[ It's been two hours at least of removing bullets from the upper edge of Lucifer's wings, tweaking them out of the bone where it's broken and shattered and splintered apart. Elio has worked tirelessly, drinking his can of Coke and serving Lucifer several tumblers of Scotch to compensate for the discomfort. Then, at least half an hour of washing his wings off, fixing wayward feathers, making them as shiny and white as they'll be until they've healed properly. Lucifer says it shouldn't be long, he heals rapidly under most circumstances. Elio hasn't asked about the exceptions.
Now, he's put away his equipment, a bowl full of bullets (he's counted them, more than fifty), the tweezers, various sizes, the wet cloth he brought along, now drenched in blood mostly and his empty Coke, it's all been left in the bathroom by the sink, to be taken care of once Lucifer can actually walk again. He's washing his hands now, bits of feathers and a whole lot of caking blood clinging to his fingers, stuck under his nails. He scrubs away for a couple of minutes, before drying off and returning to the bedroom where he left Lucifer after dismounting his back. He looks more relaxed now. A bit less pained.
It's good. It's better. It'll be better.
Elio smiles and stops next to the bed, looking down at him, how he looks fragile almost with his wings out like that. As if someone had pinned them onto a wall for public display. He doesn't voice the thought, it's a bit bizarre, barbaric almost. It doesn't belong between them. Crouching down near Lucifer's head, he folds his arms on the edge of it and rests his chin on his forearms, meeting the other man's eyes, his own soft, caring.
Fond, so fond. ]
You'll be alright. [ If I go, it means. Reaching out, he lifts his head a bit to be able to run his hand through the other man's hair. ] Get some sleep, love.
[ If he thought he was exhausted before, then his current state of being must be nearby equivalent to the dearly departed. He's breathing, yes, but each intake of air is a lot slower than normal, each exhalation shaky and uneven, trembling past his lips. He's managed to prop his chin onto his arms once he regained enough mobility in his upperbody to cross them by the elbows, his shoulders moving a lot more freely now that his wings are merely broken in a few hundred places, rather than obstructed by metal. It's good. He could probably put them away, too, if he wanted to.
But he doesn't, for some reason.
As Elio crouches down by the bed, he looks into his eyes and lets himself drown, just floating in that warm sea of brown, of crossing shadows and light. He leans into the touch of his fingers through the strands of his hair, craving more of it, of the gentleness. The comfort. He's just had his wings poked and prodded for hours, surely he can be excused. You'll be alright says Elio and love, oh, oh. Eyes watering slightly, stupidly, he blinks roughly, watching as the other man makes to get up. To leave. He could check his phone, probably, see if Chloe - but she hasn't, he's fairly sure. If she wanted to, she would've been here.
Meaning she doesn't.
He'd be very alone, he thinks, in Elio's absence. First of all for the lack of him, secondly for the lack of anyone to fill the resultant emptiness. It's the first time, he realises, that he's actively, consciously put Elio above the rest of them, reducing them to substitutes. It means something. It must.
So he reaches out slowly, curling his hand around Elio's slim wrist. It's a light touch. The other man could break it, with ease. ]
Please.
[ He shifts onto his side and lifts his wing up, indicating the spot next to him on the bed, the mattress cast in shadow. His feathers have started gleaming again from Elio's attentions. In places, they look like gold in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. ]
[ Getting up doesn't get him very far, before he's even straightened up fully, Lucifer has grabbed him by the wrist. It's not a hard hold, it's gentle and easily breakable - besides, it goes with the teariness of the other man's eyes. Please, he just says, simple as that. Shifting onto his side, he lifts his wing and indicates the place it left, that spot on the mattress, Elio's spot.
A spot in Heaven, almost.
Smiling, widely, Elio nods wordlessly and straightens up only to shrug out of his long-sleeved t-shirt (it used to be white, now it's pink-spattered), before he crawls onto the bed again, making himself comfortable in the shadows of Lucifer's wing, glancing up at the underside of it as he rolls onto his side with his front towards the other man, face to face. It looks like the sun is filtering through the feathers from this angle, like they're permeated by light which they might very well be, considering to whom they're attached.
Even like this, a little bit broken, they're beautiful.
Perhaps especially like this.
