to drag ridges through the dirt, he pauses in front of Elio, towering over him. It doesn't even occur to him that he's standing here, naked and possibly covered in gore and grime. It's been like that for so many centuries that he's stopped noticing. He does notice how Elio's curls look so achingly familiar, how the expression on his face seems balanced between amusement and something else, something so complex and so beautiful that he wouldn't ever know how to name it.
Beautiful Elio.
Whole again and well. ]
Slowly, oh so slowly, Lucifer raises one, scarred hand and flicks his fingers. The fire dies instantly, leaving the trees partially scorched but living, still, the smell of burned peaches hanging in the air around them. He stares at Elio, his throat feeling so dry that it's a fight, remembering how to speak - because he can feelit, feel Hell calling out for them both. Not just him. Elio. Elio, whose palace still stands, boarded up and inaccessible to all. Lucifer's tried the door, once, in a moment of weakness but naturally, it wouldn't budge.
He'd thought... well. He'd thought.
But here is Elio, right as rain, right in front of him and Hell is calling him back. ]
I don't understand.
[ His voice sounds deeper than ever and hoarse from lack of use. Not much to talk about down there when all you have for company is demons. Demons who stay out of your way, yes, though they were meant to service him, they aren't inherently self-destructive and he's had little need of them, even less desire for their presence. They've seen Grigori. Though the fire doesn't necessarily burn them, Lucifer's anger certainly does. ]
You escaped. I made certain.
[ Stepping closer, his claws long enough to drag ridges through the dirt, he pauses in front of Elio, towering over him. It doesn't even occur to him that he's standing here, naked and possibly covered in gore and grime. It's been like that for so many centuries that he's stopped noticing. He does notice how Elio's curls look so achingly familiar, how the expression on his face seems balanced between amusement and something else, something so complex and so beautiful that he wouldn't ever know how to name it.
Beautiful Elio.
Whole again and well. ]
[ They return to a Hell that has burned out completely, the pits dark and deep, the air ashen, soot covering every horizontal surface. As if from one moment to the next, the fire went out, leaving hollowed out holsters and fragile structures in its wake. Pompeii on a mythological scale.
Another thing that's waiting for him, as Lucifer puts him down, like a bride carried over the doorstep to her new home, is the door to his palace, looking pristine white and untouched, in the exact same spot where they left it, the morning before he was taken back to Earth. When he pushes it open, Terry (looking a bit thinner and a bit worse for wear) hurdles outside, moving in a huge circle around Lucifer when he sees him. He's gone in a flash, pretty much, disappearing in the slightly apprehensive crowd of demons gathering along the rock walls to watch their Queen return. There's a feeling of relief hanging in the air that makes Elio feel quite welcome, at the same time that it makes him wonder exactly how miserable Lucifer has been in his absence.
He can imagine, can't he?
He can imagine.
Then, he simply takes Lucifer's hand and drags him inside the palace, the door slamming shut behind them and no doubt, disappearing from view. It's even more effective than a do not disturb sign in a hotel. Everything, top to bottom, has been scrubbed clean, Terry has kept himself busy which just proves why he was the perfect fit for Elio, right? For a demon, he's surprisingly willing to take on very non-demonic jobs.
They have stepped right into the bedroom, as seems to be his palace's preference, like it knows that there's little to do in Hell but see to loops and see to fucking. Elio feels out of his element in his denim shorts and his peach juice spattered t-shirt as he releases Lucifer's hand and turns towards him, but he can't be bothered too much with vanity right now, not when the other man's here, finally, this huge, broad, naked figure 30 feet from the bed. They should probably shower. Elio thinks there's no time. He won't presume, but shit, there's no time.
Swallowing hard, he steps closer, closer, closer, looking up and up and up. Looking at Lucifer is like looking to the sky, really. The exact same craning of neck, the same tilt back, the same brightness. So he reaches up, runs his fingers gently, splayed out, over the side of Lucifer's Devil face, thumb tracing the sharp outline of cheekbone. ]
I kept praying to you.
Another thing that's waiting for him, as Lucifer puts him down, like a bride carried over the doorstep to her new home, is the door to his palace, looking pristine white and untouched, in the exact same spot where they left it, the morning before he was taken back to Earth. When he pushes it open, Terry (looking a bit thinner and a bit worse for wear) hurdles outside, moving in a huge circle around Lucifer when he sees him. He's gone in a flash, pretty much, disappearing in the slightly apprehensive crowd of demons gathering along the rock walls to watch their Queen return. There's a feeling of relief hanging in the air that makes Elio feel quite welcome, at the same time that it makes him wonder exactly how miserable Lucifer has been in his absence.
He can imagine, can't he?
He can imagine.
Then, he simply takes Lucifer's hand and drags him inside the palace, the door slamming shut behind them and no doubt, disappearing from view. It's even more effective than a do not disturb sign in a hotel. Everything, top to bottom, has been scrubbed clean, Terry has kept himself busy which just proves why he was the perfect fit for Elio, right? For a demon, he's surprisingly willing to take on very non-demonic jobs.
They have stepped right into the bedroom, as seems to be his palace's preference, like it knows that there's little to do in Hell but see to loops and see to fucking. Elio feels out of his element in his denim shorts and his peach juice spattered t-shirt as he releases Lucifer's hand and turns towards him, but he can't be bothered too much with vanity right now, not when the other man's here, finally, this huge, broad, naked figure 30 feet from the bed. They should probably shower. Elio thinks there's no time. He won't presume, but shit, there's no time.
Swallowing hard, he steps closer, closer, closer, looking up and up and up. Looking at Lucifer is like looking to the sky, really. The exact same craning of neck, the same tilt back, the same brightness. So he reaches up, runs his fingers gently, splayed out, over the side of Lucifer's Devil face, thumb tracing the sharp outline of cheekbone. ]
I kept praying to you.
