[ Elio closes the distance between them and gets up on his toes, which in itself is awfully sweet. He's somewhat short, isn't he? Even disregarding the fact that Lucifer's at least a little taller than the average human. The thought makes something unfurl in his chest, something warm, something that doesn't shiver quite as easily as the rest of him. For a second, his mind flashes back to the look on his ex-lover's face when he'd flashed his red eyes at him, giving him what little taste of Hell he could without his Devil face. Then, he thinks about Cain, dying on the floor, about how bloody amazing it had felt, watching him lose his grip on Heaven.
Elio French-kisses him. His thoughts, mercifully, derail.
Thank you says the other man, clearly implying that he knows about Lucifer's indecisive mental state even without being told and for a second, he wonders at his own apparent transparency before he realises that yes, actually, Elio knows. He knows a lot even, has seen... a lot.
With a small smile, he curls his arm around the other man's waist and pulls him in a bit, not really trying for a sexual angle despite the way their crotches align at the contact. He's the Devil, desire's just an inevitable part of the package. Instead, he simply looks down at him, brushing his other hand through his hair once, pulling at one, springy curl just to watch it bounce back against his head.
Then, he releases him and steps away. ]
I really am sorry about the other day. Usually, I don't leave my lovers behind in my bed.
[ Elio's initiative is both welcomed and multiplied as the other man slips his arm around his waist and pulls him in, their bodies aligning and there's heat, friction, hardness of muscle and pliancy of flesh, but still it's not actually sexual - they aren't repeating yesterday morning currently, they're starting afresh on something else, something new. Sleeping together laid the foundation, and here they are. Now. Elio looks up at him, at the way Lucifer reaches up with one hand to tug at one of his curls, making it bounce and quiver between his fingers. The playfulness of it - along with the intimacy hiding underneath, like a shared secret, makes him huff out a laugh.
And when Lucifer steps back, putting distance back between them, Elio just follows him with his eyes, smiling. ]
No, I think that might have been more my style. [ A pause as he thinks his own words over, sensing how neither of them have pulled their usual stunts on each other. There's something comforting about that, Elio thinks. As if neither of them wanted it the way things were. As if they both wanted things different.
He shakes his head. ] It's okay, I understand. You had pressing matters to attend to.
[ Looking the other man up and down for a moment, smile growing slowly more teasing, Elio turns around and heads for the bar, stopping in front of the counter and waiting for Lucifer to join him, to offer, to pour. Over his shoulder, he adds, voice somewhat amused: ]
[ He follows like a shadow when Elio goes for the bar, lingering by the counter like he's waiting to be served and he is, isn't he, he's a guest in Lucifer's home because Lucifer asked him to come. Lucifer walks around him and grabs a flask off the shelf, pouring two glasses of whisky and holding one out for him. His expression is still slightly subdued. It's good, he thinks, to have the other man here.
The tightness in his body remains, regardless.
He's still sore, still healing from the shooting - though he hasn't actually looked, he's fairly certain his wings are nicely underway. Elio took good care of them, after all, and he can feel the itch of feathers settling in, growing out, just as he can track their progress by the amount of shed in his bed when he wakes up in the morning. There's something reassuring about it, knowing that they're still there. He'd wonder, otherwise. He still remembers how Amenadiel lost his.
How he lost his own for a long while after Falling, back when.
When Elio takes the glass from him, he steps around the counter and sits on the piano bench, looking up at him through his bangs. ]
They're investigating the shooting, you know - [ A half-shrug and a tip of his chin, indicating the wings that aren't currently visible. ] - and they went through my contacts. I'm wondering, have they bothered you yet? The FBI?
[ His last comment goes unanswered and Elio wonders for a moment what that means, does it mean yes, there'll be another time or does it mean never again? He takes the tumbler of Scotch from the other man wordlessly and turns after him as he moves over to the piano bench where he takes a seat, looking up at him through his messy bangs and he looks so vulnerable that Elio instantly decides it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter if there's a next time or not, whether there'll ever be one again, how things will play out, how they will, it's not why he's here. Distractions. Focus, Elio.
In the end, it's Lucifer himself who brings up the shooting, nodding at his invisible wings that Elio hopes have healed and are thriving, asking him whether he's been bothered by the FBI. Elio nods, shrugging ever so slightly to indicate it wasn't a problem, not really. ]
A Clive Miller came by to interview me. [ He bites his lower lip for a moment, remembering how he'd doubted whether he was helping Lucifer out at all by sticking to the truth, whether he could've navigated those questions better if he'd actually known what the truth was. Releasing his lip again, he exhales long and hard before taking a sip of his whisky. ] He wanted me to tell him what I knew about your work, whether I'd heard anything about what happened.