Lying so close to him, in his bed of all places, Elio basks in his scent, the one thing he couldn't call to mind neither in his dream nor when they had phone sex. Right now it's all around him. Lucifer's all around him. Every part of him.
Folding his arm beneath his head, he meets the other man's eyes. ]
I'm glad you asked.
[ It might be the first time, he thinks, that Lucifer's directly told him what he desired. What he wanted the most. Like all firsts, thus you have to cherish it. Handle it with great care and appreciation. So Elio reaches out with his free hand and runs his fingers along the other man's jawline, just feeling his stubble, the strong line of bone leading to his ear and his temple, but Elio cups his cheek softly before getting that far. Like he did before. His hand belongs here. ]
[ Elio smiles, a tiny sun all in his own right, and shrugs out of his blood-painted t-shirt. Lucifer allows himself to indulge, watching the way his muscles ripple across his upper body - lean, yes, but strong, stronger than anyone could possibly imagine. He can feel a pinch of heat gathering in his groin, too - Big Ben's always on time, of course - but disregards it for now, seeing as his own back and shoulders feel almost numb from exhaustion. Once he's healed up a bit, he can fantasize. He can think about what they did a few days prior, by text.
He hasn't really had the time to do so, before now. But Cain is gone, the storm has passed. What's left, well, they'll have to see, won't they. All of them. Dan, without Charlotte. Him, without Chloe. Chloe, without the world she thought she knew.
Elio lies down in the space next to him and they're face to face like this, the sunlight reflecting off his wings and onto his beautiful features. Lucifer looks at him, looks and looks until he simply doesn't, closing his eyes and humming in pleasure as the other man cups the side of his face. He leans into the touch again and as he curls his arm gently around Elio's waist, his wing descends, covering Elio from shoulder to knee, torn feathers fanning out. Like that, he breathes him in for a long moment, eyes closed, before he says: ]
You must play your pretty cadenza for me sometime. [ He looks at him through lidded eyes, a half-smile on his face: ] I'd like to dream about it.
[ In return for him touching Lucifer's face, Lucifer reaches out and curls his arm around his waist, keeping him close, breathing him in with his eyes shut. They just lie like that, together, for a long moment, Elio keeping his own eyes open and taking in all Lucifer's familiar features. He knows them by heart at this point, he knows them so well that he can dream them up in all possible and impossible scenarios. He's stared and stared and stared at him, and what he hasn't seen, he's heard rumored and what he hasn't heard rumored, well, it doesn't matter, does it? They all talk about the Devil, there's only the truth left to discover now.
Lucifer's wing descends over him, feathers fanning out and it's a very big duvet, softer than anything he's ever slept in before and lighter, too. Lucifer has never weighed anything. He doesn't burden people. He doesn't lay anything of himself over on them to carry. It's why it's so unfair, whatever she's done, his Detective. He's never done anything but save her.
Who wouldn't rather be saved? Who wouldn't?
Letting his hand sink, it comes to a rest on Lucifer's chest, above his heart, Elio shifts in place to really indulge in the luxurious feel of the other man's wing. I'd like to dream about it, he says, talking about Léon's cadenza that has somehow, by detours which it has taken it half a century to travel, become Elio's now. Elio makes a soft sound, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. ]
I'll give you a very intimate concert before bedtime, then. Tomorrow.
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no subject
Now, he's put away his equipment, a bowl full of bullets (he's counted them, more than fifty), the tweezers, various sizes, the wet cloth he brought along, now drenched in blood mostly and his empty Coke, it's all been left in the bathroom by the sink, to be taken care of once Lucifer can actually walk again. He's washing his hands now, bits of feathers and a whole lot of caking blood clinging to his fingers, stuck under his nails. He scrubs away for a couple of minutes, before drying off and returning to the bedroom where he left Lucifer after dismounting his back. He looks more relaxed now. A bit less pained.
It's good. It's better. It'll be better.
Elio smiles and stops next to the bed, looking down at him, how he looks fragile almost with his wings out like that. As if someone had pinned them onto a wall for public display. He doesn't voice the thought, it's a bit bizarre, barbaric almost. It doesn't belong between them. Crouching down near Lucifer's head, he folds his arms on the edge of it and rests his chin on his forearms, meeting the other man's eyes, his own soft, caring.
