[ He says it with extra conviction, because after having rubbed his face in against Elio's palm, Lucifer draws away and starts fighting his shoes, winning the battle only by way of massacre. He then proceeds to stare at his socks like they've gravely offended him and the sheer fact that they exist on his feet, when he should be naked and free and unbothered by these things probably has, really.
Elio watches him for a long moment, just lets him sit in it until he hangs his head in defeat and at that point, surely, there's nothing more to watch that either of them wants to witness. Lucifer doesn't want to lose and Elio doesn't want to see him do so. Crawling on his knees over next to the other man on the bed, though only after having toed out of his own shoes in sympathy, Elio reaches up slowly, non-intrusively, to begin sliding his suit jacket off his shoulders. Very slowly, very gently. The fabric is thick and rich and warm in his grip.
Against his fingertips, Lucifer is rich and warm as well. ]
Take over from me, if I hurt you. I just want to help, yes?
[ They're sitting quite close like this, Elio's eyes following the slide of the jacket down the other man's arms until it catches on his elbows, from where he waits for Lucifer to either accept his initiative or tell him off. He'll respect either, of course, but right now the other man needs to feel someone cares enough to begin, proceed and finish for him.
Well, Elio cares. Elio cares enough, even to risk overstepping his bounds. ]
[ I'm sure, says Elio and slips a bit further into his personal space, losing his shoes in the process because that's how incredibly perceptive he is, like he seems to always get it, without asking, without being told. Lucifer's breath shudders out of him as the other man reaches for his jacket, trying to shrug a bit to help the moving fabric along. It's pretty pitiful but Elio gets by, getting it all the way down to his elbows. Leaning in slowly, almost in slow-motion, Lucifer rests his forehead against Elio's shoulder for a long moment, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly, still a bit raggedly. ]
I doubt you could hurt me, Elio.
[ He's not talking physically, here. At this point, he's come to learn that the physical aspect of pain as experienced in the human world really is nothing compared to the feeling currently curled up in his chest like an angry cat, clawing at him from within. All the same, he really does think... he does believe. That it would be unlikely. Jaw tightening, he steels himself and straightens up a bit, then shrugs out of the jacket the rest of the way. The aftershocks of moving his shoulders and spine temporarily freeze him in place and he sits there, blinking at nothing, lips moving wordlessly.
Ow.
Honestly.
Shaking out of it, he starts in on the buttons of his shirt, though he gets to number two before he gives up and just... rips it. Off. Right down the middle. It's no real hardship, what with the holes already littering the fabric, but the buttons fly off in every which direction and he distinctively hears one actually ricocheting off the piano lid.
The wound on his upper arm from the hell blade is mostly healed, little more than an angry red line. He gives it a passing glance, then looks over at Elio, leans right back in against his front and rests his forehead against his shoulder again. He smells lovely. Like something you might just get lost in. When he speaks, he sounds out of breath. ]
[ It physically nauseates him a bit, seeing the pain Lucifer works through to just shrug out of his suit jacket the rest of the way, then to rip his shirt, like it was paper.
Strength is no guarantee against hurt, he thinks, even as the other man tells him, he doubts... The words don't mean what he's actually saying, of course, the fact remains, at this point he's let Elio close enough that he certainly could try to hurt him, physically, and no doubt could get a good one in, emotionally. What he means, then, is that he trusts Elio not to. The notion makes something tighten in Elio's throat and he reaches up to wrap his arm around Lucifer's head as he leans his forehead against his shoulder, asking for a moment and Elio gives him all the time he needs, just cradling him close this way. He noticed, as the other man looked down at himself, how even Lucifer's human body bears the marks.
He's a heavy weight against Elio's front. He's presence and physicality and a very intimate sense of faith, like he has faith in him.
He might want to believe that Elio couldn't hurt him and Elio will let him, but it's evident, aside from the bullet holes and the blood and his wings that he still isn't showing, that not everyone has shown him the same courtesy. The same care. Elio, in turn, doesn't care who it is, though he has his well-founded idea already, few people have otherwise been let in, right, oh, he simply detests them a little for it. Whatever they've done.