[ Slowly looking down at the other man, catching his eyes and holding them, Elio cocks his head and purses his lips. He still remembers Miller's reaction when he'd told him about Lucifer's wings, and so the smile that overtakes his lips is just a little bit sad, as if he can't help but imagine what it must be like, never being believed.
Looking at Lucifer now, his best guess would be, not very nice. ]
[ The way Elio worries his lower lip makes him want to nibble on it. Lucifer watches him, gaze softening a fraction at the thought - he'd been very sweet, in bed, baring his desires without any prompting, just offering himself up. Letting Lucifer have him, too, letting him...
Well.
It had felt close, for certain.
As the other man tells him about Clive Miller, Lucifer recognises the name and places it, immediately, though he's never actually spoken to the man himself. He simply remembers how he'd lingered in the periphery of his superiors, waiting to be told to fetch or whatever you do in FBI when you aren't anybody. He'd worn a name tag and Lucifer has eidetic memory.
He nods. Notes the unspoken question and ignores it, promptly, in favour of asking one of his own instead: ]
And what did you tell him?
[ He's not particularly anxious about the answer or worried - Elio doesn't know much of value concerning the shooting, after all, so at the most, he could've told the man whatever he knows of the truth. Which, honestly... Well. The thought's a little bit hilarious, isn't it, of Clive Miller returning to his superiors, serving them another helping of what the FBI, colloquially, must no doubt be commonly referring to as Delusional, Biblical and Ultimately Unhelpful Shit.
He looks up at Elio, eyebrows slightly raised in expectation. ]
[ No luck, because Lucifer is still more focused on his own side of the story than on Elio's and that's fine, that's understandable, he is the one under FBI investigation, after all. Elio's just the little queen they run to, because they can at least read and their correspondences speak their own clear language, right? Elio takes another drink of whisky and glances towards the balcony, remembering the first time they'd faced each other out there, Lucifer dropping his bag of clothes over the railing to prove a point.
The other man works on different parameters than humans in general do, than Elio does specifically. He gets that.
Still, eventually Lucifer will have to tell him what happened, because it affects him, doesn't it? His brooding, heartfelt ache for his friend who abandoned him. Whatever led to him getting gunned down, wings out. Elio wants to know what he's dealing with, because what affects Lucifer will at length affect Elio, too, unless the other man wants him to just be another lover in his bed, come and gone.
Raising his chin a bit, lips pursed, he shrugs. You already know, it means, why ask, except to make sure not to answer. ]
I told him the truth. [ I didn't figure you'd want me to lie for you, implied. Elio raises his tumbler to his lips again, but halts midway, the crystal heavy against his bottom lip. He lowers it a bit, the liquid sloshing. ] That we don't discuss your work much. And that I found you here yesterday, your wings injured.
[ He meets Lucifer's eyes, holding his gaze a long time, wordlessly telling him you can imagine how he reacted. One thing is the LAPD, but now the whole of FBI thinks he's delusional, too. Are you allowed to hope, if nothing else, that it makes them drop the case altogether? So something good would have come of their wholly mistaken conclusions. How wrongly they perceive him. ]
[ A half-laugh. Wings, yes, what a story. He takes a long sip from his glass, letting Elio's words fade into nothing between them because they'd both known already, of course, that Elio wouldn't lie for him (as he shouldn't), that he'd be telling poor Clive a thoroughly bizarre little tale because even with blatant evidence covering the crime scene - literally - people would rather be fools than frightened.
Chloe, for example.
But not Elio who hasn't dropped the unspoken question, holding Lucifer's gaze and basically telling him, in the sweetest way imaginable, to cut the crap. He's got such a quiet strength to him, it just never stops being endearing, not even when Lucifer would rather not... be thinking about that whole mess, about what came before or after. He clasps his hands together in his lap, fingers itching to grab his phone again, to text her, just once, just to make sure that she... that she knows...
It's not that he wants them to be something they aren't, but before she knew, before she saw, surely they were still something, right?
With a deep sigh, he sits back against the piano and sips his whisky again. ]
You don't want to know anything beyond that, darling. It's not worth it.
