[ Maze came back from Canada, thankfully without whatever weird attachment-issue she was cooking up whilst on her little mission and Lucifer's back in his penthouse, having a drink and in the midst of something that he's pretty certain (but not fully) he's improvising when the message ticks in. He finishes the passage and pauses, sipping his drink with one hand and reading over the text absently. Hm. Hmm. Elio, yes, but at three o'clock in the morning? Aside from his sporadic tendency to feature Lucifer in his dreams and praying to him subconsciously - who does that, it's so strange and adorable - Elio never bothers him at night.
Never bothers anyone, really, he'd wager.
Upon taking in the meaning of the text, however, and everything the other man isn't saying, Lucifer feels his own chest tighten uncomfortably, the Scotch on his tongue tasting suddenly a lot staler than it ought. Concern, he thinks, getting to his feet. This is concern. With a frown, he reaches for his car keys, then pauses.
Well.
Why not, with how bloody unhelpful they are in all other aspects?
With a scowl, he unfurls his wings and takes off, landing on Elio's balcony less than five seconds later. He's wearing his usual suit, minus the jacket. His hair, frankly, could've been better. He runs his hand through it and looks towards the living room, the piano clearly visible through the huge glass windows along with Elio behind it, bare-chested, cigarette smoke lingering in the air around him. Lucifer pauses, lowering his wings slightly. Their inherent light reflects off every available surface around him.
There's something profoundly wrong about the look on Elio's face. ]
[ It hasn't been long, not even ten minutes, would be his best guess. His phone is still lying abandoned on the couch, telling him nothing in terms of Lucifer's reaction or, really, the time, so he can't be sure. Suddenly something lights up his balcony, however, making him halt Hallelujah closer to the middle than to the end, before he stands up, frowning, catching his cigarette between two fingers. Walking over to the balcony doors, he blinks a couple of times against the brightness. It's all shadows and the opposite out there, reflections in every surface. There's a surge of something in the pit of his stomach, it feels like relief, like hope, but it shouldn't be, it can't, it's too vulnerable. He's already been vulnerable enough tonight, right? He can't do that dance again, he's tired, he's done.
Still, Lucifer is standing out there, huge, white wings unfurling on either side of his body, luminescent, shining and he's so beautiful, the only reason Elio isn't welling up again is because there are no more tears left. He's cried them all within the hour. Why did he waste them on that, when he could've cried them over Lucifer who hasn't even fazed traffic, but flown here. Quicker.
Not that Elio knew he could do that. He didn't know his wings were back. Then again, there are many things Elio doesn't know. About Lucifer.
Reaching out mechanically with one hand to open the balcony doors, Elio catches his cigarette between the fingers of the other and steps back, leaving the other man room to enter what's at the end of the day his own place, he sponsors me, he'd told Oliver, not that he thinks Oliver believed him, he probably thought Elio has worked on his knees for this space, this spot. The thought makes him smile, just a tug at the corner of his mouth, humorlessly. ] They're beautiful, Lucifer. [ Eyes running over the outline of his wings, Elio knows he could've gone with something wry, like they're back or I thought you said you'd cut them off, but Oliver's the wry one between the two of them and look, Oliver isn't here. It's just him. It'll always be just him.
[ He watches as Elio stands up, his cigarette dangling between his fingers. The other man blinks, re-acclimating his eyes to the light bursting from Lucifer's feathers and then, as he tends to do, he simply gets past it and slides open the door. He steps aside a bit, tells him that they're beautiful, the smile on his face a little bit tremulous, like it doesn't truly belong. Lucifer watches him carefully, folding his wings back so they're trailing down his shoulders. They're too big like this, the flight feathers dragging against the floor as he walks but he's also been sawing them off at regular intervals the past couple of weeks so, you know, perspective. Stepping inside, he shrugs his shoulders and brings them all the way in, folding them into nothingness.
Then, he pauses a few feet away from the other man and looks him over, feeling not just concerned but unsettled. Elio's usually quite... well. He's balanced, isn't he, enough so that he doesn't cower or salivate at the mere sight of his wings, enough even, that he didn't shy away from Lucifer's devil face. He's just taken it in. Even the ugliest truth of them all, that he murdered his own brother.
There's a place in Hell reserved for him, he knows. That loop will be waiting.
Frowning, he steps a little bit closer. He's got an urge to touch Elio but refrains, uncertain. Instead, he simply asks, voice low, an undercurrent of something dangerous running underneath: ]
[ Watching the other man as he steps inside, he notes how the wings are too big for his body, almost, flight feathers dragging over the balcony as he moves, until Lucifer shrugs his shoulders and they simply... disappear, turn into nothing. What world do wings go to when they're no longer attached to the body they came with? He'd have wondered, on an ordinary day, but today is no ordinary day. It's no ordinary night.
Lucifer came, as Elio asked him to. He cared enough to hurry, even. Elio bites his lower lip at the question and looks down at his cigarette, it's almost burned down, so he shakes his head slowly (nothing serious, it means, he can't tell such a lie in words, though) and moves over to the couch arrangement, the coffee table with the big ashtray on it. He butts out the cigarette quickly before turning around towards the other man, somehow relieved to put more distance between them.