Whatever they've done to reduce the other man to so little, when he's everything. When he's supposed to be up, not down. Not taking the same fall he's suffered a thousand times already. Elio hums quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of Lucifer's head. ]
I might not, but someone has.
[ A quiet conclusion. No questions, no probing, do you want to tell me about it, who it is, what happened. None of that. ]
[ He stays there for a little while, just feeling Elio's warm breath against the top of his head, the leftover impression of his lips. Someone has, the other man concludes, and Lucifer leaves his words to the silence between them, feeling too exhausted with that aspect of it all to take chase. Yes, he does... feel hurt. Physically, his wings ache even now, though he isn't actively using his bodyweight to carry them around and mentally, he just.. He didn't want to make Chloe believe. He never wants to make anyone do anything.
It hurts that he can't even follow his own principles.
Pushing the thought aside, he finally pulls back from the safety of Elio's shoulder and shifts a bit, giving the other man a once-over to make sure he's well out of range of the sharper primaries. Sure, they might have taken a pounding this time around but his feathers aren't nearly as white and fluffy as they look. Well. Not all of them. He takes a second to check the distance between himself and the walls around them, braces himself against the mattress and rolls his shoulders out.
Gasping in pain, he feels them furl upwards in ragged stages, bones creaking wetly, a few bloody feathers coming loose at the motion. He gets them all the way to their full stretch before his upper arms give, muscles shaking, and he drops to the bed more or less face-first with a groan. His wings sort of slap down against the bed on either side of him, limp and caked with dried blood. The long feathers are mostly in tatters, relatively painless save for the way they've been scrunched up and out of alignment. The worst damage runs along the upper parts of the wings, bullets still imbedded in the bone.
They basically look like he ought to amputate them. Perhaps that's the most they deserve, at this point.
He turns his head to the side and looks up at Elio. Resigned. ]
So, as you can see. [ He flaps them pathetically. ] They've looked better.
[ Even in pain, even when gunned down, there's something rather majestic about the process of Lucifer unfurling his wings, the way he owns his surroundings, takes control of himself, his own body. Shoulder feeling naked suddenly without the other man's weight there, Elio watches wordlessly while the other man rolls his shoulders and his wings sprout from his shoulder blades, huge stretches of long, white feathers, bloodied and in tatters, a couple coming off and falling onto the sheets, the rest turned ever-which-way.
They're different limbs from last time Elio saw them, they've been massacred, pretty much, and he wouldn't want Lucifer to fly him anywhere in this state. He doesn't even want him to move as he flaps them pathetically and tells him, they've looked better. Well, they'll look better again. Elio's going to make sure.
He frowns. Glances over his shoulder towards the bathroom and then, back at Lucifer again, meeting his resigned eyes with a softening, sympathetic look. Reaching out slowly and carefully, he places his hand on the other man's shoulder, well out of the way of the abused arch of his left wing. There's blood everywhere and splinters of bone and imbedded bullets. When he withdraws his hand once more, it's only to curl it into a fist.
Still, his voice is soft. There's room for discussion, but he has obviously already made up his mind. ]
Please don't move them unnecessarily, Lucifer.
[ Pushing himself off the bed, trying not to jostle anything around too much, he stands up and looks around, his sock-clad feet padding towards the bathroom as he crosses the floor, though he halts in the doorway, turning around. Awaiting permission, it still isn't his home, Lucifer isn't his to boss around.
Right now, really, he'd much rather cuddle him, anyway. ]
I can remove the bullets, if you want. I might need your biggest pair of tweezers to do it, however. [ He licks his lips, tries to think of what else he might need, alcohol definitely... A deep breath and he looks Lucifer over, at a distance now. No less beautiful, just a bit more bashed. ] If you tell me where I can find them, I'll get you fixed up.
[ Elio touches his shoulder and his muscles un-tense a fraction, his wings drooping a bit further towards the floor and over his back. He watches tiredly as the other man shifts away, pushing himself off the bed with an order - soft, but steady, too, unafraid - not to move them which, yes, good advice actually, he'll take it. He'll just. Stay here, flat. Yes. Yawning, he takes a second to register that Elio's followed up with a question, telling him that he can remove the bullets, provided he's got tweezers big enough to handle the job.