[ Elio's getting tired now, of listening to Lucifer making assumptions about what would be easiest for him in this situation that he's currently treading water in blindly, in good faith certainly, but ultimately with no defenses and with no ways to counteract. He does understand, of course, that the other man would rather not talk about it, it hurts, but they need to help each other. They're not just two individual parties any longer, they've been inside each other as well, they share something that Elio wants to believe meant something. If that meaning isn't supposed to get lost in the chaos that's going to follow, well, Elio will have to rely on him.
Will want Lucifer to rely on him, too.
Slowly, he walks over to the piano, placing the glass of Scotch off to the side and looks down at Lucifer with his hands in his lap, clasped around his tumbler, full of restless, nervous energy, the need to move, to do, to text her, probably. Since he can't bridge that distance right now, unfortunately, Elio thinks he should bridge this one instead. ]
Because, believe me, it's worth it for me.
[ Slowly crouching down in front of the piano bench, Elio once more has to look up at the other man, staring up at his face with a slight frown on his own. After a moment, he reaches out and places his hand gently over the back of Lucifer's, stroking his knuckles with his thumb. There's no threat to it, no unless you want to move on alone, that is, he's not here to make ultimatums, he's here to prove that he can be trusted with the kind of faith Lucifer will need to show him to let him in - in a way that's much more difficult than a blowjob. ]
It's worth it, if I can be there for you more efficiently as we move forward from here.
[ He looks up at the question, rhetorical as it may be, one eyebrow slightly quirked in surprise. That's unusually confrontational per Elio's standards, isn't it, and he pays attention as a consequence because it feels like... the thing to do. The right thing. Head tilted slightly sideways in thought, he watches as the other man crouches down in front of him, almost like he's taking a knee, though he's staring up at him with something that isn't quite reverence. As always, with Elio, it's sweeter. Gentler.
And unyielding, too.
If I can be there for you, it's worth it, he says and Lucifer wants to scoff at him, telling him not to make promises, not to make plans when in reality, things tend to fall apart around him. Things. People. Relationships. He doesn't, though. It's not what Elio's asking about and seeing as he can't actually read his desires, he'll have to take his word for it and follow suit.
His fingers feel warm against his hands. His shoulders relax a fraction, his invisible wings following suit. ]
I suppose there's little harm to it. The initial villain is dead, after all.
[ He reaches out, running his hand through Elio's curls again, brushing his hair behind his ear, watching it fall back on its account. Rinse, repeat. Without thinking about what it actually means, he picks at the strands slightly, pulling them apart, setting them right. ]
For a short, short moment in time, Cain was here. The world's first murderer, wreaking havoc in LA. To begin with, I wanted to help him die - just to spite my Dad.
[ He shakes his head, mostly at himself. In hindsight, for some reason, it just sounds... petty. ]
But then, he turned out to be such a grade-A arsehole that my priorities changed. He lured me into a trap and tried to kill me, so I killed him first. [ Pause. A shrug, slightly stiff: ] That's it, that's the story.
[ Lucifer gives in, maybe less persuaded by Elio's words than by his touch and that thought in itself just makes Elio want to kiss him deep on the mouth, take his breath and hold it for him, the way he wants to hold everything else for him, too, when it becomes too heavy, even for this man who's stronger than anyone else. Strength isn't just a physical measure and some things you can't carry in your arms. Elio knows from experience. Some things you carry within. So, he remains seated in front of Lucifer and allows him to run a hand through his curls, fixing some strands behind his ear, actually combing through his hair with his fingers when the curls bounce right back, the way they do, because his hair's as Jewish as the rest of him. It makes him smile softly up at him while he talks.
A smile which stiffens a bit at the initial villain comment, because he thinks he knows who's the villain now, and it's the first warning he gets, isn't it? That it's gone wrong on a personal level, that it wasn't just his wings, it wasn't even just Chloe, something went wrong between Lucifer's own two hands. Cain, from Scripture, was the one who did the planning and the gunning down and in retribution, because Lucifer is the Devil and as such, a punisher, Lucifer killed him.
Elio blinks up at him for a long moment after he's finished his story (that's it), smile slowly fading into a worried expression. Was that when the Detective saw his devil face? Was that why she ran? Elio remembers last time Lucifer killed someone, his own brother, how it was like seeing all his self-hatred and disgust edged into his features, then.
How he still wasn't difficult to like, not at all.
A long, slow exhalation and Elio simply leans up on his knees, slinging his arms around Lucifer's shoulders and pulling him down towards him slightly, holding him tight, giving him all his own strength, all that he has in him. ]
[ He watches different emotions flicker across Elio's beautiful face, incapable of deciphering them properly because honestly, human emotions just aren't... well. He'd say that the tiny smile on the other man's face at the touch of Lucifer's fingers in his hair is... a mild sort of happiness. That the way it stiffens and shifts makes him look sadder, somehow. He's fairly certain there are nuances in between those descriptions that he isn't getting, however, and that's how he keeps running afoul of his humans.