Part of him remembers his dream, the last one, folding up against Lucifer's chest. How nice it would be, to stay there until his insides have settled and there's a new normal waiting ahead. For better or for worse. ]
I went out tonight - [ He says, still shirtless and belt-less and barefooted. With a shrug that kind of tries to display everything and nothing at the same time, he holds his arms out to the sides a bit awkwardly. Then, he lets his shoulders drop, his arms with them. ] - with an ex. Not Michel, another ex. My first ex. [ My end all, be all ex. Elio licks his lips and sighs, looking away from Lucifer to glance up at the ceiling, the chandelier not as bright as Lucifer's wings were. Consider that. ] It didn't go as planned.
[ Swallowing hard, he looks back at Lucifer again, big eyes, an expression that says, I don't even know what that means anymore, help me. ]
[ He listens, his eyes narrowing gradually whilst Elio tells him very little, really, on the face of it. Beneath his words, however, he's communicating nothing but distress, his energy trapped and unruly, like a bird trying to escape a snare - his stance too indecisive, his gaze flittering about, going everywhere and nowhere at once until he finally looks back at Lucifer, the suffering in his gaze so stark that he's reminded of other things, other times, other places. Loops. Please, my King, someone had said, prostrated at his feet, his skin scorched away by hellfire. Don't forget to punish me, don't forget, don't forget because humans do this to themselves, to each other and it's basically little but mindless destruction.
It amounts to so little.
Gaze hard and dark, he closes the distance between them until he's less than a foot away from Elio. His jaw is set in anger. ]
Did he hurt you?
[ The tremble in his voice quite clearly states that he's drawn his own conclusions already but it isn't up to him, it never is - what people do, what they let others do at their own peril. He's not in Hell anymore, however, and as far as Lucifer's concerned, the suffering can be optional here, on Earth. It happens to the undeserving far more often than not.
And it's clearly happened to Elio, too, and maybe that's part of what Lucifer's been recognising within him for so long. The ache of it. He's seen it for eons, after all, seen how it twists people into shadows of themselves, tiny monsters screaming in the dark.
[ Did he hurt you, Lucifer wants to know, marching right up in his personal space again, jaw set in anger. Elio's never been afraid of him, even knowing who and what he is - and he isn't afraid of him now either, but he understands, he thinks, seeing the way the other man's eyes narrow and grow hard, unforgiving, how others might have been, before. Maybe under other circumstances, whatever may one day land Elio in Hell, he will be, too. Then.
The thought makes something seep right out of his muscles, like his body's slowly giving up this battle it's fighting to stay erect and proud and dignified. It's been lost, hasn't it? He feels like none of those things. Another hard swallow and he holds Lucifer's stare, meets the unyielding nature of it and thinks about Oliver's you haven't changed at all. Oh, but Oliver, he has. The only thing that's the same as that summer is the messes you've left behind. They're very much the same. By his sides, Elio's fingers curl and uncurl into fists, but he doesn't look away. ]
He did, but a long time ago. [ It feels weird saying it, those words. As if, for the first time, he's reducing what they had to something that wasn't only beautiful and passionate and perfect. His eyes trek over Lucifer's features, only slightly less familiar to him than Oliver's whose face he's been staring into for fifteen years. Lucifer is all perfect proportions, his strong nose, cleft chin. Stubble, dark. Eyes, dark.
Wings, light, but they're nowhere in sight now. ] I thought I could fix it, by meeting him tonight. He contacted me a month ago and told me he was in town. That he was leaving his wife, by the way, did I want to have coffee? [ A slight hesitation, just a second as Elio decides whether to skirt the subject or... not. At the back of his mind, he can hear his therapist asking him why he won't give Lucifer the chance to honor his trust. Elio wonders that, too, really, and he thinks, like everything else, it comes back to Oliver, but tonight Oliver doesn't get to make the calls. Elio's voice, when he finally speaks again, is thick and shaking. ] I didn't really want coffee, I just wanted him to give me back the piece of me he took.
[ Elio tells him that it was a long time ago (to Lucifer's mind, anything occurring within the lifespan of a human is akin to an eye-blink, pretty much, maybe that's why they often hurt so much) but all the same, yes, he's been hurt by this person, badly enough to feel it still, to resonate with it. Lucifer looks at him quietly for a moment, the heat boiling beneath his skin misplaced for now, irrelevant to the context. He'll save it, he thinks, for a better time. For when he's tracked this man down and given him a taste of what's to come.
It's hard, of course, losing pieces of yourself. Especially if you haven't made the active choice to be rid of them (and in reverse, having them forced back upon you). He thinks about Elio on his balcony back at home, about the way they'd talked about falling. I thought I could fix it he says, meaning, I thought I'd finally stop and instead...
Instead, he's right back to the nauseating sensation of tumbling through the air, unsupported. Yes, that's how it goes sometimes, isn't it.
[ It comes out slowly, hesitantly and his eyes are running over Lucifer's features desperately now, looking for any indication that he's lost interest, that he's on his way out again. He stands firm, though, there's an invitation in his words, too, but Elio can't quite believe it, because he'd have abandoned himself at this point. Truth is, so many times already, he has.
