[ While Elio is quenching his thirst, Lucifer abandons his place in the shadows and moves over to the stage, to the piano and Elio greets him with a raised eyebrow over the rim of his tumbler. Oh, did he come for this, was the Devil feeling a little thirsty too, or - Ah. Elio pauses, glass in hand. The other man looks amazing like that, leaning on the instrument and eyeing first the keys, then Elio, then finally the bench he's sitting on. Make room, he not-asks and Elio puts the now mostly empty Scotch down, a bartender swiftly sauntering past with not one but two refills, because in Lux the alcohol follows at the Devil's heel. Closely.
Make room for the Devil, says Lucifer. As if the Devil doesn't make quite enough room for himself, take the whole of this nightclub as an example.
Yet, there are places that'll always be his. Places he naturally belongs. Elio is one such place, he thinks, mi casa es su casa. So he smiles, playfully, and inches aside, just enough that Lucifer's wriggling ass can claim its space, no more, no less. Like this, it's mostly their shoulders that are going to rub and touch and glide together, Elio is slight, after all, he fits in anywhere. He fits in next to Lucifer on this piano bench, too, they've pulled that stunt before. Looking sideways up at Lucifer, he purses his lips a bit and looks the keyboard over, reaching up to rest one hand lightly on the keys, fingers spread out just short of an octave. There's a question in that, he thinks, I'll stretch, but how far are you going to make me.
It could pertain to a lot of different things. Right now, it's the music, and that's fine. He cocks his head, his tone light and teasing. ]
[ Elio nudges sideways, leaving enough room on the bench for Lucifer to squeeze himself into and thus, down he goes, seating himself and sipping that flying glass of Scotch that made it his way like he'd ordered it telepathically and mm, who needs that kind of flashy crap? Not him. Look what he's got. Look at all this! He thinks about the Detective then, feeling a little flash of something that aches and burns in his chest. He hadn't meant to make her angry, obviously, he just... It's hard when she doesn't believe him. Hard to do what's necessary, because it makes it hard on her.
Pushing the thought aside, he gives Elio a flirty smile, brushing his fingertips over his wrist lightly, following the line of his hand where it rests on the keys all the way across knuckles, fingers, fingertips. ]
Narrow is just another challenge, isn't it?
[ He puts his fingers on the keys, frowning for a second as he thinks about the number he'd like to start them off with. He thinks back to what feels like a very old memory from Earth, probably because he went back to Hell afterwards and time stretched on, then, for eons. All the same, the stage lights, the smell of sweat and the rush of adrenaline - the mood -
Smiling, eyes closed, he hits up the intro for The Millionaire Waltz because obviously. ]
[ Just another challenge, says Lucifer and touches him, fingers brushing over Elio's wrist flirtatiously, the back of his hand, all the way out to the tips of his fingers and Elio's skin prickles in turn, feeling heated and excited and he flexes his hands, both of them now on the keys, while the other man leans back and arranges himself, his long limbs, tall-man problems, though it never looks to be a problem at all with Lucifer. He carries himself royally, no doubt because it's the only way for him to be. Angelic's not an option and he hates its opposite. Then, one must be king, right? Elio watches him out the corner of his eye as he starts in on a melody that's immediately recognizable, if you're familiar enough with Queen. The Millionaire Waltz.
King or millionaire, then. Or both. It's fitting.
Watching Lucifer's hands as he plays out the beautiful duet between bass and piano, the elegant lines of his fingers, strong, big, they could no doubt make room anywhere they'd like, Elio leans back only enough to ease the other man's access to the high end keys, because his arm is pretty much in his chest and it's wonderful, really. He waits until the first verse before falling into the melody, feeling Lucifer get out of his way to let him hit the right chords, as he follows the other man's lead. Usually, he doesn't share his spotlight, does he, and just because they're sharing a seat, doesn't mean he wants Elio's input. As such, he doesn't play hesitantly, he never does, but he plays with care, attentiveness.
Just because Lucifer wanted his hand before, doesn't mean he wants it now. ]
[ He's letting the music carry itself, leaning into Elio's space and feeling his proximity as a balm, almost, something warm and gentle and easy. He's humming along beneath his breath as he works the melody in the right hand by memory, thankfully perfect. Then, he senses Elio leaning in, taking a small space for himself, the melody suddenly increasing in volume and intensity and Lucifer immediately gives it over, laughing. ]
Lovely!
[ He glances sideways at Elio and nudges him with his shoulder. He doesn't have to concentrate to give himself over to the bass. It's all very instinctual to him, the way it sounds, the way it breathes, music, ever since he breathed it first. ]
Let's go, Elio, let it soar!
[ Around them, happy people are starting to surround the piano, a girl crawling onto it and stretching out on her stomach, giving them a perfectly splendid view of her cleavage beneath her silvery dress. He gives her a bright smile and nods towards his own Scotch because she might as well indulge while his hands are busy, right? She returns his smile and licks her lip, giving Elio a once-over and a wink. He keeps the beat going in loops, waiting for Elio to strike up the next number without breaking the flow.
The mood in the club goes up a notch, intensifies and re-focuses itself, leaving them in the shiny, glittering centre. He loves it, loves sharing it with Elio, too, there's enough by far to go around and the other man deserves to feel it, just as he felt the sky and the sea when they flew, just as he's clearly starting to live when before, his life seemed monotonous at best.
[ Lucifer passes the melody over, looping it while he nudges Elio with his shoulder, telling him it's lovely and to let it soar and the touch makes all of Elio's reservations slide, crumble, old Babylonian walls falling after year's of occupation. He laughs, looks up in time to catch sight of a redhead who's crawled onto the piano (isn't that an all-out sin? can it be anything else in these surroundings?) and is looking him over, winking and he raises both eyebrows at her, smile growing wide and happy. Leaning forward a little bit, he claims his space and waits for the right beat to move them onwards, flowing directly into the intro of Killer Queen, because the redhead is beautiful and before her, Sylvie was beautiful, too.