Edited 2021-12-07 13:29 (UTC)
[ It's only when he's sat Elio down in front of the palace, when they're safely locked away behind the now-unbarred door, that he allows himself a moment of realisation. True realisation. They're in Hell, yes, but it's not just him. They are. Him and his Elio. It's a completely implausible thought, like a lie he can't stop telling himself and absurdly, a part of him keeps getting huffy about it, as if he's somehow embarrassing himself by looking at Elio and accepting what he sees.
That they're together again, that he's fine, beautiful and perfectly healthy.
The palace is back to its former glory - last he remembers, it resembled a hospital more than a home, white walls, white sheets, silence and baited breaths. He blinks a couple of times, hard, just to remind himself that he's truly here, that it isn't some elaborate fantasy he's cooked up in the midst of his loneliness. He's had many fantasies, after all, when he couldn't quite help it. When he couldn't keep them out. Hell, in turn, had given him dreams that were so painfully real and so awful to wake from (alone, always alone) that he's gone long, long periods without sleep just to keep them at bay.
But this isn't that. Surely, it isn't.
When Elio steps up to him, smelling of peaches still and fresh air, Lucifer stares at him almost desperately when he runs his fingers up the side of his face. He wants to push his face against his palm like cat. To grab his wrist and keep it there, keep them in this state where the touching is as real as it gets. ]
I'm sorry, I didn't know.
[ He tilts his head sideways. His hand opens and closes for a moment before he reaches out, curling his long, clawed fingers around the other man's waist. It's a light touch, unpresumtuous. When he speaks, his voice is almost breathy, sounding a lot more like the voice he uses in his human form. There's no demon left in his question, just something small and fragile: ]
Are you really here?
That they're together again, that he's fine, beautiful and perfectly healthy.
The palace is back to its former glory - last he remembers, it resembled a hospital more than a home, white walls, white sheets, silence and baited breaths. He blinks a couple of times, hard, just to remind himself that he's truly here, that it isn't some elaborate fantasy he's cooked up in the midst of his loneliness. He's had many fantasies, after all, when he couldn't quite help it. When he couldn't keep them out. Hell, in turn, had given him dreams that were so painfully real and so awful to wake from (alone, always alone) that he's gone long, long periods without sleep just to keep them at bay.
But this isn't that. Surely, it isn't.
When Elio steps up to him, smelling of peaches still and fresh air, Lucifer stares at him almost desperately when he runs his fingers up the side of his face. He wants to push his face against his palm like cat. To grab his wrist and keep it there, keep them in this state where the touching is as real as it gets. ]
I'm sorry, I didn't know.
[ He tilts his head sideways. His hand opens and closes for a moment before he reaches out, curling his long, clawed fingers around the other man's waist. It's a light touch, unpresumtuous. When he speaks, his voice is almost breathy, sounding a lot more like the voice he uses in his human form. There's no demon left in his question, just something small and fragile: ]
Are you really here?
[ Elio is caught off guard by very little.
Under the influence of that very talent, he has grown from a completely ordinary human being to the Queen of Hell himself without asking many questions at all about the how’s and why’s. He accepts a lot. He embraces a lot. He forgives a lot. However, as Lucifer tilts his head in against his palm and slips one hand, big, red, clawed, around his waist without pulling him as close as he could or ought to, really, only to ask, are you really here, it does catch Elio off guard. The frown on his face isn’t displeasure, it’s that particular kind of surprise that comes of wanting something else for someone. Something more, better, gentler. It breaks his heart, honestly, the way Lucifer has to ask. Because it’s a testament to how lonely he has been. Elio has had the world with all its joys and all its people, while the Devil hasn’t even had the knowledge that his situation was temporary, changeable, not forever.
The angel who fell from Heaven and has been punished continuously since.
It’s relatively normal to have beefs with your father-in-law, right? Because Elio thinks he might have a beef with God now.
Swallowing hard again, he shakes his head, not in the negative, it isn’t a no in any way, it means love and not fair, but what comes out of his mouth meets the other man exactly in that feeling he’s projecting with his huge limbs and his tiny voice, smaller, much smaller than when he looks human to the naked eye. Elio steps closer, closer and closer, more of less cradling Lucifer’s cheek in his hand, until slowly he runs his palm over his bald scalp, feeling out every curve of him. ]
I’m really here.
[ He could tell him things like always and I’ll never really leave you, but they’re half-truths at best and the two of them don’t lie to each other. If the Persephone theory holds up, he’ll leave. But he’ll also come back. That, Elio could say, I’ll always come back.
Instead he says, voice gentle and understanding and pained, because he was alone, too, wasn’t he - in crowds and in company, even: ]
I’m sorry you had to suffer through this on your own, Lucifer.
Under the influence of that very talent, he has grown from a completely ordinary human being to the Queen of Hell himself without asking many questions at all about the how’s and why’s. He accepts a lot. He embraces a lot. He forgives a lot. However, as Lucifer tilts his head in against his palm and slips one hand, big, red, clawed, around his waist without pulling him as close as he could or ought to, really, only to ask, are you really here, it does catch Elio off guard. The frown on his face isn’t displeasure, it’s that particular kind of surprise that comes of wanting something else for someone. Something more, better, gentler. It breaks his heart, honestly, the way Lucifer has to ask. Because it’s a testament to how lonely he has been. Elio has had the world with all its joys and all its people, while the Devil hasn’t even had the knowledge that his situation was temporary, changeable, not forever.
The angel who fell from Heaven and has been punished continuously since.
It’s relatively normal to have beefs with your father-in-law, right? Because Elio thinks he might have a beef with God now.
Swallowing hard again, he shakes his head, not in the negative, it isn’t a no in any way, it means love and not fair, but what comes out of his mouth meets the other man exactly in that feeling he’s projecting with his huge limbs and his tiny voice, smaller, much smaller than when he looks human to the naked eye. Elio steps closer, closer and closer, more of less cradling Lucifer’s cheek in his hand, until slowly he runs his palm over his bald scalp, feeling out every curve of him. ]
I’m really here.