So, rather than wait for a reaction to match his words, he bites his lip again and clears his throat, tries again, tries holding on convulsively to the reins of something he never had the control over to begin with. What finally breaks on him, then, are the tears. The tears he was sure he'd already drained, nothing left, no more waterworks. Still, they come, trickling from the corners of his eyes, down his cheeks, over his lips, nose, jawline. He reaches up and wipes at his face futilely while he continues to talk. ]
Lucifer, most people I want to connect with, I just can't. If they don't leave first, I do. It's been that way ever since that summer.
[ Licking his lips again, tasting salt and sniffling helplessly, Elio looks up at the other man, thinking - still I can, with you, I just don't let myself, I don't, I don't dare. But because they've come this far, he's seen Lucifer cry too, he's seen everything save the man's cock, Elio steps forward slightly, keeping his gaze on his face as he reaches out and takes Lucifer's hand. He remembers Oliver stiffly interlacing their fingers earlier in the night and doesn't do that, just holds it, palm up between his fingers, thumb stroking along the ball of it. ]
You're the only one I've felt like more than half a person with in so long.
[ For a moment, there's just the echo of Elio's words - I didn't want to be alone - hanging between them, something sad and painful twisting Lucifer's guts. He thinks about trying to track down his kidnapper, about following the Detective around on her job, using her to find bad people worthy of punishment without him ever exacting much of anything against them when all is said and done. Sure, sure, they cower in terror. Doesn't mean much when they hurt others so irreversibly, just as Elio's been hurt, Elio who's still alive but traveling his own Hell-loop on Earth, seeking out his own agony again and again.
It's not fair.
And when the other man starts crying, tears slipping down his cheeks, he almost can't bear it any longer. The injustice of it.
Sweet, caring Elio.
His gaze flickers upwards towards the ceiling (and beyond it) for a second, hatefully angry. Then, he tempers himself, allowing the other man to take his hand, to stroke his palm softly because that's all he'll allow himself, this man. He'll look at the door, yes, the exit and he'll do nothing else unless helped, pushed, guided. Lucifer's own mother saved him from Hell and then, he saved her in turn, carrying her out in his arms, kicking and screaming.
This is easier.
With a half-smile, he steps closer, reaching up to curve his free hand over Elio's fingers. He doesn't pull him close, simply stands there, feeling the heat of Elio's naked chest through the fabric of his own shirt. ]
Then, I'd like to share something with you.
[ Behind him, his wings re-emerge, unfurling with a harsh snap and a gust of air that leaves Elio's hair dancing against his brow. ]
[ They just look at each other for a long moment, Elio's thumb brushing over the soft palm of Lucifer's hand, until Lucifer reaches out and curves his free hand over his fingers. Then, he stops. Calmly and gradually halts, until there's just the transfer of heat from skin to skin. It feels good, this way. It feels like a good thing, like a good thing has just happened between them, is happening between them.
Slowly exhaling, Elio feels the proximity increase between them as Lucifer steps closer, not pulling him to his chest, but keeping them connected regardless. Truly connected, in a manner that transcends even physicality. Elio thought that was something he'd only ever share with Oliver, but thinking about it now, in hindsight, maybe physicality was everything he ever shared with him. Maybe this is going to be different, maybe this has been different from the beginning.
Then, I'd like, Lucifer starts out and Elio turns his face upwards to look at him, the gust of wind as the man's wings unfurl playing with the bangs hanging into his face. The breeze also makes the tears dry on his skin, a cool, sticky sensation all down his cheeks that he reaches up with his other hand to rid himself of. He's cried enough now. Enough.
.. to share something with you.
His wings are huge and white and bright, like there's a light inside of them that Elio doesn't wonder much at, because there's a light inside of Lucifer, too, isn't there? Still he pauses, thinks, stares up at the other man wide-eyed in complete wonder for all of five seconds, before withdrawing his hand from Lucifer's and instead reaching up to balance himself with his palm pressed flat against his chest. Warm and steady and strong.
He laughs, a light, brief laughter, slightly awestruck. ]
[ He loved his wings, once, though he can't remember what it felt like. It's been literal eons. No doubt, there was a decent amount of pride involved; he's never been anything but a sinner. These days, he's coming to tolerate them, mostly because hacking them off is getting repetitive and boring, but all the same, he's fairly convinced he'll never look at them with anything but mild distaste. When Elio looks up at him, however, at them, something in him preens - the same something that made him scare the thief, Carmen, into a permanent psychosis because he'd dared to... to...
Well.
They're still his, even these.
His Father forced them upon (gave them to) him.