He meets Elio's eyes, not knowing what to expect, whether the man's sad for the monster he's becoming - because surely, he is, he's a punisher, he knows punishment like an integral part of himself - or sad for the knowledge he's acquiring, step by step. Heaven. Hell. The stories that aren't simply stories that you can choose to believe in if you wish.
It surprises him, though, when Elio leans up and stretches his arms, slinging them around his shoulders and pulling him down towards him in a hug, a hold, and Lucifer lets him, eyes wide. It doesn't make you the villain he says and for a moment, he can't breathe. He just sits there, slumped over awkwardly, his chin propped against Elio's shoulder, the other man's slender arms holding him tight (secure, how is that possible?). He wets his lips. Blinks, then reaches down, curling one arm around Elio's waist and stretching back up on the bench, lifting the other man with him easily, pulling him into his lap without breaking his hold.
Like this, Lucifer pulls him up against himself a little, pulls him in against his chest, flattening his palm against the small of his back before sliding it upwards, between his shoulder blades. He leans in against him, burying his nose in his soft hair. Lets the other man hold a bit of his weight, in turn, like he's asking, because isn't that all Elio keeps telling him? That he wants to carry, too, whatever he can.
Behind him, his wings manifest in a quiet rush of feathers, curling down around the other man, more or less covering him in white. Other than that, he doesn't say anything.
[ It's an awkward angle, Lucifer is too tall and Elio's not tall enough, but they make do for a few seconds while the other man loses his breath against him, chin resting on his shoulder. Then, Lucifer reaches down with one arm, curls it around Elio's waist and quite simply lifts him up into his lap, twenty times stronger than him, Elio stretching out his legs to sit across his thighs properly, staying close, not letting go. In turn, Lucifer flattens his palm against the small of Elio's back, runs it up between his shoulder blades, pulling them against each other, front to front and it's so much hard muscle, so much strength and so much vulnerability that Elio can't help but turn his head up a bit, the other man's nose in his hair along with the rest of his face, and slide his lips over Lucifer's chin, kissing him repeatedly there, pronounced stubble and so much man and his lips, when Elio catches them, are soft. It's not a deep kiss, he is carrying the other man's weight right now, not trying to get in his pants, it's light and gentle. It's more than one, though. It's two, three, four kisses.
He only stops when Lucifer's wings unfurl, curling around him and covering him in white, feathers everywhere, and there's the slightly dusty smell of them, the warmer tones of skin and he feels cared for, maybe even loved in a way he didn't even do when the other man had buried himself in his throat to the base. They're closer. He's practically inside him, in his arms, in his wings. And Lucifer is in his arms, too, they're both holding and keeping each other afloat.
Making a soft hmm'ing sound, Elio draws back a little to look up at Lucifer, just to see him like this, angelic in nature and hurt in the way that's so inherently human. He's beautiful. It's far from beautiful what's happened to him, it's ugly and twisted and wrong, but nevertheless, he isn't. Slowly, Elio makes to climb off his lap, elbows him gently in one wing, then in his hip to make him move over enough on the bench to make room before he takes a seat next to him, their thighs in parallel.
All that white, the feathers, makes him think of a song Mafalda would hum that summer, her Neapolitan dialect so homely in the wake of Oliver leaving. ]
How's your Italian? [ Elio glances sideways, thinking he might already know the answer. ] I promised you a song.
[ His lips tingle in the wake of Elio's gentle kisses and his wings actually flutter in response, alerting him to the fact that they're... out. He hadn't quite realised. Frowning, he almost tightens his grip around Elio as the other man starts shifting away, holding back a low grumble from the back of his throat because obviously, they can't keep hugging it out for all eternity. He just... rather likes it. This proximity. The way it's simply happening, free of charge, Elio's taste and scent merging within his senses and making his shoulders lose what little tension's left in them.
Elio proceeds to elbow him gently in the wing and he huffs at that, low and slightly irritated, pulling his wings back and slipping them into nothing. Blasted things, always in the way. Shifting a bit, he makes room for Elio on the bench and sips his whisky again, the liquid burning down his throat, warm and slightly spicy.
It doesn't take quite as much effort to ignore the phone that he isn't currently holding between his fingers. There'll be nothing to see on it, anyway. Nothing that he cares about.