[ He could tell him things like always and I’ll never really leave you, but they’re half-truths at best and the two of them don’t lie to each other. If the Persephone theory holds up, he’ll leave. But he’ll also come back. That, Elio could say, I’ll always come back.
Instead he says, voice gentle and understanding and pained, because he was alone, too, wasn’t he - in crowds and in company, even: ]
I’m sorry you had to suffer through this on your own, Lucifer.
Edited 2021-12-07 17:12 (UTC)
[ Once he started working on his father’s Hell loop, Elio immediately felt a sense of homecoming, of belonging to this place more than anywhere else in the known and to him unknown universes. Homecoming and purpose, those are the feelings that have him leaving his bed and Lucifer’s side in the fake mornings of his palace, Lucifer who’s stayed in his human form since Elio’s return, like something has settled with the way he perceives himself, too. Elio thinks it’s clearer. How they both see themselves, really, it’s more transparent. Glass in sunlight, that kind of thing, even down here in the perpetual dark, ash, fissures.
They’ve reaches what feels like the deepest pit of his father’s loop now. His father has changed shape, he’s young and handsome, not unlike Elio in appearance when he met Oliver and if nothing else, Elio sees his own appearance more objectively on his father’s features. Hopeful, he looks hopeful. This layer is a library, an abandoned aisle, another young man lying on the floor with a book (in reality it’s Terry, stand-in for the demon it should’ve been today who couldn’t make it, his servant is good like that) looking up at Elio’s father with a look Elio recognizes. Oh. How much do you like me, like the Illiad or like the Torah, the boy asks, because he’s really only a boy, like Elio was once, thousands of years ago. His father licks his lips and looks to the side awkwardly. Elio catches his gaze and there’s a moment when they are each other, beyond gene pools and upbringing.
Elio remembers telling Oliver he adored him.
Be honest, he encourages his father, softly.
You’re not a scripture, his father tries and Elio thinks he’s going to fudge for a moment, but then - I don’t like you, I adore you, Daniel.
It doesn’t happen like a door opening, it happens like a light being turned on. A halo-like light erupts around his frame and for the first time ever, Elio thinks, he sees his father as he is. He watches mesmerized as the light seemingly blinks for a moment, then disappears and where his father stood, there’s nothing, where the library was, there are only barren walls, like a room ready to be rented anew. Terry sits up, looking completely taken aback, mouth agape. Elio turns around, looks up, knowing somehow exactly where his father is going now.
Oh.
He smiles. ]
They’ve reaches what feels like the deepest pit of his father’s loop now. His father has changed shape, he’s young and handsome, not unlike Elio in appearance when he met Oliver and if nothing else, Elio sees his own appearance more objectively on his father’s features. Hopeful, he looks hopeful. This layer is a library, an abandoned aisle, another young man lying on the floor with a book (in reality it’s Terry, stand-in for the demon it should’ve been today who couldn’t make it, his servant is good like that) looking up at Elio’s father with a look Elio recognizes. Oh. How much do you like me, like the Illiad or like the Torah, the boy asks, because he’s really only a boy, like Elio was once, thousands of years ago. His father licks his lips and looks to the side awkwardly. Elio catches his gaze and there’s a moment when they are each other, beyond gene pools and upbringing.
Elio remembers telling Oliver he adored him.
Be honest, he encourages his father, softly.
You’re not a scripture, his father tries and Elio thinks he’s going to fudge for a moment, but then - I don’t like you, I adore you, Daniel.
It doesn’t happen like a door opening, it happens like a light being turned on. A halo-like light erupts around his frame and for the first time ever, Elio thinks, he sees his father as he is. He watches mesmerized as the light seemingly blinks for a moment, then disappears and where his father stood, there’s nothing, where the library was, there are only barren walls, like a room ready to be rented anew. Terry sits up, looking completely taken aback, mouth agape. Elio turns around, looks up, knowing somehow exactly where his father is going now.
Oh.
He smiles. ]
[ He's taken the throne today, as he usually does when Elio's working on a loop without his assistance. To begin with, years and years ago, it had felt odd, this return to his human form - he'd grown accustomed, apparently, to the feel of leathery roughness whenever he'd rub his fingertips together, for instance, or the way the hot ashes would land on the back of his bald head, the heat assimilating itself seamlessly with his demon body. Now, he feels like he's brushing ash out of his hair every second moment, annoyed by the way it prickles his scalp and stiffens the strands. At least on his throne, he can keep his wings tucked away, pristine as they are these days with Elio around to care for them.
He watches the contours of Hell as it became in Elio's absence, how the landscape changes gradually. Cliffs, looking less angry and dangerous. Rocksides and precipices, losing their edges, greens peeking up from between the blackness. The fires, too, have stopped. The air feels a little clearer now, several decades into this new season. Spring, they call it, the Lillim down below and whilst most of them scoff at the notion, they no longer deny the factuality of it. Of the Queen's return.
He sits, one legged crossed over the other, his red Louboutins a stark contrast to the bluish light from the sky below the barrier. Time passes and it's fine, no one comes, no one goes.
Except.
Except.
Lucifer startles, sitting up straight in his seat as a column of light (??) explodes from one of the loops - the loop Elio's been working on since he first sat foot in Hell, more than a thousand years ago. He's almost out of his chair, wings fanning out in a white flash behind him, ready to come to the other man's aid, when he pauses. Stares at the column in complete and utter shock.
Something is leaving.
And Lucifer can only watch, eyes wide and mouth parted in wonder, as the soul of Elio's late father travels upwards, gliding through the barrier in a stream of light. The barrier seemingly gives for a fraction of a second - and then, it reforms above him, as untouched as ever, the column of light dissipating.
In the aftermath, Hell is eerily quiet.