Elio dries off his face sloppily, looking as splotchy and disheveled as everybody else when they've finished sobbing. Even like this, there's something incredibly lovely about him, about the depth in his eyes. Then, he withdraws his hand and presses it against Lucifer's chest, the warmth of his palm permeating all layers of clothing - shirt, vest - and making him smile a bit wider in response, even before he's heard the reply. At the question, he simply cocks his head sideways and looks towards the open air beyond the windows. The open door, leading out. ]
[ If you wish, Lucifer tells him and there's a moment where Elio thinks, they've come so far from the first time they met and the other man tried his mojo on him twice to force an answer from him, what do you most desire. This is the opposite, the polar opposite, Lucifer only inviting his answer, not demanding it. It feels safer, like it's easier to open up, then, and look up at him and say: ]
I don't think there's anything I'd rather want right now.
[ It's not that his wings are insanely beautiful, although it's that as well, it's that it's another part of him, one Elio knows for a fact that Lucifer has repeatedly cut off and rid himself off, that he's showing him - and not just his wingspan, which must be enormous, but how they work. It's basically the equivalent of seeing a Roman marble statue start running, right? He thinks about the Venus de Milo and wonders if she'll suddenly start holding people, too.
Whether he will.
Slipping his arm around Lucifer's waist, then, and stepping closer yet, close enough that his chest rubs naked and cool from the draft over vest and shirt covering Lucifer's front, Elio embraces him, tightly, just stands like that for a few seconds, cheek against the slope of the other man's shoulder.
[ He smiles, shifting a bit as the other man steps into him, slipping his arm around his waist. Gently, he grabs Elio's other hand and pulls it towards his neck, urging him to hold on. It's not that he has to, necessarily. In terms of weight, carrying Elio is, to Lucifer, pretty much akin to a human carrying a small poodle - better, even, seeing as people generally don't drool or slobber on your designer clothes unless they're, well, really drunk or really high which - if you're having a good time, good for you. The other man's all warm skin and quiet strength against him and he thinks about the look in his eyes before, about the hurt behind them, overflowing. His smile slips.
Well.
He'll give him something he desires, now, if nothing else.
He picks Elio up, one arm against his waist, the other beneath his knees and cradles him to his chest. Holding him tightly, he folds his wings behind himself and walks to the balcony door, stepping outside in the cool nighttime air. Around them, LA is forever pulsing with life, all times of the day and night, no rest for the wicked. He looks out across the rooftops around them, then up, towards the sky. It's beautiful tonight. It'll be alright. ]
Hold on tightly now.
[ He gives Elio a moment to comply, to get himself settled. With a heavy flap, he stretches his wings out to their full span, one tip touching the windows, the other hovering beyond the balcony. The feathers have a golden shine to them even here, away from the living room lights. They carry their own light within them, see, just as he does, and Elio's bound to feel it too, pressed against him as he is, half-naked. Beneath his clothes, he's pulsating heat. ]
[ As he stands there, enjoying the heat of him, immense amounts of heat, not just ordinary body heat, he can tell the difference, he's slept with enough people to know how a person normally feels, Elio senses how Lucifer takes his other hand and guides it to his neck, urging him to grab hold there and he does, willingly, raising his other arm as well and slinging them both around the other man's shoulders as he's being... Oh, picked up, one of Lucifer's hands at his waist, the other holding him beneath his knees and he's mostly just being cradled like that, to Lucifer's chest, like a small child who weighs nothing and is no burden to anyone. He hasn't felt that innocent in years, fifteen of them at the least and it makes him lean his head in against Lucifer's shoulder, glancing up at him as he walks them to the balcony. He's used to feeling small around the other man, he really is, it's not a problem, but this is another kind of small, this isn't insignificant, this is the complete opposite. This is important and valuable and cared for. He breathes in deeply.
Hold on tightly now.
Tightening his hold around Lucifer's neck, Elio just nods, letting the other man feel the jerk of his head against his shoulder. He's ready. He has no idea what he's ready for, what awaits him, but maybe he needs to practice going into things blindly. Maybe this is the safest place imaginable to do just that. He might die, sure. And he might not die.
He might finally live a little.
All around them, Lucifer's feathers, wings stretched out fully now and they're huge, they take up every stretch of balcony and beyond, are shining onto their surroundings with a golden shine, like liquid metal or sunlight through glass. Elio follows the arch and slope of one elegant wing on Lucifer's left side, feeling a sense of suction in the pit of his stomach, like a drop in his guts. Then, if nothing else then to feel it right, he turns his face in flying direction, staring over the rooftops of inner LA, the stars further up.
It reminds him of something, but he doesn't have the time to put his finger on what. ]
[ Elio holds onto him, sweet and pliant and just, how did anyone hurt this man, why would they, what's the bloody point? Then again, Lucifer's seen the worst of humanity, he's heard them scream and beg and excuse themselves, over and over and over. He knows why. He just doesn't understand.
Holding onto Elio a little bit tighter, he feels the wind against his feathers, the way it rustles the fluffier ones along the arches. His long, primary flight feathers, on the other hand, move only insofar as he lets them, arching his wings a little to catch the updraft. Then, he takes them both upwards, soaring towards the sky at neck-break speed. He takes them over Los Angeles faster than Elio would be able to make out any details - it's only once he sees pure darkness beneath them that he comes to a stop, mid-air, wings angled to keep them afloat. They're about eighty feet above sea-level, right above the Pacific Ocean, maybe half a mile out from Santa Monica Pier. The Park itself, located right along the very tip of the coastline, is closed for the night and dark, all hulking shapes and looming shadows thrown against the night sky.