This, he thinks, is preferable. ]
My Italian is fluent. [ He says, in Italian. Switches back to English: ] Same with every language.
[ He nods downwards, more at Elio's hands than the keys. ]
[ They're back to their initial starting point, a slight detour and here they are again, whisky and proximity and Lucifer tells him he's fluent in Italian (in a fluent Italian), before informing him that it's the same with all languages, really, because the Devil speaks every tongue known to man, of course, and probably some that aren't, too. Elio just watches him as he tugs his wings away, missing them a little bit already. He remembers touching them, in bed, stroking and rubbing them, caressing them. Touching Lucifer, caressing him.
Go on, Lucifer says to his hands.
A long, hard intake of breath and he settles in front of the keys, placing his hands, fingers curved and wrists comfortably relaxed as he starts playing the intro of Pink Martini's Una Notte a Napoli, the jazzy air to it filling the small distance between them, making it dance and leap, and Elio plays the melody perfectly, even as he turns his head to look directly at the other man while reciting the refrain. At the back of his head, Elio can hear Mafalda grumbling about his bad Neapolitan dialect, though it's really not all that bad and since Lucifer speaks Italian as well, he'll know. ]
"One night in Naples With the moon and the sea I met an angel Who could not fly anymore One night in Naples He forgot about the stars And without wings He took me to Heaven"
[ That Pink Martini album had been relatively new that year and Mafalda had sung this song all summer, humming it as she'd watched over Oliver and him in the garden, at the pool, hanging out laundry to dry, picking apricots. That song had been Elio's whole summer that year and he'd thought it meant something, back then, in regards to Oliver and him, but since Oliver and him hadn't truly meant anything, naturally neither did the song.
It can have its place here, though, he thinks, like it's been waiting - and in his soft, pleasant singing voice, he continues into the first verse: ]
"With him flying high above the ground Forgetting about the sorrows of the evening..."
[ He sits back a little, tipping his head upwards while Elio finds his starting point, playing a cute, little jazzy intro that Lucifer doesn't recognise, it's not any song he knows. Once the other man starts singing, his Neapolitan dialect definitely more authentic-sounding than his own (just because the Devil speaks all languages doesn't mean he sounds as fluent as native speakers), he closes his eyes and simply listens for a moment. Without wings, he took me to Heaven and how come he's never heard of this song, hm, when it's so clearly directed at him?
Because, obviously, people see themselves in him quite readily, when they don't see their sins or their criminal acts or the losses they've suffered. Their pain. Sometimes, yes, it's just his story, at least the way they know it and he tends to forget about that. About how some of them, misguided as it may seem, find beauty in it, in the idea of him and he'd rather they didn't, of course, seeing as he's... nothing at all like that.
But they do, all the same.
And Elio gives it back to him, here, with all the softness in his being, his voice naturally clean, un-presumptuous like the rest of him.
Head tilted slightly to the side, Lucifer finally smiles. Hums along in a low baritone, something very pleased and comfortable (something adoring) hiding within that sound, even when he doesn't quite attempt to hit the notes. It's not about that. It's not singing. He stretches out his legs a little and lets Elio entertain him (distract him, oh, he's doing more than that), and he realises just then that, even hidden away like now, his wings are still here, that maybe...
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Elio French-kisses him. His thoughts, mercifully, derail.
Thank you says the other man, clearly implying that he knows about Lucifer's indecisive mental state even without being told and for a second, he wonders at his own apparent transparency before he realises that yes, actually, Elio knows. He knows a lot even, has seen... a lot.
With a small smile, he curls his arm around the other man's waist and pulls him in a bit, not really trying for a sexual angle despite the way their crotches align at the contact. He's the Devil, desire's just an inevitable part of the package. Instead, he simply looks down at him, brushing his other hand through his hair once, pulling at one, springy curl just to watch it bounce back against his head.
Then, he releases him and steps away. ]
I really am sorry about the other day. Usually, I don't leave my lovers behind in my bed.
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And when Lucifer steps back, putting distance back between them, Elio just follows him with his eyes, smiling. ]
No, I think that might have been more my style. [ A pause as he thinks his own words over, sensing how neither of them have pulled their usual stunts on each other. There's something comforting about that, Elio thinks. As if neither of them wanted it the way things were. As if they both wanted things different.
He shakes his head. ] It's okay, I understand. You had pressing matters to attend to.
[ Looking the other man up and down for a moment, smile growing slowly more teasing, Elio turns around and heads for the bar, stopping in front of the counter and waiting for Lucifer to join him, to offer, to pour. Over his shoulder, he adds, voice somewhat amused: ]
You can always make it up to me next time.