And changed, irrevocably. ]
He watches the contours of Hell as it became in Elio's absence, how the landscape changes gradually. Cliffs, looking less angry and dangerous. Rocksides and precipices, losing their edges, greens peeking up from between the blackness. The fires, too, have stopped. The air feels a little clearer now, several decades into this new season. Spring, they call it, the Lillim down below and whilst most of them scoff at the notion, they no longer deny the factuality of it. Of the Queen's return.
He sits, one legged crossed over the other, his red Louboutins a stark contrast to the bluish light from the sky below the barrier. Time passes and it's fine, no one comes, no one goes.
Except.
Except.
Lucifer startles, sitting up straight in his seat as a column of light (??) explodes from one of the loops - the loop Elio's been working on since he first sat foot in Hell, more than a thousand years ago. He's almost out of his chair, wings fanning out in a white flash behind him, ready to come to the other man's aid, when he pauses. Stares at the column in complete and utter shock.
Something is leaving.
And Lucifer can only watch, eyes wide and mouth parted in wonder, as the soul of Elio's late father travels upwards, gliding through the barrier in a stream of light. The barrier seemingly gives for a fraction of a second - and then, it reforms above him, as untouched as ever, the column of light dissipating.
In the aftermath, Hell is eerily quiet.
And changed, irrevocably. ]
[ Terry just sits in horror for a few minutes, staring blankly into space and his boney hand flexing as if he’s counting ways this could or couldn’t be possible. Elio walks a round in the loop, just to make sure it’s completely empty, though he doesn’t really doubt it is. Part of him is also waiting for Lucifer to show, the King of Hell would no doubt see the light from his throne and he’d understand something incredible, never before seen has happened.
A soul has left Hell for Heaven.
Suddenly Elio knows, knows more surely than he’s known anything for years, that this is his purpose, this is why he’s here, besides being Lucifer’s chosen one. This is the blessing.
He stops by the door, the only thing left behind in the room, an exit or entrance, depending, and leans against the wall in a slouch, hands in his trouser pockets and head tilted back a little. He thinks about his father, his father who saw himself in him, that explains his baby brother’s name, finally. His father who saw himself in him and Oliver, that explains the beautiful friendship speech back then, so far, far back, but of course he remembers still. If he were going to have his own Hell loop, it would be a layer in it.
It also explains the man’s trying and failing, continuously, to understand Elio’s romantic life. Elio lived on his behalf. Does that mean his father’s ascension grants freedom to him as much as to his father? Has Elio, too, been set free of his life, before, now?
A frown. No, Lucifer did that first. Or, as Lucifer would say, Elio did it to himself. And now, he apparently does it to others.
Calling Terry’s real name, finally able to pronounce it correctly, he sends the demon scrambling, the door left ajar and Elio doesn’t close it. He’ll welcome the next to walk through it anyway. ]
A soul has left Hell for Heaven.
Suddenly Elio knows, knows more surely than he’s known anything for years, that this is his purpose, this is why he’s here, besides being Lucifer’s chosen one. This is the blessing.
He stops by the door, the only thing left behind in the room, an exit or entrance, depending, and leans against the wall in a slouch, hands in his trouser pockets and head tilted back a little. He thinks about his father, his father who saw himself in him, that explains his baby brother’s name, finally. His father who saw himself in him and Oliver, that explains the beautiful friendship speech back then, so far, far back, but of course he remembers still. If he were going to have his own Hell loop, it would be a layer in it.
It also explains the man’s trying and failing, continuously, to understand Elio’s romantic life. Elio lived on his behalf. Does that mean his father’s ascension grants freedom to him as much as to his father? Has Elio, too, been set free of his life, before, now?
A frown. No, Lucifer did that first. Or, as Lucifer would say, Elio did it to himself. And now, he apparently does it to others.
Calling Terry’s real name, finally able to pronounce it correctly, he sends the demon scrambling, the door left ajar and Elio doesn’t close it. He’ll welcome the next to walk through it anyway. ]
[ He lands just in time to see Elio's demon, Tiharire, practically fleeing the premises. The door's wide open, an anomaly in itself, and when he makes his way towards it, folding his wings away and brushing down his suit jacket, Lucifer senses the emptiness beyond it. The room. It's blank, like a fresh canvas waiting to be filled and he's never seen a loop re-set itself in such a manner, it's...
He doesn't know what it is.
Hurrying through the doorway, he manages to make it all the way to the middle of the empty room, doing a slow, circular spin with his eyes still wide as saucers, before he realises that Elio's standing next to the doorway, slouching a little against the wall. Oh. He comes to a complete stop and throws his arms out. ]
What in the bloody, blue realm just happened here? [ He walks over to Elio, running one hand through his hair quickly, fingers actually trembling from excitement. ] Elio, did your Dad just ascend?!
[ It's been eons since he last saw divinity as clearly as he did moments ago - he recognises that light anywhere, though, he used to carry it within himself. It felt almost as if... as if his Father had poked a single finger through the barrier, reaching down, grabbing what he'd come for and closed the door behind himself. Just. Thanks, bye, have a nice day.
The sheer absurdity! ]
He doesn't know what it is.
Hurrying through the doorway, he manages to make it all the way to the middle of the empty room, doing a slow, circular spin with his eyes still wide as saucers, before he realises that Elio's standing next to the doorway, slouching a little against the wall. Oh. He comes to a complete stop and throws his arms out. ]
What in the bloody, blue realm just happened here? [ He walks over to Elio, running one hand through his hair quickly, fingers actually trembling from excitement. ] Elio, did your Dad just ascend?!
[ It's been eons since he last saw divinity as clearly as he did moments ago - he recognises that light anywhere, though, he used to carry it within himself. It felt almost as if... as if his Father had poked a single finger through the barrier, reaching down, grabbing what he'd come for and closed the door behind himself. Just. Thanks, bye, have a nice day.