His wings are reflected by the ocean beneath them. The waters are calm tonight, the wind cool but quiet, the sky starry up above. He holds them still, pressing his lips slightly against the side of Elio's head, feeling his hair against his lips.
He hasn't truly flown - not like this - for... too long. He can't remember. It's...
[ And once the other man catches the updraft, they're off. Elio doesn't know what he'd expected, not what he gets. It's fast, they're hurdling through the air so fast the details of the landscape, skyscrapers and rooftops, become blurred and non-sensical, Picasso in motion. Not even the fastest rollercoaster Elio's been on went by this fast, but at least his inclination to throw up isn't triggered by it, their ascend towards the heavens. He just holds his breath and waits for the forwardness to end. The pressure of the wind that makes him blink rapidly, everything falling in and out of focus.
It does end, though, after what feels like mere seconds. He gasps for breath, maybe slightly out of awe, too, and looks around, finding them above the ocean (Pacific, would be his best guess, he has no idea how far Lucifer has taken them, how far he could) - and then, he spots the Park at Santa Monica Pier in the horizon, far, far away, just looming shadows against a backdrop of stars. You never get a night sky like this over a big city. Elio suddenly remembers his summers in B, the skies over their summer house. It was this kind of sky.
He smiles, feels Lucifer's lips against his hair, the nearness of him, the way they're just floating above the waves together. Lucifer's wings are reflected in the water down below. ]
Please keep them.
[ Slowly, Elio turns his head, feeling Lucifer's lips near his temple, brow, he lifts his face up towards him and, trusting the other man to hold him up, leans up as much as he can to press his lips to the corner of Lucifer's mouth, just a small row of soft kisses, until he's at an angle where he can kiss him properly, catching his bottom lip between his two.
He doesn't say, it isn't my decision, the wings are yours, seeing as he thinks at this point they know each other well enough. Lucifer wouldn't have a doubt what he means anyway, his mouth is telling him. About the light and the stars and how no one has ever lifted Elio up like this before. ]
[ Elio's gasping for breath, looking around them, hopefully sensing the clearness of it, the way eternity doesn't have to make you feel small and insignificant. Sometimes, even as a human - surely, you're allowed to take part in it. Surely. He doesn't glance upwards, though there's something spiteful lurking in his chest, something sour and unrepentant. Eons in Hell couldn't quell that side of him, obviously. These wings - his Devil face, stolen - he'll fix it all. He'll get himself back, piece by bloody piece, whether it'll take him forever to do so.
Please keep them says Elio and he wouldn't, not for his sake, as the other man undoubtedly knows. Consequently, he doesn't answer. This, in itself, speaks volumes.
Against him, Elio leans up close and Lucifer balances them both in the air with a few, light strokes of his wings, the waves beneath them crinkling from the resultant gust of air. When the other man kisses him, first a small row of gentle touches against the side of his mouth and then, a proper one, full on the lips, Lucifer returns it easily, eyes falling shut for a few seconds as he basks in the feel of it - of floating, controlled and unburdened, and Elio's taste warm and heavy on his tongue.
He pulls back. Looks towards the shoreline, towards the black outline of the amusement park, the bulk of the ferris wheel. Then, he shuts his eyes tightly, focuses - focuses - and lets his power flow for all of a split-second but it's enough, of course. His wings gleam behind him briefly, the waves glittering white.
The ferris wheel lights up in hues of blue and indigo along with the lights on the rollercoaster and along the pier. Slowly, the wheel begins to turn. It's beautiful, he thinks, and smiles, widely. His eyes are getting wet but he can't let go of Elio to wipe them and wouldn't, either, in any case. Instead, he simply holds him closer and gives him the view, tonight.
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no subject
Never bothers anyone, really, he'd wager.
Upon taking in the meaning of the text, however, and everything the other man isn't saying, Lucifer feels his own chest tighten uncomfortably, the Scotch on his tongue tasting suddenly a lot staler than it ought. Concern, he thinks, getting to his feet. This is concern. With a frown, he reaches for his car keys, then pauses.
Well.
Why not, with how bloody unhelpful they are in all other aspects?
With a scowl, he unfurls his wings and takes off, landing on Elio's balcony less than five seconds later. He's wearing his usual suit, minus the jacket. His hair, frankly, could've been better. He runs his hand through it and looks towards the living room, the piano clearly visible through the huge glass windows along with Elio behind it, bare-chested, cigarette smoke lingering in the air around him. Lucifer pauses, lowering his wings slightly. Their inherent light reflects off every available surface around him.
There's something profoundly wrong about the look on Elio's face. ]
no subject
Still, Lucifer is standing out there, huge, white wings unfurling on either side of his body, luminescent, shining and he's so beautiful, the only reason Elio isn't welling up again is because there are no more tears left. He's cried them all within the hour. Why did he waste them on that, when he could've cried them over Lucifer who hasn't even fazed traffic, but flown here. Quicker.
Not that Elio knew he could do that. He didn't know his wings were back. Then again, there are many things Elio doesn't know. About Lucifer.
