[ He raises his eyebrow at Elio's initial comment - not a hardship at all, is it - turning slightly to face him. He's actually a split-second away from puckering his lips and getting to it when Elio follows up with tell me one thing that happened. Pause. He looks at the other man for moment, his brow furrowing slightly. Their relationship - whatever it is, friendship, not-quite-lovers - is gradually becoming an interesting existential experience in the art of being lost and found. Continuously. He doesn't know how to feel about that, honestly, but then, he did just go to Hell and back and good thing the professor actually kept the antidote formula in his head - imagine if that had been a turn of phrase. He sighs. It hadn't even occurred to him, that it might go badly. That something might've been missed during the planning stage, such as it was.
Anything, says Elio and Lucifer leans in to kiss him, folding one hand against his jaw to tip him upwards a little, the lights from the balcony dancing across his face. It's a slow kiss, gentle and unhurried, a little tongue just to keep things interesting - but mostly, it's... just a kiss. Simple. Undeterred. He tastes Scotch on his tongue, on Elio's too, and beneath that, the warm and by now intimate familiarity of him.
He's seen Lucifer, after all, for what he is.
It's irreplaceable.
When he pulls back after a moment, he says, voice quiet: ]
I died. [ A half-smile. ] Briefly. Had to run a small errand in Hell.
[ There's something incredibly odd and marvelous about saying these things out loud with the expectation of being believed. ]
[ Lucifer turns towards him and is obviously not finding the first part of his request a difficult need to sate, but the second part still makes him pause, frown and Elio turns towards him as well, looks at him for a long moment, feeling a slight sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, a completely senseless fear that he's pushed it too far, demanded too much, hoped, hoped, hoped in vain. Then, oh, then he's being kissed and it's slow and warm and comes with no presumptions, just a little tongue that he meets with his own, taking in the taste of Scotch first and foremost, seems to be a given with Lucifer, at this point with Elio as well and underneath it, something darker, gradually familiar. What's left when you strip him of alcohol and attitude. Lucifer's hand against his jaw is good. Careful. Asking him to meet him halfway there. Elio loses his breath a little, has to catch it once they both draw back.
His lips are tingling and he licks them without really thinking about it.
I died, says the other man in response to his second request and more than the kiss, more than the taste of him and the feel of him and the nearness of him, it's the intimacy in those words that makes Elio feel an incredible fondness for him. He's sharing with him, again. He's offering. Slowly, Elio smiles, a half-smile to match Lucifer's, and cocks his head, sloshing the Scotch around his tumbler with his right hand without glancing down. Full attention on the other man. Had to run a small errand in Hell. ]
I didn't know you could die. [ It seems to be the same song as always, things Elio didn't know about him. ] It must have been very important, if it was worth going to Hell for.
[ They're close like this, their faces mere inches apart. Elio's lips are shining and Lucifer wants to lick them again, just to feel the softness of them. Instead, his expression grows a bit sombre at Elio's comment, his gaze slipping sideways. He curls one arm around the other man's narrow waist and pulls him in a little, just for emphasis. ]
It was for a friend.
[ Elio feels equal parts hard and soft against him, warm despite the chill of the evening clinging to his outerwear. Chloe had looked so small in that hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and beeping machines. He'd been so very close to losing her, to losing the dearest friend he's ever had. No way in Hell was he letting that happen, not to her, not to her child (and not to himself, either, because he's nothing if not inherently selfish). All the same, he can never actually tell her what he did the way he's just done, now, with Elio. She'll have to simply close her eyes some more to the truth; that she can't explain away the inexplicable, that there must be a story there that she simply can't bear.
He leaves it like that. One day, perhaps, she'll make a different choice.
It doesn't matter as much as it did. Before.
