[ 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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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.