Reaching out mechanically with one hand to open the balcony doors, Elio catches his cigarette between the fingers of the other and steps back, leaving the other man room to enter what's at the end of the day his own place, he sponsors me, he'd told Oliver, not that he thinks Oliver believed him, he probably thought Elio has worked on his knees for this space, this spot. The thought makes him smile, just a tug at the corner of his mouth, humorlessly. ] They're beautiful, Lucifer. [ Eyes running over the outline of his wings, Elio knows he could've gone with something wry, like they're back or I thought you said you'd cut them off, but Oliver's the wry one between the two of them and look, Oliver isn't here. It's just him. It'll always be just him.
The smile fades, fast. ]
no subject
Then, he pauses a few feet away from the other man and looks him over, feeling not just concerned but unsettled. Elio's usually quite... well. He's balanced, isn't he, enough so that he doesn't cower or salivate at the mere sight of his wings, enough even, that he didn't shy away from Lucifer's devil face. He's just taken it in. Even the ugliest truth of them all, that he murdered his own brother.
There's a place in Hell reserved for him, he knows. That loop will be waiting.
Frowning, he steps a little bit closer. He's got an urge to touch Elio but refrains, uncertain. Instead, he simply asks, voice low, an undercurrent of something dangerous running underneath: ]
Elio. [ Head-tilt. ] What is it?
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Lucifer came, as Elio asked him to. He cared enough to hurry, even. Elio bites his lower lip at the question and looks down at his cigarette, it's almost burned down, so he shakes his head slowly (nothing serious, it means, he can't tell such a lie in words, though) and moves over to the couch arrangement, the coffee table with the big ashtray on it. He butts out the cigarette quickly before turning around towards the other man, somehow relieved to put more distance between them.
Part of him remembers his dream, the last one, folding up against Lucifer's chest. How nice it would be, to stay there until his insides have settled and there's a new normal waiting ahead. For better or for worse. ]
I went out tonight - [ He says, still shirtless and belt-less and barefooted. With a shrug that kind of tries to display everything and nothing at the same time, he holds his arms out to the sides a bit awkwardly. Then, he lets his shoulders drop, his arms with them. ] - with an ex. Not Michel, another ex. My first ex. [ My end all, be all ex. Elio licks his lips and sighs, looking away from Lucifer to glance up at the ceiling, the chandelier not as bright as Lucifer's wings were. Consider that. ] It didn't go as planned.
[ Swallowing hard, he looks back at Lucifer again, big eyes, an expression that says, I don't even know what that means anymore, help me. ]
no subject
It amounts to so little.
Gaze hard and dark, he closes the distance between them until he's less than a foot away from Elio. His jaw is set in anger. ]
Did he hurt you?
[ The tremble in his voice quite clearly states that he's drawn his own conclusions already but it isn't up to him, it never is - what people do, what they let others do at their own peril. He's not in Hell anymore, however, and as far as Lucifer's concerned, the suffering can be optional here, on Earth. It happens to the undeserving far more often than not.
And it's clearly happened to Elio, too, and maybe that's part of what Lucifer's been recognising within him for so long. The ache of it. He's seen it for eons, after all, seen how it twists people into shadows of themselves, tiny monsters screaming in the dark.
Hateful. ]
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The thought makes something seep right out of his muscles, like his body's slowly giving up this battle it's fighting to stay erect and proud and dignified. It's been lost, hasn't it? He feels like none of those things. Another hard swallow and he holds Lucifer's stare, meets the unyielding nature of it and thinks about Oliver's you haven't changed at all. Oh, but Oliver, he has. The only thing that's the same as that summer is the messes you've left behind. They're very much the same. By his sides, Elio's fingers curl and uncurl into fists, but he doesn't look away. ]
He did, but a long time ago. [ It feels weird saying it, those words. As if, for the first time, he's reducing what they had to something that wasn't only beautiful and passionate and perfect. His eyes trek over Lucifer's features, only slightly less familiar to him than Oliver's whose face he's been staring into for fifteen years. Lucifer is all perfect proportions, his strong nose, cleft chin. Stubble, dark. Eyes, dark.
Wings, light, but they're nowhere in sight now. ] I thought I could fix it, by meeting him tonight. He contacted me a month ago and told me he was in town. That he was leaving his wife, by the way, did I want to have coffee? [ A slight hesitation, just a second as Elio decides whether to skirt the subject or... not. At the back of his mind, he can hear his therapist asking him why he won't give Lucifer the chance to honor his trust. Elio wonders that, too, really, and he thinks, like everything else, it comes back to Oliver, but tonight Oliver doesn't get to make the calls. Elio's voice, when he finally speaks again, is thick and shaking. ] I didn't really want coffee, I just wanted him to give me back the piece of me he took.
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It's hard, of course, losing pieces of yourself. Especially if you haven't made the active choice to be rid of them (and in reverse, having them forced back upon you). He thinks about Elio on his balcony back at home, about the way they'd talked about falling. I thought I could fix it he says, meaning, I thought I'd finally stop and instead...