Fond, so fond. ]
You'll be alright. [ If I go, it means. Reaching out, he lifts his head a bit to be able to run his hand through the other man's hair. ] Get some sleep, love.
[ He makes to get up. ]
no subject
But he doesn't, for some reason.
As Elio crouches down by the bed, he looks into his eyes and lets himself drown, just floating in that warm sea of brown, of crossing shadows and light. He leans into the touch of his fingers through the strands of his hair, craving more of it, of the gentleness. The comfort. He's just had his wings poked and prodded for hours, surely he can be excused. You'll be alright says Elio and love, oh, oh. Eyes watering slightly, stupidly, he blinks roughly, watching as the other man makes to get up. To leave. He could check his phone, probably, see if Chloe - but she hasn't, he's fairly sure. If she wanted to, she would've been here.
Meaning she doesn't.
He'd be very alone, he thinks, in Elio's absence. First of all for the lack of him, secondly for the lack of anyone to fill the resultant emptiness. It's the first time, he realises, that he's actively, consciously put Elio above the rest of them, reducing them to substitutes. It means something. It must.
So he reaches out slowly, curling his hand around Elio's slim wrist. It's a light touch. The other man could break it, with ease. ]
Please.
[ He shifts onto his side and lifts his wing up, indicating the spot next to him on the bed, the mattress cast in shadow. His feathers have started gleaming again from Elio's attentions. In places, they look like gold in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. ]
no subject
A spot in Heaven, almost.
Smiling, widely, Elio nods wordlessly and straightens up only to shrug out of his long-sleeved t-shirt (it used to be white, now it's pink-spattered), before he crawls onto the bed again, making himself comfortable in the shadows of Lucifer's wing, glancing up at the underside of it as he rolls onto his side with his front towards the other man, face to face. It looks like the sun is filtering through the feathers from this angle, like they're permeated by light which they might very well be, considering to whom they're attached.
Even like this, a little bit broken, they're beautiful.
Perhaps especially like this.
Lying so close to him, in his bed of all places, Elio basks in his scent, the one thing he couldn't call to mind neither in his dream nor when they had phone sex. Right now it's all around him. Lucifer's all around him. Every part of him.
Folding his arm beneath his head, he meets the other man's eyes. ]
I'm glad you asked.
[ It might be the first time, he thinks, that Lucifer's directly told him what he desired. What he wanted the most. Like all firsts, thus you have to cherish it. Handle it with great care and appreciation. So Elio reaches out with his free hand and runs his fingers along the other man's jawline, just feeling his stubble, the strong line of bone leading to his ear and his temple, but Elio cups his cheek softly before getting that far. Like he did before. His hand belongs here. ]
no subject
He hasn't really had the time to do so, before now. But Cain is gone, the storm has passed. What's left, well, they'll have to see, won't they. All of them. Dan, without Charlotte. Him, without Chloe. Chloe, without the world she thought she knew.
Elio lies down in the space next to him and they're face to face like this, the sunlight reflecting off his wings and onto his beautiful features. Lucifer looks at him, looks and looks until he simply doesn't, closing his eyes and humming in pleasure as the other man cups the side of his face. He leans into the touch again and as he curls his arm gently around Elio's waist, his wing descends, covering Elio from shoulder to knee, torn feathers fanning out. Like that, he breathes him in for a long moment, eyes closed, before he says: ]
You must play your pretty cadenza for me sometime. [ He looks at him through lidded eyes, a half-smile on his face: ] I'd like to dream about it.
no subject
Lucifer's wing descends over him, feathers fanning out and it's a very big duvet, softer than anything he's ever slept in before and lighter, too. Lucifer has never weighed anything. He doesn't burden people. He doesn't lay anything of himself over on them to carry. It's why it's so unfair, whatever she's done, his Detective. He's never done anything but save her.
Who wouldn't rather be saved? Who wouldn't?
Letting his hand sink, it comes to a rest on Lucifer's chest, above his heart, Elio shifts in place to really indulge in the luxurious feel of the other man's wing. I'd like to dream about it, he says, talking about Léon's cadenza that has somehow, by detours which it has taken it half a century to travel, become Elio's now. Elio makes a soft sound, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. ]
I'll give you a very intimate concert before bedtime, then. Tomorrow.