The sheer absurdity! ]
[ Since Elio's palace appeared and since he started living there, the garden outside has always been just an illusion to cozy up the insides. Something pretty to look at through the large windows, bathed in light to denote the change of time, that kind of thing. It's never been its own place. After the bee flew out the window, however, and Elio had put the newly baked focaccia away, saved a loaf for Lucifer, later, a door appeared in the farthest corner, another French door, open, letting in a warm breeze from the garden that was suddenly there. Existing. Elio had stopped in the doorway and looked out upon the rich flower beds, the small cluster of fruit trees (peaches and a fig) and thought, someone was here. Someone was here and it wasn't Elio, except Elio feels the surge of energy beneath his skin, as if he's been touched by something electric and turned on, the non-sexual way.
He spends the rest of the afternoon picking down fruit, peaches in baskets, figs in baskets, they are generous trees. He does it in jeans, chest bare, feeling the fake sun which might or might not be so fake anymore caress his skin. It's like Italy and it's like something else, something entirely his own, belonging to no memory and no past. Maybe belonging to the future instead, stretching out in front of him already.
Elio is careful with the delicate fig branches, snapping nothing as he plucks off a fruit, placing it in the basket resting beneath his other arm. He's got his back turned to the entrance leading into the palace proper, knowing no one will come except Lucifer, knowing somehow that no one can enter these premises without explicit permission or his heart full of them which is a permission in and by itself, right?
It's a permission in and by itself, his love. ]
He spends the rest of the afternoon picking down fruit, peaches in baskets, figs in baskets, they are generous trees. He does it in jeans, chest bare, feeling the fake sun which might or might not be so fake anymore caress his skin. It's like Italy and it's like something else, something entirely his own, belonging to no memory and no past. Maybe belonging to the future instead, stretching out in front of him already.
Elio is careful with the delicate fig branches, snapping nothing as he plucks off a fruit, placing it in the basket resting beneath his other arm. He's got his back turned to the entrance leading into the palace proper, knowing no one will come except Lucifer, knowing somehow that no one can enter these premises without explicit permission or his heart full of them which is a permission in and by itself, right?
It's a permission in and by itself, his love. ]
Edited 2022-02-01 09:38 (UTC)
[ He's been working in the deeper levels, down where the light will undoubtedly never reach - and let's face it, even if, say, Hitler's loop were to somehow start calling out for Elio, Lucifer would bury him in one of the bloody underground volcanos before the other man would ever even notice. He's permanently in his Devil form down here, his skin streaked from gore and his red-feathered wings heavy with blood. When he leaves, he always goes by a loop on the way, grabbing a shower - it's not that he thinks Elio would mind, necessarily, but Lucifer realised a few hundred years ago that he minded. It's not him, showing up at the home of his love, looking like he ate someone alive.
It's not him. This has begun to matter again, as it did before he met Elio, back when he ran Lux and kept himself wanted and admired, if not loved.
Now that he's loved, however, it matters in a different way.
Exiting the loop of Ms. Kwong Hee, who busy swan-diving repeatedly off a cliff and into her very own copy of the Pacific, Lucifer unfurls his wings - white, pristine, slightly glossy from the most recent preening - and takes off, heading for Elio's palace. New doors have opened throughout Hell since Elio's latest return - it's as if, to Lucifer, they're never all that far away. He enters the first one he spots and ends up in Elio's...
In his what, now? ]
What the hell...
[ He stares. Walks through the garden, smelling fruit trees and flowers, feeling the sunlight on his skin because this is - oh, but this feels like...
Oh.
Oh! ]
How fucking dare you, you old bastard.
[ Face scrunching up into something decidedly unpleasant, eyes flaring red, he stalks around a flower bed and heads straight for bare-chested, jeans-wearing Elio, thinking about paradise because that's what this place fucking feels like and how could his Dad possibly... ]
All right, out with it! Where is he? Did he at least have the good sense to leave or do I actually, finally get a shot at kicking my old man out of paradise?
It's not him. This has begun to matter again, as it did before he met Elio, back when he ran Lux and kept himself wanted and admired, if not loved.
Now that he's loved, however, it matters in a different way.
Exiting the loop of Ms. Kwong Hee, who busy swan-diving repeatedly off a cliff and into her very own copy of the Pacific, Lucifer unfurls his wings - white, pristine, slightly glossy from the most recent preening - and takes off, heading for Elio's palace. New doors have opened throughout Hell since Elio's latest return - it's as if, to Lucifer, they're never all that far away. He enters the first one he spots and ends up in Elio's...
In his what, now? ]
What the hell...
[ He stares. Walks through the garden, smelling fruit trees and flowers, feeling the sunlight on his skin because this is - oh, but this feels like...
Oh.
Oh! ]
How fucking dare you, you old bastard.
[ Face scrunching up into something decidedly unpleasant, eyes flaring red, he stalks around a flower bed and heads straight for bare-chested, jeans-wearing Elio, thinking about paradise because that's what this place fucking feels like and how could his Dad possibly... ]
All right, out with it! Where is he? Did he at least have the good sense to leave or do I actually, finally get a shot at kicking my old man out of paradise?
[ These days, the time he doesn't spend in Chopin's loop, he spends at the piano back at the palace, getting acquainted with the man's music in a way he hasn't been in his at this point almost thousand year long life. The waltzes. The ballades. Nocturnes. Etudes. He has played a bit of everything at this point, but the piece he keeps returning to is the Variations, Don Giovanni, early work, dedicated to his first lover with whom he spent a summer like Elio's own, with Oliver. It feels eerily familiar, although Elio knows for a fact he's never performed it before and only studied it superficially, back in Rome, his conservatory days. It's one of the most difficult piano pieces he's ever encountered and after a hundred years of playing it on repeat with Chopin as his teacher, he still can't play it perfectly. He can hardly even play it well.
Which means, this is another early evening where the kitchen will just have to make its own food, because he's elsewhere occupied, right?
