[ Elio follows his lead, of course, even when he's set the course. There's something incredibly comforting about it, about the predictability of it. It's a part of their dynamic, he thinks, that simply doesn't waver, like Elio's just not the type of man to shock him or to leave him reeling. He should find it incredibly boring but instead, it makes his heart beat just a little more evenly and his head feel lighter. I know this, he thinks. This is home.
He smiles back, a careful little twitch of his lips, and heads for the bed. He doesn't particularly want to bring in the cleaning crew again for feathers and whatnot but on the other hand, he'd rather like for Elio to be comfortable. He toes out of his shoes and socks on the way, leaving them on the floor by the bed before finally losing his shirt, folding it away onto a chair. He glances over his shoulder at Elio, tipping his wing downwards slightly to make eye-contact. ]
You can sit behind me.
[ He sits, legs crossed, near the middle of the bed, leaving Elio room to sit as he pleases. His wings are hanging down his back, tips dragging across the floor on either side of the bed. He looks down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap, and thinks about not having wings, about cutting them off and leaving them in bloody heaps all over his walk-in closet. It was a simpler decision, to be rid of them. Knowing Elio's about to put his hands on them is equal parts terrifying and exciting and he hates that duality, the notion that a part of him remains a hypocrite, even now.
[ When Lucifer makes for the bedroom, Elio follows, toeing out of his shoes and socks on the way, t-shirt over his head only once the other man removes his shirt, as if taking his cues along the way - we're getting this naked, it's not foreplay, it's I take care of you, you let me which is by every definition vulnerable enough. Maybe even more vulnerable than anything sexual they could do. Waiting for the other man to seat himself, to look back at him over the arch of his wing and tell him, come here, you can sit behind me, like permission, Elio smiles and nods, crawling onto the middle of the bed, too. He sits on his knees, their height difference is overcome most smoothly that way, although his wings add a whole new length to his body, height and width and span.
They may be for flight, his wings, but this isn't fleeing, Elio thinks, biting his lip a moment as he tries to decide where to start. This isn't leaving the entire situation with Chloe behind, it's giving themselves a breather, a moment to not have to feel it. By feeling something else instead. Slowly, he raises both hands, fingers slightly curved, as if hitting the first chord on the piano, really, and reaches for the arch of Lucifer's right wing, just gently runs his palm over the slope of it, following the natural direction of the feathers downward in little, soft strokes with his fingers. They're strong, his feathers, though soft at the same time and it's such a natural contrast with Lucifer, like they embody his entire person in just that one characteristic.
Then again, they get sad when he does. Angry, upset. Maybe they embody him in more ways than you'd think. Elio cocks his head, licks his lips, fixes a couple of flight feathers, huge, almost as long as he is, head to toe, that have gone all disheveled. ]
You can always ask me. [ A slight pause, a third huge feather needs pushing into place and he's being careful about it. It takes some focus. There are a lot of feathers here. ] To take care of them for you.
[ And if his wings embody him, Elio knows, then he's also saying, you can always ask me to take care of you. ]
[ Elio climbs up behind, undressed down to his trousers just like Lucifer, and the mattress gives just slightly as he crawls up behind him, his weight small but significant. Lucifer can feel his breathing growing uneven, not quite hitting gasping-territory but something that feels... like urgency, impatience, maybe even...
You never get scared, said his brother once, what feels like ages ago.
Oh, the lies others believe about him.
At the first touch of Elio's hand against his right wing, he suppresses a shiver along with the urge to pull away. One deep breath, two, three - and then, Elio begins, fixing one long feather after the other and with each alignment, he feels just a little less tense. His skin prickles in response, the small coverts along the arches fluffing up slightly. You can always ask, Elio tells him, his voice quiet and his movements steady, careful. Lucifer thinks, again, about Chloe telling him she was alright, that all she saw in him was her partner, even after -- but she'd been lying and he'd been so happy, too.
Lip trembling, he bows his head for a moment, breathes in harshly. Then, he forces himself to quiet down, to clear his mind and push the thoughts of the prior days away. Instead, there's just... the feeling of Elio's fingers, the scent of his body and his naked skin. You can always ask me, he said. ]
Thank you.
[ He lifts his head and looks out of the windows beyond the bedroom, straight into the darkness outside, broken up by the burning city lights. Home. This is home. Elio is...
Shutting his eyes, he relaxes into the other man's attentions. Within long, he's thrumming at him without realising it - a low, dark rumbling from somewhere deep within his chest and throat, something that sounds distinctively non-human. It sounds like quiet, mostly, something very gentle and un-rushed. Like peace.
[ Elio doesn't fail to sense how this is a definite struggle for the other man, how he trembles at his first touch to his wings, how he has to fight not to draw away. Elio can feel it and he accepts that, too. It's extremely vulnerable. He's just lost his best friend, hasn't he, and Elio has put everything on display for him as well, giving him all the more to lose, if they should experience a similar break. They won't, of course, Elio knows, but Lucifer is still sitting with the hurt of it all, you can't expect him to tell the differences between their two situations. Why one didn't work out and the other will. Not now. There's only so much forest you'll see, surrounded by trees on all sides, right?
So, he just focuses on keeping his movements steady, aligning feathers, pulling lightly at them to get them in order, running his fingers through the rows, soft and hard at the same time. Like Lucifer himself. Elio loves that about him. He feels weirdly safe in that exact combination of traits, vulnerability and strength, softness and hardness, like he'd be happy to lay himself out for Lucifer and he wouldn't fear, not for a second.
Does that make you a fool?