Oh.
Does he really...
Blinking, he re-focuses on the other man's outline - slim limbs, long, graceful lines. He looks beautiful as he stands there, a very well-disguised strength permeating his stance. Something that feels a little bit reassuring, like protection and compassion and care, odd, inexplicable concepts when applied to himself. He shivers a bit, his feathers fluttering. Even though he's half-dressed, he feels almost naked in the face of it.
Sweet, gentle Elio.
Who's definitely not just being sweet and gentle in this very moment, something very unyielding coming through despite the carefulness of his words. The way he's always so respectful, like he knows no other way to be around Lucifer, even when they flirt or joke or disagree.
Wetting his lips, he finally nods. ]
Bathroom cupboard, next to the shower cubicle.
[ He doesn't ask this time - do you want to or are you sure - because honestly, he'd surely be offending him by doing so. Elio's making himself quite plain, here, and the least Lucifer can do in return is to actually listen. ]
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no subject
[ He says it with extra conviction, because after having rubbed his face in against Elio's palm, Lucifer draws away and starts fighting his shoes, winning the battle only by way of massacre. He then proceeds to stare at his socks like they've gravely offended him and the sheer fact that they exist on his feet, when he should be naked and free and unbothered by these things probably has, really.
Elio watches him for a long moment, just lets him sit in it until he hangs his head in defeat and at that point, surely, there's nothing more to watch that either of them wants to witness. Lucifer doesn't want to lose and Elio doesn't want to see him do so. Crawling on his knees over next to the other man on the bed, though only after having toed out of his own shoes in sympathy, Elio reaches up slowly, non-intrusively, to begin sliding his suit jacket off his shoulders. Very slowly, very gently. The fabric is thick and rich and warm in his grip.
Against his fingertips, Lucifer is rich and warm as well. ]
Take over from me, if I hurt you. I just want to help, yes?
[ They're sitting quite close like this, Elio's eyes following the slide of the jacket down the other man's arms until it catches on his elbows, from where he waits for Lucifer to either accept his initiative or tell him off. He'll respect either, of course, but right now the other man needs to feel someone cares enough to begin, proceed and finish for him.
Well, Elio cares. Elio cares enough, even to risk overstepping his bounds. ]
no subject
I doubt you could hurt me, Elio.
[ He's not talking physically, here. At this point, he's come to learn that the physical aspect of pain as experienced in the human world really is nothing compared to the feeling currently curled up in his chest like an angry cat, clawing at him from within. All the same, he really does think... he does believe. That it would be unlikely. Jaw tightening, he steels himself and straightens up a bit, then shrugs out of the jacket the rest of the way. The aftershocks of moving his shoulders and spine temporarily freeze him in place and he sits there, blinking at nothing, lips moving wordlessly.
Ow.
Honestly.
Shaking out of it, he starts in on the buttons of his shirt, though he gets to number two before he gives up and just... rips it. Off. Right down the middle. It's no real hardship, what with the holes already littering the fabric, but the buttons fly off in every which direction and he distinctively hears one actually ricocheting off the piano lid.
The wound on his upper arm from the hell blade is mostly healed, little more than an angry red line. He gives it a passing glance, then looks over at Elio, leans right back in against his front and rests his forehead against his shoulder again. He smells lovely. Like something you might just get lost in. When he speaks, he sounds out of breath. ]
One moment.
no subject
Strength is no guarantee against hurt, he thinks, even as the other man tells him, he doubts... The words don't mean what he's actually saying, of course, the fact remains, at this point he's let Elio close enough that he certainly could try to hurt him, physically, and no doubt could get a good one in, emotionally. What he means, then, is that he trusts Elio not to. The notion makes something tighten in Elio's throat and he reaches up to wrap his arm around Lucifer's head as he leans his forehead against his shoulder, asking for a moment and Elio gives him all the time he needs, just cradling him close this way. He noticed, as the other man looked down at himself, how even Lucifer's human body bears the marks.
He's a heavy weight against Elio's front. He's presence and physicality and a very intimate sense of faith, like he has faith in him.