He hears the door opening and closing, but doesn't look up from his run-through of the second variation, fingers flying over the keys at a pace he would undoubtedly have botched back when he was mortal. Interpretation, Chopin will usually tell him at this point, you have no soul, my Queen and make Elio start over, but today, he thinks, today he feels different, today it's there, that thing Chopin put into these notes. And truly, Elio almost has it, he can feel it, but then he misses a transition and it falls apart between his fingers, so he just stops, would've started over again, if it weren't for the telltale presence of the Devil in the room.
Elio breathes in hard, once, exhales more slowly and then, turns his head, looking over at the other man. Childishly affronted. His hands come to a rest on his thighs, already tapping out the melody of the third variation, like he actually got that far, but in this art form you better be prepared.
With an actual pout and a frown, he says: ]
Make me love the piano again, Lucifer.
Which means, this is another early evening where the kitchen will just have to make its own food, because he's elsewhere occupied, right?
He hears the door opening and closing, but doesn't look up from his run-through of the second variation, fingers flying over the keys at a pace he would undoubtedly have botched back when he was mortal. Interpretation, Chopin will usually tell him at this point, you have no soul, my Queen and make Elio start over, but today, he thinks, today he feels different, today it's there, that thing Chopin put into these notes. And truly, Elio almost has it, he can feel it, but then he misses a transition and it falls apart between his fingers, so he just stops, would've started over again, if it weren't for the telltale presence of the Devil in the room.
Elio breathes in hard, once, exhales more slowly and then, turns his head, looking over at the other man. Childishly affronted. His hands come to a rest on his thighs, already tapping out the melody of the third variation, like he actually got that far, but in this art form you better be prepared.
With an actual pout and a frown, he says: ]
Make me love the piano again, Lucifer.
[ Elio's working hard on Chopin's loop - hard, yes, and with a very clear, uncompromising focus - and Lucifer, as a consequence, is trying his utmost not to throw his piano out of the nearest window at the tell-tale sounds of those bloody variations. A hundred years! A hundred! But if that's how the work's supposed to be conducted... and well. Elio would know. He'd sense the way to approach it, as he's done before with his father and unlike Lucifer, who understands how to travel through the different layers of each loop and manipulate them according to his own desires, Elio understands how to change them, too.
It's interesting, even if Chopin practiced for all eternity isn't what anyone could possibly want, ever.
He enters Elio's palace, walking straight into the living room. He'll usually materialize in Elio's vicinity, he's found, which is either Elio's doing or his - it's hard to tell with this realm, though Lucifer has a private theory that he's steadfastly losing all influence over everything in here, including even aspects of himself. Say, his clothes? Sometimes, he's naked as soon as he steps inside.
Which, hello, no complaints there.
His father spoke to Elio through this realm, though, which is really the ultimate evidence that this place in its entirety belongs to Elio, to whatever he becomes as time passes and his powers - powers, yes, surely - grow.
He walks over to the piano and pauses next to the bench, looking down at Elio with a raised eyebrow. He's immaculately dressed today and clean from ashfall or remnants of brimstone. Make me love the piano says his Queen and he shifts a little at that tone, the way he seems so adorably affronted, like the piano and Chopin's ridiculously flowery scribbles have purposefully let him down. ]
Well. [ He smiles, winningly. ] I could blow you next to it and see where that takes us, as a start?
It's interesting, even if Chopin practiced for all eternity isn't what anyone could possibly want, ever.
He enters Elio's palace, walking straight into the living room. He'll usually materialize in Elio's vicinity, he's found, which is either Elio's doing or his - it's hard to tell with this realm, though Lucifer has a private theory that he's steadfastly losing all influence over everything in here, including even aspects of himself. Say, his clothes? Sometimes, he's naked as soon as he steps inside.
Which, hello, no complaints there.
His father spoke to Elio through this realm, though, which is really the ultimate evidence that this place in its entirety belongs to Elio, to whatever he becomes as time passes and his powers - powers, yes, surely - grow.
He walks over to the piano and pauses next to the bench, looking down at Elio with a raised eyebrow. He's immaculately dressed today and clean from ashfall or remnants of brimstone. Make me love the piano says his Queen and he shifts a little at that tone, the way he seems so adorably affronted, like the piano and Chopin's ridiculously flowery scribbles have purposefully let him down. ]
Well. [ He smiles, winningly. ] I could blow you next to it and see where that takes us, as a start?
[ Lucifer didn't pick him up straight from Oliver's funeral, it has been a few weeks in the meantime, so Elio made the decision to stay in the US, wandering somewhat aimlessly around the New England area, watching the leaves turn darker and redder. Soon the air didn't just carry the scent of home, like a whisper, but more akin to a roar, Lucifer's wings whirling everything up when he finally appeared in the middle of an abandoned Montpelier alleyway lined by maple trees on either side, early September, looking like the first autumn breeze incarnate, right there. As has become their habit at this point, after so many years, they'd grabbed a drink nearby and only then, the other man had taken him into his arms and carried him off. Always sweeping me off my feet, Elio thinks, as they sink through dimensions and the very crust of the Earth, landing on the still relatively new formation in the north of Hell, zigzagged by hallways that Elio was still learning his way around when he left, but he can already tell more of the loops have become occupied since then, albeit the population is growing only gradually.
It's become a joke around these parts that more go up than come down, which isn't true, but the impression still stands.
Feeling himself be placed gently on the ground, Elio is reluctant to let go of Lucifer for a moment, feeling suddenly desperate for him, physically, mentally, his fingers closing in the fabric of his shirt across the shoulders, thick, luxurious fabric, the best version of Versace that Hell can produce. He's shaking a little bit, his grip feels that hard. Home, right? He's home. He stays close enough to the other man's front to press his forehead against the side of Lucifer's neck, jaw, feeling his stubble tickle his temple, hairline, Elio balances himself against the rocky foundation that he knows and which knows him in turn.