He makes a hmm'ing sound at the back of his throat (maybe it does, a happy fool, then), working his way down the middle of Lucifer's wing now, the smaller feathers increasingly softer, increasingly down-like. He's careful with them. After he's righted the worst of the disheveling, Elio reaches up and carefully, gently, runs his palm over where he knows the gland is, getting his fingers all sticky with oil before starting to rub it into the top-row. The light out of them is extraordinary. It's then that he notices Lucifer humming, well, it's not quite a hum, but something similar, vibrations deep in his throat, like purring, maybe, but less... Earthly? Less from here. Elio listen to it for a long time, rubbing oil into the next row of feathers as well, until his fingers are mostly slick-free, and he thinks it means something. He wants it to mean something.
As he reaches up again for his preen gland, fingers going oily in a few rubbing motions, Elio leans in, balancing himself against Lucifer's waist and presses a soft kiss to his lower neck, upper back, between his shoulder blades. Right between his wings. Other than that, he doesn't comment, lets Lucifer keep his secret language to himself and taking away only the knowledge that it exists. That it's in there. That he can make it come out.
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He smiles back, a careful little twitch of his lips, and heads for the bed. He doesn't particularly want to bring in the cleaning crew again for feathers and whatnot but on the other hand, he'd rather like for Elio to be comfortable. He toes out of his shoes and socks on the way, leaving them on the floor by the bed before finally losing his shirt, folding it away onto a chair. He glances over his shoulder at Elio, tipping his wing downwards slightly to make eye-contact. ]
You can sit behind me.
[ He sits, legs crossed, near the middle of the bed, leaving Elio room to sit as he pleases. His wings are hanging down his back, tips dragging across the floor on either side of the bed. He looks down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap, and thinks about not having wings, about cutting them off and leaving them in bloody heaps all over his walk-in closet. It was a simpler decision, to be rid of them. Knowing Elio's about to put his hands on them is equal parts terrifying and exciting and he hates that duality, the notion that a part of him remains a hypocrite, even now.
Even here. ]
no subject
They may be for flight, his wings, but this isn't fleeing, Elio thinks, biting his lip a moment as he tries to decide where to start. This isn't leaving the entire situation with Chloe behind, it's giving themselves a breather, a moment to not have to feel it. By feeling something else instead. Slowly, he raises both hands, fingers slightly curved, as if hitting the first chord on the piano, really, and reaches for the arch of Lucifer's right wing, just gently runs his palm over the slope of it, following the natural direction of the feathers downward in little, soft strokes with his fingers. They're strong, his feathers, though soft at the same time and it's such a natural contrast with Lucifer, like they embody his entire person in just that one characteristic.
Then again, they get sad when he does. Angry, upset. Maybe they embody him in more ways than you'd think. Elio cocks his head, licks his lips, fixes a couple of flight feathers, huge, almost as long as he is, head to toe, that have gone all disheveled. ]
You can always ask me. [ A slight pause, a third huge feather needs pushing into place and he's being careful about it. It takes some focus. There are a lot of feathers here. ] To take care of them for you.
[ And if his wings embody him, Elio knows, then he's also saying, you can always ask me to take care of you. ]
no subject
You never get scared, said his brother once, what feels like ages ago.
Oh, the lies others believe about him.
At the first touch of Elio's hand against his right wing, he suppresses a shiver along with the urge to pull away. One deep breath, two, three - and then, Elio begins, fixing one long feather after the other and with each alignment, he feels just a little less tense. His skin prickles in response, the small coverts along the arches fluffing up slightly. You can always ask, Elio tells him, his voice quiet and his movements steady, careful. Lucifer thinks, again, about Chloe telling him she was alright, that all she saw in him was her partner, even after -- but she'd been lying and he'd been so happy, too.
Lip trembling, he bows his head for a moment, breathes in harshly. Then, he forces himself to quiet down, to clear his mind and push the thoughts of the prior days away. Instead, there's just... the feeling of Elio's fingers, the scent of his body and his naked skin. You can always ask me, he said. ]
Thank you.
[ He lifts his head and looks out of the windows beyond the bedroom, straight into the darkness outside, broken up by the burning city lights. Home. This is home. Elio is...
Shutting his eyes, he relaxes into the other man's attentions. Within long, he's thrumming at him without realising it - a low, dark rumbling from somewhere deep within his chest and throat, something that sounds distinctively non-human. It sounds like quiet, mostly, something very gentle and un-rushed. Like peace.
Feels like it, too. ]
no subject
So, he just focuses on keeping his movements steady, aligning feathers, pulling lightly at them to get them in order, running his fingers through the rows, soft and hard at the same time. Like Lucifer himself. Elio loves that about him. He feels weirdly safe in that exact combination of traits, vulnerability and strength, softness and hardness, like he'd be happy to lay himself out for Lucifer and he wouldn't fear, not for a second.
Does that make you a fool?
He makes a hmm'ing sound at the back of his throat (maybe it does, a happy fool, then), working his way down the middle of Lucifer's wing now, the smaller feathers increasingly softer, increasingly down-like. He's careful with them. After he's righted the worst of the disheveling, Elio reaches up and carefully, gently, runs his palm over where he knows the gland is, getting his fingers all sticky with oil before starting to rub it into the top-row. The light out of them is extraordinary. It's then that he notices Lucifer humming, well, it's not quite a hum, but something similar, vibrations deep in his throat, like purring, maybe, but less... Earthly? Less from here. Elio listen to it for a long time, rubbing oil into the next row of feathers as well, until his fingers are mostly slick-free, and he thinks it means something. He wants it to mean something.
As he reaches up again for his preen gland, fingers going oily in a few rubbing motions, Elio leans in, balancing himself against Lucifer's waist and presses a soft kiss to his lower neck, upper back, between his shoulder blades. Right between his wings. Other than that, he doesn't comment, lets Lucifer keep his secret language to himself and taking away only the knowledge that it exists. That it's in there. That he can make it come out.
Isn't that enough? ]