Instead, he's right back to the nauseating sensation of tumbling through the air, unsupported. Yes, that's how it goes sometimes, isn't it.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Lucifer nods. ]
You wrote that you needed me.
[ It's not a question but an invitation. ]
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[ It comes out slowly, hesitantly and his eyes are running over Lucifer's features desperately now, looking for any indication that he's lost interest, that he's on his way out again. He stands firm, though, there's an invitation in his words, too, but Elio can't quite believe it, because he'd have abandoned himself at this point. Truth is, so many times already, he has.
So, rather than wait for a reaction to match his words, he bites his lip again and clears his throat, tries again, tries holding on convulsively to the reins of something he never had the control over to begin with. What finally breaks on him, then, are the tears. The tears he was sure he'd already drained, nothing left, no more waterworks. Still, they come, trickling from the corners of his eyes, down his cheeks, over his lips, nose, jawline. He reaches up and wipes at his face futilely while he continues to talk. ]
Lucifer, most people I want to connect with, I just can't. If they don't leave first, I do. It's been that way ever since that summer.
[ Licking his lips again, tasting salt and sniffling helplessly, Elio looks up at the other man, thinking - still I can, with you, I just don't let myself, I don't, I don't dare. But because they've come this far, he's seen Lucifer cry too, he's seen everything save the man's cock, Elio steps forward slightly, keeping his gaze on his face as he reaches out and takes Lucifer's hand. He remembers Oliver stiffly interlacing their fingers earlier in the night and doesn't do that, just holds it, palm up between his fingers, thumb stroking along the ball of it. ]
You're the only one I've felt like more than half a person with in so long.
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It's not fair.
And when the other man starts crying, tears slipping down his cheeks, he almost can't bear it any longer. The injustice of it.
Sweet, caring Elio.
His gaze flickers upwards towards the ceiling (and beyond it) for a second, hatefully angry. Then, he tempers himself, allowing the other man to take his hand, to stroke his palm softly because that's all he'll allow himself, this man. He'll look at the door, yes, the exit and he'll do nothing else unless helped, pushed, guided. Lucifer's own mother saved him from Hell and then, he saved her in turn, carrying her out in his arms, kicking and screaming.
This is easier.
With a half-smile, he steps closer, reaching up to curve his free hand over Elio's fingers. He doesn't pull him close, simply stands there, feeling the heat of Elio's naked chest through the fabric of his own shirt. ]
Then, I'd like to share something with you.
[ Behind him, his wings re-emerge, unfurling with a harsh snap and a gust of air that leaves Elio's hair dancing against his brow. ]
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Slowly exhaling, Elio feels the proximity increase between them as Lucifer steps closer, not pulling him to his chest, but keeping them connected regardless. Truly connected, in a manner that transcends even physicality. Elio thought that was something he'd only ever share with Oliver, but thinking about it now, in hindsight, maybe physicality was everything he ever shared with him. Maybe this is going to be different, maybe this has been different from the beginning.
Then, I'd like, Lucifer starts out and Elio turns his face upwards to look at him, the gust of wind as the man's wings unfurl playing with the bangs hanging into his face. The breeze also makes the tears dry on his skin, a cool, sticky sensation all down his cheeks that he reaches up with his other hand to rid himself of. He's cried enough now. Enough.
.. to share something with you.
His wings are huge and white and bright, like there's a light inside of them that Elio doesn't wonder much at, because there's a light inside of Lucifer, too, isn't there? Still he pauses, thinks, stares up at the other man wide-eyed in complete wonder for all of five seconds, before withdrawing his hand from Lucifer's and instead reaching up to balance himself with his palm pressed flat against his chest. Warm and steady and strong.
He laughs, a light, brief laughter, slightly awestruck. ]
Are you going to take me flying?
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Well.
They're still his, even these.
His Father forced them upon (gave them to) him.
Elio dries off his face sloppily, looking as splotchy and disheveled as everybody else when they've finished sobbing. Even like this, there's something incredibly lovely about him, about the depth in his eyes. Then, he withdraws his hand and presses it against Lucifer's chest, the warmth of his palm permeating all layers of clothing - shirt, vest - and making him smile a bit wider in response, even before he's heard the reply. At the question, he simply cocks his head sideways and looks towards the open air beyond the windows. The open door, leading out. ]
If you wish.
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I don't think there's anything I'd rather want right now.
[ It's not that his wings are insanely beautiful, although it's that as well, it's that it's another part of him, one Elio knows for a fact that Lucifer has repeatedly cut off and rid himself off, that he's showing him - and not just his wingspan, which must be enormous, but how they work. It's basically the equivalent of seeing a Roman marble statue start running, right? He thinks about the Venus de Milo and wonders if she'll suddenly start holding people, too.
Whether he will.
Slipping his arm around Lucifer's waist, then, and stepping closer yet, close enough that his chest rubs naked and cool from the draft over vest and shirt covering Lucifer's front, Elio embraces him, tightly, just stands like that for a few seconds, cheek against the slope of the other man's shoulder.
Elio blinks against the shadows of his jawline. ]
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Well.
He'll give him something he desires, now, if nothing else.