After a long couple of seconds, even longer in Hell, of course, time runs differently here, he releases the other man, tipping his head back to look up into his face. His smile is small, but genuine. Genuinely happy, genuinely a little bit overwhelmed. Elio licks his lips. ]
Do I say this every time, that it's felt like an endless summer? [ And because he remembers Oliver's elder son, the same age as Elio looks, Elio spontaneously reaches out and grabs Lucifer's hand, slipping his own in along the lines of his palm, before interlacing their fingers slowly, just holding him for a moment, before shaking his head and dragging him down the nearest hallway that leads towards his palace. A door will probably appear somewhere on the way that'll save them the distance, what with how much Elio wants them naked and panting now, but until then, they can afford the walk. ] This time I mean it, Lucifer. Horrible.
It's become a joke around these parts that more go up than come down, which isn't true, but the impression still stands.
Feeling himself be placed gently on the ground, Elio is reluctant to let go of Lucifer for a moment, feeling suddenly desperate for him, physically, mentally, his fingers closing in the fabric of his shirt across the shoulders, thick, luxurious fabric, the best version of Versace that Hell can produce. He's shaking a little bit, his grip feels that hard. Home, right? He's home. He stays close enough to the other man's front to press his forehead against the side of Lucifer's neck, jaw, feeling his stubble tickle his temple, hairline, Elio balances himself against the rocky foundation that he knows and which knows him in turn.
After a long couple of seconds, even longer in Hell, of course, time runs differently here, he releases the other man, tipping his head back to look up into his face. His smile is small, but genuine. Genuinely happy, genuinely a little bit overwhelmed. Elio licks his lips. ]
Do I say this every time, that it's felt like an endless summer? [ And because he remembers Oliver's elder son, the same age as Elio looks, Elio spontaneously reaches out and grabs Lucifer's hand, slipping his own in along the lines of his palm, before interlacing their fingers slowly, just holding him for a moment, before shaking his head and dragging him down the nearest hallway that leads towards his palace. A door will probably appear somewhere on the way that'll save them the distance, what with how much Elio wants them naked and panting now, but until then, they can afford the walk. ] This time I mean it, Lucifer. Horrible.
[ He picks Elio up when Vermont has started to turn golden and dry and the taste of coffee - a good blend, Kenyan with the perfect undertone of berries - lingers on his tongue as they drop through the barrier afterwards, Elio clinging to him, his weight warm and familiar against him. Even after a thousand years in Hell, he remembers taking Elio to the surface before the winter season, his scent when he'd left him in his bed, the curtains moving gently in the breeze.
Like there's been no intermission at all between then and now. It's a mental illusion, obviously - not only has time passed in Hell, but on Earth, too, Elio's been waiting. It must be such a strange experience, belonging to both spheres equally. Lucifer, well, eons ago at least, he used to belong in Heaven, primarily. Then, he belonged nowhere for a long, long while - even Lux, ages and ages ago, was a temporary place and some time in the future, it'll be ashes and dust, sunk into its own soil.
These days, he belongs only in Hell.
The thought doesn't bother him at all which would've worried him once. Logically, he understands why but he can't actually feel it anymore. The emotional stress of fighting and raging and waging wars has left him in the meantime. When he visits Earth - so rarely and only as planned by the cycle of seasons - he never strays very far, never even considers it. Back in L.A., the world has gone on as it does. Dan Espinoza joined his realm some time ago but the loop isn't calling for change yet so he leaves it be.
It will be resolved, in time.
He sets Elio down, feeling the way he's clinging to him - differently, yes, a bit more desperately - and allows him to interlace their fingers. He gives his hand a little squeeze, too, for good measure. The other man's nervy somehow and Lucifer... well.
Some little time ago, he felt someone arriving. A tinge of familiarity, neither pleasant nor particularly vile but unmistakable. A loop, recognising something within itself, calling out before its time.
So he pulls Elio a little closer. ]
More so than usual? [ He takes them down one of the narrow hallways. Behind Elio, the floor - full of dead, blackened vines - start lightening up, green and blue light flowing through the ground and seeping into everything it touches. ] How come?
Like there's been no intermission at all between then and now. It's a mental illusion, obviously - not only has time passed in Hell, but on Earth, too, Elio's been waiting. It must be such a strange experience, belonging to both spheres equally. Lucifer, well, eons ago at least, he used to belong in Heaven, primarily. Then, he belonged nowhere for a long, long while - even Lux, ages and ages ago, was a temporary place and some time in the future, it'll be ashes and dust, sunk into its own soil.
These days, he belongs only in Hell.
The thought doesn't bother him at all which would've worried him once. Logically, he understands why but he can't actually feel it anymore. The emotional stress of fighting and raging and waging wars has left him in the meantime. When he visits Earth - so rarely and only as planned by the cycle of seasons - he never strays very far, never even considers it. Back in L.A., the world has gone on as it does. Dan Espinoza joined his realm some time ago but the loop isn't calling for change yet so he leaves it be.
It will be resolved, in time.
He sets Elio down, feeling the way he's clinging to him - differently, yes, a bit more desperately - and allows him to interlace their fingers. He gives his hand a little squeeze, too, for good measure. The other man's nervy somehow and Lucifer... well.
Some little time ago, he felt someone arriving. A tinge of familiarity, neither pleasant nor particularly vile but unmistakable. A loop, recognising something within itself, calling out before its time.
So he pulls Elio a little closer. ]
More so than usual? [ He takes them down one of the narrow hallways. Behind Elio, the floor - full of dead, blackened vines - start lightening up, green and blue light flowing through the ground and seeping into everything it touches. ] How come?
[ It's been two hundred years.
Elio's seen the world crumble and rise and degenerate anew at intervals, has left a Europe at peace one time, returning to World War III and left an America losing territory, only to return to Asia being partly colonized. It all happens in cycles. China recently gained its independence on diplimatic terms. The EU is losing the old Eastern block again. Give and take, give and take. Luckily, Elio never cared much for politics, he only cares about where he can get to play and who wants to listen.