He might want to believe that Elio couldn't hurt him and Elio will let him, but it's evident, aside from the bullet holes and the blood and his wings that he still isn't showing, that not everyone has shown him the same courtesy. The same care. Elio, in turn, doesn't care who it is, though he has his well-founded idea already, few people have otherwise been let in, right, oh, he simply detests them a little for it. Whatever they've done.
Whatever they've done to reduce the other man to so little, when he's everything. When he's supposed to be up, not down. Not taking the same fall he's suffered a thousand times already. Elio hums quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of Lucifer's head. ]
I might not, but someone has.
[ A quiet conclusion. No questions, no probing, do you want to tell me about it, who it is, what happened. None of that. ]
no subject
It hurts that he can't even follow his own principles.
Pushing the thought aside, he finally pulls back from the safety of Elio's shoulder and shifts a bit, giving the other man a once-over to make sure he's well out of range of the sharper primaries. Sure, they might have taken a pounding this time around but his feathers aren't nearly as white and fluffy as they look. Well. Not all of them. He takes a second to check the distance between himself and the walls around them, braces himself against the mattress and rolls his shoulders out.
Gasping in pain, he feels them furl upwards in ragged stages, bones creaking wetly, a few bloody feathers coming loose at the motion. He gets them all the way to their full stretch before his upper arms give, muscles shaking, and he drops to the bed more or less face-first with a groan. His wings sort of slap down against the bed on either side of him, limp and caked with dried blood. The long feathers are mostly in tatters, relatively painless save for the way they've been scrunched up and out of alignment. The worst damage runs along the upper parts of the wings, bullets still imbedded in the bone.
They basically look like he ought to amputate them. Perhaps that's the most they deserve, at this point.
He turns his head to the side and looks up at Elio. Resigned. ]
So, as you can see. [ He flaps them pathetically. ] They've looked better.
no subject
They're different limbs from last time Elio saw them, they've been massacred, pretty much, and he wouldn't want Lucifer to fly him anywhere in this state. He doesn't even want him to move as he flaps them pathetically and tells him, they've looked better. Well, they'll look better again. Elio's going to make sure.
He frowns. Glances over his shoulder towards the bathroom and then, back at Lucifer again, meeting his resigned eyes with a softening, sympathetic look. Reaching out slowly and carefully, he places his hand on the other man's shoulder, well out of the way of the abused arch of his left wing. There's blood everywhere and splinters of bone and imbedded bullets. When he withdraws his hand once more, it's only to curl it into a fist.
Still, his voice is soft. There's room for discussion, but he has obviously already made up his mind. ]
Please don't move them unnecessarily, Lucifer.
[ Pushing himself off the bed, trying not to jostle anything around too much, he stands up and looks around, his sock-clad feet padding towards the bathroom as he crosses the floor, though he halts in the doorway, turning around. Awaiting permission, it still isn't his home, Lucifer isn't his to boss around.
Right now, really, he'd much rather cuddle him, anyway. ]
I can remove the bullets, if you want. I might need your biggest pair of tweezers to do it, however. [ He licks his lips, tries to think of what else he might need, alcohol definitely... A deep breath and he looks Lucifer over, at a distance now. No less beautiful, just a bit more bashed. ] If you tell me where I can find them, I'll get you fixed up.
no subject
Oh.
Does he really...
Blinking, he re-focuses on the other man's outline - slim limbs, long, graceful lines. He looks beautiful as he stands there, a very well-disguised strength permeating his stance. Something that feels a little bit reassuring, like protection and compassion and care, odd, inexplicable concepts when applied to himself. He shivers a bit, his feathers fluttering. Even though he's half-dressed, he feels almost naked in the face of it.
Sweet, gentle Elio.
Who's definitely not just being sweet and gentle in this very moment, something very unyielding coming through despite the carefulness of his words. The way he's always so respectful, like he knows no other way to be around Lucifer, even when they flirt or joke or disagree.
Wetting his lips, he finally nods. ]
Bathroom cupboard, next to the shower cubicle.
[ He doesn't ask this time - do you want to or are you sure - because honestly, he'd surely be offending him by doing so. Elio's making himself quite plain, here, and the least Lucifer can do in return is to actually listen. ]