He picks Elio up, one arm against his waist, the other beneath his knees and cradles him to his chest. Holding him tightly, he folds his wings behind himself and walks to the balcony door, stepping outside in the cool nighttime air. Around them, LA is forever pulsing with life, all times of the day and night, no rest for the wicked. He looks out across the rooftops around them, then up, towards the sky. It's beautiful tonight. It'll be alright. ]
Hold on tightly now.
[ He gives Elio a moment to comply, to get himself settled. With a heavy flap, he stretches his wings out to their full span, one tip touching the windows, the other hovering beyond the balcony. The feathers have a golden shine to them even here, away from the living room lights. They carry their own light within them, see, just as he does, and Elio's bound to feel it too, pressed against him as he is, half-naked. Beneath his clothes, he's pulsating heat. ]
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Hold on tightly now.
Tightening his hold around Lucifer's neck, Elio just nods, letting the other man feel the jerk of his head against his shoulder. He's ready. He has no idea what he's ready for, what awaits him, but maybe he needs to practice going into things blindly. Maybe this is the safest place imaginable to do just that. He might die, sure. And he might not die.
He might finally live a little.
All around them, Lucifer's feathers, wings stretched out fully now and they're huge, they take up every stretch of balcony and beyond, are shining onto their surroundings with a golden shine, like liquid metal or sunlight through glass. Elio follows the arch and slope of one elegant wing on Lucifer's left side, feeling a sense of suction in the pit of his stomach, like a drop in his guts. Then, if nothing else then to feel it right, he turns his face in flying direction, staring over the rooftops of inner LA, the stars further up.
It reminds him of something, but he doesn't have the time to put his finger on what. ]
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Holding onto Elio a little bit tighter, he feels the wind against his feathers, the way it rustles the fluffier ones along the arches. His long, primary flight feathers, on the other hand, move only insofar as he lets them, arching his wings a little to catch the updraft. Then, he takes them both upwards, soaring towards the sky at neck-break speed. He takes them over Los Angeles faster than Elio would be able to make out any details - it's only once he sees pure darkness beneath them that he comes to a stop, mid-air, wings angled to keep them afloat. They're about eighty feet above sea-level, right above the Pacific Ocean, maybe half a mile out from Santa Monica Pier. The Park itself, located right along the very tip of the coastline, is closed for the night and dark, all hulking shapes and looming shadows thrown against the night sky.
His wings are reflected by the ocean beneath them. The waters are calm tonight, the wind cool but quiet, the sky starry up above. He holds them still, pressing his lips slightly against the side of Elio's head, feeling his hair against his lips.
He hasn't truly flown - not like this - for... too long. He can't remember. It's...
Right now, it hardly matters what it is. ]
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It does end, though, after what feels like mere seconds. He gasps for breath, maybe slightly out of awe, too, and looks around, finding them above the ocean (Pacific, would be his best guess, he has no idea how far Lucifer has taken them, how far he could) - and then, he spots the Park at Santa Monica Pier in the horizon, far, far away, just looming shadows against a backdrop of stars. You never get a night sky like this over a big city. Elio suddenly remembers his summers in B, the skies over their summer house. It was this kind of sky.
He smiles, feels Lucifer's lips against his hair, the nearness of him, the way they're just floating above the waves together. Lucifer's wings are reflected in the water down below. ]
Please keep them.
[ Slowly, Elio turns his head, feeling Lucifer's lips near his temple, brow, he lifts his face up towards him and, trusting the other man to hold him up, leans up as much as he can to press his lips to the corner of Lucifer's mouth, just a small row of soft kisses, until he's at an angle where he can kiss him properly, catching his bottom lip between his two.
He doesn't say, it isn't my decision, the wings are yours, seeing as he thinks at this point they know each other well enough. Lucifer wouldn't have a doubt what he means anyway, his mouth is telling him. About the light and the stars and how no one has ever lifted Elio up like this before. ]
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Please keep them says Elio and he wouldn't, not for his sake, as the other man undoubtedly knows. Consequently, he doesn't answer. This, in itself, speaks volumes.
Against him, Elio leans up close and Lucifer balances them both in the air with a few, light strokes of his wings, the waves beneath them crinkling from the resultant gust of air. When the other man kisses him, first a small row of gentle touches against the side of his mouth and then, a proper one, full on the lips, Lucifer returns it easily, eyes falling shut for a few seconds as he basks in the feel of it - of floating, controlled and unburdened, and Elio's taste warm and heavy on his tongue.
He pulls back. Looks towards the shoreline, towards the black outline of the amusement park, the bulk of the ferris wheel. Then, he shuts his eyes tightly, focuses - focuses - and lets his power flow for all of a split-second but it's enough, of course. His wings gleam behind him briefly, the waves glittering white.
The ferris wheel lights up in hues of blue and indigo along with the lights on the rollercoaster and along the pier. Slowly, the wheel begins to turn. It's beautiful, he thinks, and smiles, widely. His eyes are getting wet but he can't let go of Elio to wipe them and wouldn't, either, in any case. Instead, he simply holds him closer and gives him the view, tonight.
Gives it to himself, too. ]