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The tightness in his body remains, regardless.
He's still sore, still healing from the shooting - though he hasn't actually looked, he's fairly certain his wings are nicely underway. Elio took good care of them, after all, and he can feel the itch of feathers settling in, growing out, just as he can track their progress by the amount of shed in his bed when he wakes up in the morning. There's something reassuring about it, knowing that they're still there. He'd wonder, otherwise. He still remembers how Amenadiel lost his.
How he lost his own for a long while after Falling, back when.
When Elio takes the glass from him, he steps around the counter and sits on the piano bench, looking up at him through his bangs. ]
They're investigating the shooting, you know - [ A half-shrug and a tip of his chin, indicating the wings that aren't currently visible. ] - and they went through my contacts. I'm wondering, have they bothered you yet? The FBI?
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In the end, it's Lucifer himself who brings up the shooting, nodding at his invisible wings that Elio hopes have healed and are thriving, asking him whether he's been bothered by the FBI. Elio nods, shrugging ever so slightly to indicate it wasn't a problem, not really. ]
A Clive Miller came by to interview me. [ He bites his lower lip for a moment, remembering how he'd doubted whether he was helping Lucifer out at all by sticking to the truth, whether he could've navigated those questions better if he'd actually known what the truth was. Releasing his lip again, he exhales long and hard before taking a sip of his whisky. ] He wanted me to tell him what I knew about your work, whether I'd heard anything about what happened.
[ Slowly looking down at the other man, catching his eyes and holding them, Elio cocks his head and purses his lips. He still remembers Miller's reaction when he'd told him about Lucifer's wings, and so the smile that overtakes his lips is just a little bit sad, as if he can't help but imagine what it must be like, never being believed.
Looking at Lucifer now, his best guess would be, not very nice. ]
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Well.
It had felt close, for certain.
As the other man tells him about Clive Miller, Lucifer recognises the name and places it, immediately, though he's never actually spoken to the man himself. He simply remembers how he'd lingered in the periphery of his superiors, waiting to be told to fetch or whatever you do in FBI when you aren't anybody. He'd worn a name tag and Lucifer has eidetic memory.
He nods. Notes the unspoken question and ignores it, promptly, in favour of asking one of his own instead: ]
And what did you tell him?
[ He's not particularly anxious about the answer or worried - Elio doesn't know much of value concerning the shooting, after all, so at the most, he could've told the man whatever he knows of the truth. Which, honestly... Well. The thought's a little bit hilarious, isn't it, of Clive Miller returning to his superiors, serving them another helping of what the FBI, colloquially, must no doubt be commonly referring to as Delusional, Biblical and Ultimately Unhelpful Shit.
He looks up at Elio, eyebrows slightly raised in expectation. ]
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The other man works on different parameters than humans in general do, than Elio does specifically. He gets that.
Still, eventually Lucifer will have to tell him what happened, because it affects him, doesn't it? His brooding, heartfelt ache for his friend who abandoned him. Whatever led to him getting gunned down, wings out. Elio wants to know what he's dealing with, because what affects Lucifer will at length affect Elio, too, unless the other man wants him to just be another lover in his bed, come and gone.
Raising his chin a bit, lips pursed, he shrugs. You already know, it means, why ask, except to make sure not to answer. ]
I told him the truth. [ I didn't figure you'd want me to lie for you, implied. Elio raises his tumbler to his lips again, but halts midway, the crystal heavy against his bottom lip. He lowers it a bit, the liquid sloshing. ] That we don't discuss your work much. And that I found you here yesterday, your wings injured.
[ He meets Lucifer's eyes, holding his gaze a long time, wordlessly telling him you can imagine how he reacted. One thing is the LAPD, but now the whole of FBI thinks he's delusional, too. Are you allowed to hope, if nothing else, that it makes them drop the case altogether? So something good would have come of their wholly mistaken conclusions. How wrongly they perceive him. ]
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Chloe, for example.
But not Elio who hasn't dropped the unspoken question, holding Lucifer's gaze and basically telling him, in the sweetest way imaginable, to cut the crap. He's got such a quiet strength to him, it just never stops being endearing, not even when Lucifer would rather not... be thinking about that whole mess, about what came before or after. He clasps his hands together in his lap, fingers itching to grab his phone again, to text her, just once, just to make sure that she... that she knows...
It's not that he wants them to be something they aren't, but before she knew, before she saw, surely they were still something, right?