This spring and summer, he's travelled the by now gigantic urban landscape that was once called Los Angeles, now they've slapped a New in front of the name, abbreviated NLA, doing concerts all across town and given lessons to pretty girls in their light summer dresses, the one trend that has seemingly never gone out of fashion, no matter how many years pass.
However, autumn is coming. If he couldn't feel it in the heat making the pavement slow-cook and simmer, so he's dumped his suit jacket at home in favor of a white shirt open at the front, just two or three buttons undone, Elio could sense it in the way the depths of everything call to him. Lakes? They call. Building sites with holes breaking the ground open? They call. It's gotten so bad that even the piping beneath his sink calls, meaning it's close. He never knows the exact time, of course, but close, close, close.
There's not a time Elio doesn't long for home, but there's really no time like this, either, where he longs more.
He's currently walking by the place where Lux used to be, the building has been sold off in the meantime and these days, it towers silent and dark over the quiet streets, seeing as this part of town is mostly residential, like a testimony to where you find the Devil now. Not here. There's talk of the old landmark being demolished soon enough, torn down to the ground, so some of those enormous apartment complexes that take up the entire area on all sides, housing's always a problem in New Los Angeles, can be constructed instead. Elio halts on the corner of two crossing streets, leaning his head back to look up and up and up at the construct, the balcony at the top that can only be glimpsed because he knows it's there. This was where it all began.
What a fall, right? ]
Elio's seen the world crumble and rise and degenerate anew at intervals, has left a Europe at peace one time, returning to World War III and left an America losing territory, only to return to Asia being partly colonized. It all happens in cycles. China recently gained its independence on diplimatic terms. The EU is losing the old Eastern block again. Give and take, give and take. Luckily, Elio never cared much for politics, he only cares about where he can get to play and who wants to listen.
This spring and summer, he's travelled the by now gigantic urban landscape that was once called Los Angeles, now they've slapped a New in front of the name, abbreviated NLA, doing concerts all across town and given lessons to pretty girls in their light summer dresses, the one trend that has seemingly never gone out of fashion, no matter how many years pass.
However, autumn is coming. If he couldn't feel it in the heat making the pavement slow-cook and simmer, so he's dumped his suit jacket at home in favor of a white shirt open at the front, just two or three buttons undone, Elio could sense it in the way the depths of everything call to him. Lakes? They call. Building sites with holes breaking the ground open? They call. It's gotten so bad that even the piping beneath his sink calls, meaning it's close. He never knows the exact time, of course, but close, close, close.
There's not a time Elio doesn't long for home, but there's really no time like this, either, where he longs more.
He's currently walking by the place where Lux used to be, the building has been sold off in the meantime and these days, it towers silent and dark over the quiet streets, seeing as this part of town is mostly residential, like a testimony to where you find the Devil now. Not here. There's talk of the old landmark being demolished soon enough, torn down to the ground, so some of those enormous apartment complexes that take up the entire area on all sides, housing's always a problem in New Los Angeles, can be constructed instead. Elio halts on the corner of two crossing streets, leaning his head back to look up and up and up at the construct, the balcony at the top that can only be glimpsed because he knows it's there. This was where it all began.
What a fall, right? ]
Edited 2022-02-15 13:19 (UTC)
[ The world above calls out to him and like always, like he's done hundreds of times by now, Lucifer rises from his throne and takes off towards the barrier, gliding through it with long, even strokes of his wings. When he regains his footing, he's staring out across the vast expanses of what used to be L.A. and his heart seems to stop for a second, his breath catching uselessly in his throat. Oh. This place.
There's no one left here that he'd know. Chloe's offspring died many, many cycles ago, heading to Hell like her mother before her, though the girl had an easier time ascending. She'd taken her father with her on the way, too. Chloe is still there, insists on being there because she's as stubborn as she ever was, stubborn and truth-seeking and lost amongst the choices of what turned out to be a long, complicated life. Lucifer lets her, lets her stay, until she's worn herself and her loop out.
He's standing on his old balcony and the foundation has already begun to crumble beneath his feet. In another few minutes, he's going to pop right through and take the fall, another one, all the way down. He casts a quick glance over the railing. The view isn't familiar anymore but the sight far, far down below on the streets is - Elio, standing his ground, looking up. For a moment, it seems as if they're looking at each other but really, beyond human or not, none of them have that kind of eyesight.
So he takes off, wings outstretched, and lands some feet behind Elio. He lets the surge of wind from his wings alert the other man to his presence, keeping them out because really, it's L.A. in the bloody future, if anyone gives even half a crap about a man with wings standing about randomly in the streets, he'll eat his shoe. He watches Elio quietly, his chest feeling light, like there's nothing truly bothering him. Such an absurd idea.
A feather drifts off and sticks in Elio's curls. ]
There's no one left here that he'd know. Chloe's offspring died many, many cycles ago, heading to Hell like her mother before her, though the girl had an easier time ascending. She'd taken her father with her on the way, too. Chloe is still there, insists on being there because she's as stubborn as she ever was, stubborn and truth-seeking and lost amongst the choices of what turned out to be a long, complicated life. Lucifer lets her, lets her stay, until she's worn herself and her loop out.
He's standing on his old balcony and the foundation has already begun to crumble beneath his feet. In another few minutes, he's going to pop right through and take the fall, another one, all the way down. He casts a quick glance over the railing. The view isn't familiar anymore but the sight far, far down below on the streets is - Elio, standing his ground, looking up. For a moment, it seems as if they're looking at each other but really, beyond human or not, none of them have that kind of eyesight.
So he takes off, wings outstretched, and lands some feet behind Elio. He lets the surge of wind from his wings alert the other man to his presence, keeping them out because really, it's L.A. in the bloody future, if anyone gives even half a crap about a man with wings standing about randomly in the streets, he'll eat his shoe. He watches Elio quietly, his chest feeling light, like there's nothing truly bothering him. Such an absurd idea.
A feather drifts off and sticks in Elio's curls. ]
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