The whole room is alive and breathing, people have moved up around the stage and are watching them, cheering and clapping and kissing and living and Elio has been so blind to these things for so long. Waiting and waiting and waiting. I'm waiting for someone, he'd told Sylvie when she asked whether he was going to come with her to Houston for the weekend. And that someone's not me, she'd asked without doubting the answer. Elio had shaken his head and she'd shrugged, slid up to him and caught him between her arms in a tight embrace. Let's wait together for a just little while longer, then.
He hasn't been able to define the difference yet, for his therapist. Between waiting on Oliver and waiting on Lucifer. He can't put it into words how waiting for Oliver left him dying if not dead inside and waiting for Lucifer makes him taste life in all its splendor while he hopes for the chance to have a sip of ambrosia. It's the end goal, not the waiting itself, he thinks. The end goal has to be worth all that time not being there yet.
Looking away from the girl who's started drinking Lucifer's Scotch, he focuses on Lucifer instead, letting his fingers work blindly which they fortunately do quite well, remembering the right chords. He leans in against him, shoulder against upper arm, because height differences, and says: ]
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Make room for the Devil, says Lucifer. As if the Devil doesn't make quite enough room for himself, take the whole of this nightclub as an example.
Yet, there are places that'll always be his. Places he naturally belongs. Elio is one such place, he thinks, mi casa es su casa. So he smiles, playfully, and inches aside, just enough that Lucifer's wriggling ass can claim its space, no more, no less. Like this, it's mostly their shoulders that are going to rub and touch and glide together, Elio is slight, after all, he fits in anywhere. He fits in next to Lucifer on this piano bench, too, they've pulled that stunt before. Looking sideways up at Lucifer, he purses his lips a bit and looks the keyboard over, reaching up to rest one hand lightly on the keys, fingers spread out just short of an octave. There's a question in that, he thinks, I'll stretch, but how far are you going to make me.
It could pertain to a lot of different things. Right now, it's the music, and that's fine. He cocks his head, his tone light and teasing. ]
As long as the Devil doesn't mind it narrow.
no subject
Pushing the thought aside, he gives Elio a flirty smile, brushing his fingertips over his wrist lightly, following the line of his hand where it rests on the keys all the way across knuckles, fingers, fingertips. ]
Narrow is just another challenge, isn't it?
[ He puts his fingers on the keys, frowning for a second as he thinks about the number he'd like to start them off with. He thinks back to what feels like a very old memory from Earth, probably because he went back to Hell afterwards and time stretched on, then, for eons. All the same, the stage lights, the smell of sweat and the rush of adrenaline - the mood -
Smiling, eyes closed, he hits up the intro for The Millionaire Waltz because obviously. ]
no subject
King or millionaire, then. Or both. It's fitting.
Watching Lucifer's hands as he plays out the beautiful duet between bass and piano, the elegant lines of his fingers, strong, big, they could no doubt make room anywhere they'd like, Elio leans back only enough to ease the other man's access to the high end keys, because his arm is pretty much in his chest and it's wonderful, really. He waits until the first verse before falling into the melody, feeling Lucifer get out of his way to let him hit the right chords, as he follows the other man's lead. Usually, he doesn't share his spotlight, does he, and just because they're sharing a seat, doesn't mean he wants Elio's input. As such, he doesn't play hesitantly, he never does, but he plays with care, attentiveness.
Just because Lucifer wanted his hand before, doesn't mean he wants it now. ]
no subject
Lovely!
[ He glances sideways at Elio and nudges him with his shoulder. He doesn't have to concentrate to give himself over to the bass. It's all very instinctual to him, the way it sounds, the way it breathes, music, ever since he breathed it first. ]
Let's go, Elio, let it soar!
[ Around them, happy people are starting to surround the piano, a girl crawling onto it and stretching out on her stomach, giving them a perfectly splendid view of her cleavage beneath her silvery dress. He gives her a bright smile and nods towards his own Scotch because she might as well indulge while his hands are busy, right? She returns his smile and licks her lip, giving Elio a once-over and a wink. He keeps the beat going in loops, waiting for Elio to strike up the next number without breaking the flow.
The mood in the club goes up a notch, intensifies and re-focuses itself, leaving them in the shiny, glittering centre. He loves it, loves sharing it with Elio, too, there's enough by far to go around and the other man deserves to feel it, just as he felt the sky and the sea when they flew, just as he's clearly starting to live when before, his life seemed monotonous at best.
He deserves it. ]
no subject
The whole room is alive and breathing, people have moved up around the stage and are watching them, cheering and clapping and kissing and living and Elio has been so blind to these things for so long. Waiting and waiting and waiting. I'm waiting for someone, he'd told Sylvie when she asked whether he was going to come with her to Houston for the weekend. And that someone's not me, she'd asked without doubting the answer. Elio had shaken his head and she'd shrugged, slid up to him and caught him between her arms in a tight embrace. Let's wait together for a just little while longer, then.
He hasn't been able to define the difference yet, for his therapist. Between waiting on Oliver and waiting on Lucifer. He can't put it into words how waiting for Oliver left him dying if not dead inside and waiting for Lucifer makes him taste life in all its splendor while he hopes for the chance to have a sip of ambrosia. It's the end goal, not the waiting itself, he thinks. The end goal has to be worth all that time not being there yet.
Looking away from the girl who's started drinking Lucifer's Scotch, he focuses on Lucifer instead, letting his fingers work blindly which they fortunately do quite well, remembering the right chords. He leans in against him, shoulder against upper arm, because height differences, and says: ]
Only ever with you, Lucifer.