With a deep sigh, he sits back against the piano and sips his whisky again. ]
You don't want to know anything beyond that, darling. It's not worth it.
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[ Elio's getting tired now, of listening to Lucifer making assumptions about what would be easiest for him in this situation that he's currently treading water in blindly, in good faith certainly, but ultimately with no defenses and with no ways to counteract. He does understand, of course, that the other man would rather not talk about it, it hurts, but they need to help each other. They're not just two individual parties any longer, they've been inside each other as well, they share something that Elio wants to believe meant something. If that meaning isn't supposed to get lost in the chaos that's going to follow, well, Elio will have to rely on him.
Will want Lucifer to rely on him, too.
Slowly, he walks over to the piano, placing the glass of Scotch off to the side and looks down at Lucifer with his hands in his lap, clasped around his tumbler, full of restless, nervous energy, the need to move, to do, to text her, probably. Since he can't bridge that distance right now, unfortunately, Elio thinks he should bridge this one instead. ]
Because, believe me, it's worth it for me.
[ Slowly crouching down in front of the piano bench, Elio once more has to look up at the other man, staring up at his face with a slight frown on his own. After a moment, he reaches out and places his hand gently over the back of Lucifer's, stroking his knuckles with his thumb. There's no threat to it, no unless you want to move on alone, that is, he's not here to make ultimatums, he's here to prove that he can be trusted with the kind of faith Lucifer will need to show him to let him in - in a way that's much more difficult than a blowjob. ]
It's worth it, if I can be there for you more efficiently as we move forward from here.
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And unyielding, too.
If I can be there for you, it's worth it, he says and Lucifer wants to scoff at him, telling him not to make promises, not to make plans when in reality, things tend to fall apart around him. Things. People. Relationships. He doesn't, though. It's not what Elio's asking about and seeing as he can't actually read his desires, he'll have to take his word for it and follow suit.
His fingers feel warm against his hands. His shoulders relax a fraction, his invisible wings following suit. ]
I suppose there's little harm to it. The initial villain is dead, after all.
[ He reaches out, running his hand through Elio's curls again, brushing his hair behind his ear, watching it fall back on its account. Rinse, repeat. Without thinking about what it actually means, he picks at the strands slightly, pulling them apart, setting them right. ]
For a short, short moment in time, Cain was here. The world's first murderer, wreaking havoc in LA. To begin with, I wanted to help him die - just to spite my Dad.
[ He shakes his head, mostly at himself. In hindsight, for some reason, it just sounds... petty. ]
But then, he turned out to be such a grade-A arsehole that my priorities changed. He lured me into a trap and tried to kill me, so I killed him first. [ Pause. A shrug, slightly stiff: ] That's it, that's the story.
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A smile which stiffens a bit at the initial villain comment, because he thinks he knows who's the villain now, and it's the first warning he gets, isn't it? That it's gone wrong on a personal level, that it wasn't just his wings, it wasn't even just Chloe, something went wrong between Lucifer's own two hands. Cain, from Scripture, was the one who did the planning and the gunning down and in retribution, because Lucifer is the Devil and as such, a punisher, Lucifer killed him.
Elio blinks up at him for a long moment after he's finished his story (that's it), smile slowly fading into a worried expression. Was that when the Detective saw his devil face? Was that why she ran? Elio remembers last time Lucifer killed someone, his own brother, how it was like seeing all his self-hatred and disgust edged into his features, then.
How he still wasn't difficult to like, not at all.
A long, slow exhalation and Elio simply leans up on his knees, slinging his arms around Lucifer's shoulders and pulling him down towards him slightly, holding him tight, giving him all his own strength, all that he has in him. ]
And it doesn't make you the villain.
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He meets Elio's eyes, not knowing what to expect, whether the man's sad for the monster he's becoming - because surely, he is, he's a punisher, he knows punishment like an integral part of himself - or sad for the knowledge he's acquiring, step by step. Heaven. Hell. The stories that aren't simply stories that you can choose to believe in if you wish.
It surprises him, though, when Elio leans up and stretches his arms, slinging them around his shoulders and pulling him down towards him in a hug, a hold, and Lucifer lets him, eyes wide. It doesn't make you the villain he says and for a moment, he can't breathe. He just sits there, slumped over awkwardly, his chin propped against Elio's shoulder, the other man's slender arms holding him tight (secure, how is that possible?). He wets his lips. Blinks, then reaches down, curling one arm around Elio's waist and stretching back up on the bench, lifting the other man with him easily, pulling him into his lap without breaking his hold.
