[ 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. ]
no subject
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?