He glances back at Elio with unconcealed warmth in his eyes. You're my friend too, it says, and beneath that, probably less evident - I'd do it for you as well. ]
[ When he says it, he looks away, does Lucifer. It was for a friend. Elio doesn't feel jealous at his words, although judging from their relationship, his own and Lucifer's, friendship's many things when it comes to the Devil and maybe, in another reality, another place on Earth (with another person), he would have been. Jealous. As it is, he's just happy - happy that Lucifer has someone worth returning to Hell for and happy that whatever happened to them, it has been resolved enough that he can be here now, with him, telling him about it and looking at him with his dark, deep eyes that say, you're a friend, too. Maybe that's the real reason he isn't feeling much jealousy at all, really. Because Lucifer is curling his arm around his waist and holding him close in every sense of the phrase. Physically and emotionally.
Elio steps closer, his tumbler of whiskey dangling dangerously between the fingers of his right hand, somewhere near the middle of his thigh, before he pushes up on the balls of his feet, almost on his toes, but not quite, leaning in and resting his chin on Lucifer's shoulder, the LA cityscape a kaleidoscope of lights behind him. Blinking against the dusk, against the colors and the shapes, going slightly blurry when he focuses on them for too long, he just stands there and inhales the nearness of the other man. The firmness of his body, the softness.
Things that don't exclude one another.
He smiles, a genuine sense of relief to it, for Lucifer's sake and for his own. ]
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Anything, says Elio and Lucifer leans in to kiss him, folding one hand against his jaw to tip him upwards a little, the lights from the balcony dancing across his face. It's a slow kiss, gentle and unhurried, a little tongue just to keep things interesting - but mostly, it's... just a kiss. Simple. Undeterred. He tastes Scotch on his tongue, on Elio's too, and beneath that, the warm and by now intimate familiarity of him.
He's seen Lucifer, after all, for what he is.
It's irreplaceable.
When he pulls back after a moment, he says, voice quiet: ]
I died. [ A half-smile. ] Briefly. Had to run a small errand in Hell.
[ There's something incredibly odd and marvelous about saying these things out loud with the expectation of being believed. ]
no subject
His lips are tingling and he licks them without really thinking about it.
I died, says the other man in response to his second request and more than the kiss, more than the taste of him and the feel of him and the nearness of him, it's the intimacy in those words that makes Elio feel an incredible fondness for him. He's sharing with him, again. He's offering. Slowly, Elio smiles, a half-smile to match Lucifer's, and cocks his head, sloshing the Scotch around his tumbler with his right hand without glancing down. Full attention on the other man. Had to run a small errand in Hell. ]
I didn't know you could die. [ It seems to be the same song as always, things Elio didn't know about him. ] It must have been very important, if it was worth going to Hell for.
no subject
It was for a friend.
[ Elio feels equal parts hard and soft against him, warm despite the chill of the evening clinging to his outerwear. Chloe had looked so small in that hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and beeping machines. He'd been so very close to losing her, to losing the dearest friend he's ever had. No way in Hell was he letting that happen, not to her, not to her child (and not to himself, either, because he's nothing if not inherently selfish). All the same, he can never actually tell her what he did the way he's just done, now, with Elio. She'll have to simply close her eyes some more to the truth; that she can't explain away the inexplicable, that there must be a story there that she simply can't bear.
He leaves it like that. One day, perhaps, she'll make a different choice.
It doesn't matter as much as it did. Before.
He glances back at Elio with unconcealed warmth in his eyes. You're my friend too, it says, and beneath that, probably less evident - I'd do it for you as well. ]
no subject
Elio steps closer, his tumbler of whiskey dangling dangerously between the fingers of his right hand, somewhere near the middle of his thigh, before he pushes up on the balls of his feet, almost on his toes, but not quite, leaning in and resting his chin on Lucifer's shoulder, the LA cityscape a kaleidoscope of lights behind him. Blinking against the dusk, against the colors and the shapes, going slightly blurry when he focuses on them for too long, he just stands there and inhales the nearness of the other man. The firmness of his body, the softness.
Things that don't exclude one another.
He smiles, a genuine sense of relief to it, for Lucifer's sake and for his own. ]
You have very lucky friends, Lucifer.