Like this, Lucifer pulls him up against himself a little, pulls him in against his chest, flattening his palm against the small of his back before sliding it upwards, between his shoulder blades. He leans in against him, burying his nose in his soft hair. Lets the other man hold a bit of his weight, in turn, like he's asking, because isn't that all Elio keeps telling him? That he wants to carry, too, whatever he can.
Behind him, his wings manifest in a quiet rush of feathers, curling down around the other man, more or less covering him in white. Other than that, he doesn't say anything.
He thinks thank you. ]
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He only stops when Lucifer's wings unfurl, curling around him and covering him in white, feathers everywhere, and there's the slightly dusty smell of them, the warmer tones of skin and he feels cared for, maybe even loved in a way he didn't even do when the other man had buried himself in his throat to the base. They're closer. He's practically inside him, in his arms, in his wings. And Lucifer is in his arms, too, they're both holding and keeping each other afloat.
Making a soft hmm'ing sound, Elio draws back a little to look up at Lucifer, just to see him like this, angelic in nature and hurt in the way that's so inherently human. He's beautiful. It's far from beautiful what's happened to him, it's ugly and twisted and wrong, but nevertheless, he isn't. Slowly, Elio makes to climb off his lap, elbows him gently in one wing, then in his hip to make him move over enough on the bench to make room before he takes a seat next to him, their thighs in parallel.
All that white, the feathers, makes him think of a song Mafalda would hum that summer, her Neapolitan dialect so homely in the wake of Oliver leaving. ]
How's your Italian? [ Elio glances sideways, thinking he might already know the answer. ] I promised you a song.
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Elio proceeds to elbow him gently in the wing and he huffs at that, low and slightly irritated, pulling his wings back and slipping them into nothing. Blasted things, always in the way. Shifting a bit, he makes room for Elio on the bench and sips his whisky again, the liquid burning down his throat, warm and slightly spicy.
It doesn't take quite as much effort to ignore the phone that he isn't currently holding between his fingers. There'll be nothing to see on it, anyway. Nothing that he cares about.
This, he thinks, is preferable. ]
My Italian is fluent. [ He says, in Italian. Switches back to English: ] Same with every language.
[ He nods downwards, more at Elio's hands than the keys. ]
Go on.
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Go on, Lucifer says to his hands.
A long, hard intake of breath and he settles in front of the keys, placing his hands, fingers curved and wrists comfortably relaxed as he starts playing the intro of Pink Martini's Una Notte a Napoli, the jazzy air to it filling the small distance between them, making it dance and leap, and Elio plays the melody perfectly, even as he turns his head to look directly at the other man while reciting the refrain. At the back of his head, Elio can hear Mafalda grumbling about his bad Neapolitan dialect, though it's really not all that bad and since Lucifer speaks Italian as well, he'll know. ]
"One night in Naples
With the moon and the sea
I met an angel
Who could not fly anymore
One night in Naples
He forgot about the stars
And without wings
He took me to Heaven"
[ That Pink Martini album had been relatively new that year and Mafalda had sung this song all summer, humming it as she'd watched over Oliver and him in the garden, at the pool, hanging out laundry to dry, picking apricots. That song had been Elio's whole summer that year and he'd thought it meant something, back then, in regards to Oliver and him, but since Oliver and him hadn't truly meant anything, naturally neither did the song.
It can have its place here, though, he thinks, like it's been waiting - and in his soft, pleasant singing voice, he continues into the first verse: ]
"With him flying high above the ground
Forgetting about the sorrows of the evening..."
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Because, obviously, people see themselves in him quite readily, when they don't see their sins or their criminal acts or the losses they've suffered. Their pain. Sometimes, yes, it's just his story, at least the way they know it and he tends to forget about that. About how some of them, misguided as it may seem, find beauty in it, in the idea of him and he'd rather they didn't, of course, seeing as he's... nothing at all like that.
But they do, all the same.
And Elio gives it back to him, here, with all the softness in his being, his voice naturally clean, un-presumptuous like the rest of him.
Head tilted slightly to the side, Lucifer finally smiles. Hums along in a low baritone, something very pleased and comfortable (something adoring) hiding within that sound, even when he doesn't quite attempt to hit the notes. It's not about that. It's not singing. He stretches out his legs a little and lets Elio entertain him (distract him, oh, he's doing more than that), and he realises just then that, even hidden away like now, his wings are still here, that maybe...
Maybe Elio just likes... them... exactly enough.
Huh.
Imagine that. ]