[ Mafalda's actually provided them with five different spreads (garlic-cheese, tomato, tzatziki, hummus and something with olive bits that looks delicious) and besides the tuna, also some smoked salmon straight off the market in B. The bread that she's given them is homemade, coarse salt spread over the crust and he knows, oh, he knows he's going to have a regular foodgasm. It's no wonder he had to masturbate off all those calories, back in the day, huh. Elio smiles, suddenly reminded of something Michel once said. A bit belatedly, he realizes that the thought of the other man doesn't hurt quite as insistently any longer.
A journey is made out of steps, after all.
Elio shakes his head and lays out the last of the fish, about to turn around.
When something, something large and strong, something with feathers, presses up against his back and starts rubbing up against him like a bunny in heat, pretty much. It more or less pushes Elio in over the kitchen counter, his shirt getting a dip in both the garlic-cheese spread and the tuna crudo, though he manages to salvage the raw fish from playing mattress to his chest there for a second. Elio straightens up slowly, pushing back against the huge wing that has unfurled form Lucifer's back. He turns his head to look at it, finding a huge bald spot right above his ass, tube-like feathers beginning to grow out. Oh.
He's plucked himself. Elio's expression softens. It's audible in his voice, too, when he asks: ]
He freezes at Elio's voice, glancing sideways slowly, the way humans always do in horror movies when something uncanny's happening right beyond their field of vision. In this case, his awful, unpresentable wings, rubbing up against... Elio's...
He pulls his wing away like it's been burned, pulling both against his back because he can't quite think to put them away properly. Besides, he's sitting down and the back of the chair's in the way, ridiculous as that may sound (what with his wings passing through his clothes whenever they materialize). Instead, he meets Elio's eyes - soft, patient, even with his shirt having clearly been dipped in one of those delicious-looking spreads.
Lucifer tries for nonchalant. ]
It's really no trouble, my dear. Don't worry.
[ Scratchscratchscratch goes his left wing, this time against the windowsill, knocking down a thankfully empty ceramic vase. Pause. He very purposefully doesn't look at it. The nonchalant look on his face does slip a fraction. ]
[ Lucifer looks up at him like he's a killer in a slasher movie, that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, wide-eyed and wonderful, that makes him seem so much younger than he is, naturally, with his billion year lifespan. Then, he tells him not to worry while knocking down a ceramic vase in his hurry to move his wing out of reach, the nonchalance actually only faltering a little bit, a noticeable bit, but Lucifer's face is the same, still. Those too-large features. Elio loves him, he loves him. Which means that he doesn't laugh, just dries off the garlic-cheese spread on his t-shirt, sucking it off his finger slowly, before walking over and putting the only slightly cracked vase back up on the windowsill, effectively placing himself within touching distance of the other man's wing again.
Leaning in over it, he looks down at the patch of new feathers, just taking in the raw edges of uncovered skin, the fine bone structure, the intricate anatomy of it. Beautiful. ]
You've been really frustrated. [ He doesn't make it a question, because. Obviously. Instead he looks over at Lucifer, along the curved arch of his wing, both hands resting lightly along the upper edge of it, just holding on. Don't hide it from me, it means. The wing. The frustration. ] Can I scratch directly on the spot or should I stick with the edges?
[ His expression is just - interested, a pleasant kind of curiosity. ]
[ Elio, with that almost impossible calm of his, simply walks over and grabs the vase, putting it back on the windowsill without commenting on the brand-new crack running down its side. Lucifer sighs. Elio carries the scent of garlic with him and there's something distinctively Italian about it, about the old walls around them and the sunlight streaming in across the wooden cupboards and the stone floors. The smell of fresh fish, cheese, spices. It's like this place is theirs once again, even with the memory of last night, with the knowledge of what that might mean to them.
He doesn't pull his wing away from beneath Elio's fingers through he could, easily. Instead he shifts a bit on the chair and finally glances sideways, looking over the bald spots. His lips curl in distaste. Ugh. Blood feathers are so incredibly unattractive.
Bald spots, equally so. ]
Just so you know - you really, really don't have to. [ He turns the wing a little in Elio's grip, just enough to give him better access. ] But yes, you can. Scratch it.
[ Pause. ]
Try not to touch the new feathers too roughly. If they start bleeding, we'll be here all day.
[ As soon as Lucifer says the word, yes, you can, Elio shuffles about for a moment before, surprisingly elegantly, sliding into a cross-legged position on the floor, dragging the man's wing with him down, letting it rest halfway across his knees, thighs. He's told to be gentle with the new feathers, though he'd decided that already, so carefully Elio starts scratching along the outer edge of the bald patch first, big, slightly harder sweeps of his fingertips and nails where the old feathers are framing in the rest. Then, gradually, he moves inwards, softening his touch the further into the spot he gets, just rubbing his fingers over the new feathers gently, feeling the tubes move beneath his skin, a strange sensation of hard and soft at the same time. Befitting of Lucifer, really. When you think about it. Soft insides, hiding in transparent-ish, strong holsters.
He looks up at him, then. From his seated position, hands moving automatically now, steadily, softly. ]
You really, really don't have to tell me what's on your mind, but it would still make me happy if you did. [ Scratch, scratch, scratch. Elio cocks his head to the side a little, licking his lips. They still taste like garlic. Cheese. Home. They're still at home here, Lucifer could've left, but he hasn't.
Slowly, Elio looks down at his wing again. ] Same with this.
[ He can't help but stare just a little while Elio more or less folds himself onto the floor, Lucifer's bedraggled wing resting in his lap. There's something incredibly graceful about him, something that translates from his fingers running through any one piece of Bach to this, now, as he seats himself, legs crossed. He's not unlike a deer, Elio. Long limbs, a light but seemingly effortless control.
Though naturally, he knows - like a deer, the man will also stumble like all others do. Like Lucifer does, occassionally, as evidenced by the itchy bald spots beneath the other man's fingers. Elio mirrors his statement back at him and it's really quite magical, how he manages not to be annoying or patronizing about it at all. It's more like an observation in several layers. Verbal, nonverbal. I saw you and I don't mind.
He groans as Elio's fingers find a particularly sensitive spot. Crossing his arms, he bends over and rests his chin on them, turning his head just enough to follow the movements of the other man's hands, his wing twitching restlessly beneath his touch. ]
I just.
[ Pause. Swallow. He rolls his eyes, like the motion of his eyeballs might somehow shuffle his thoughts around enough to give him a clue. ]
I feel trapped, still. Escaping Hell, finding you - even now, I still...
[ His wings rustle a bit. Oh, that's a good spot. That's - a deep, rumbling sound escapes from his throat before he can stop it. ]
Sorry. I wish He'd stop trying to control my life. Yours, now, too. It's like He's simply compelled to keep at it, even thousands of years later. Who holds a grudge for that long?!
[ And because it does, Elio points out the obvious, his voice soft and amused, though not in a point and laugh way, but in a way that denotes, I see your weaknesses and they don't make me love you any less. In fact, he'd guess, his fingers scratching in between the new feathers of the mostly bald patch on Lucifer's wing says about the same thing, so he's really being redundant, but there you have it. Redundant love. If such a thing exists.
It doesn't. ]
Except the two of you.
[ Slowly, hand careful and precise in its movements, he starts fanning out his scratching to the surrounding areas around the bald spot, curving his fingers a little to dig in between unbroken and healthy feathers, combing through them hard enough that Lucifer will feel his fingertips against the underlying skin. It's the same he does when he scratches any back, isn't it, towards the end of one particularly good, deep round of massaging, extending his ministrations to the rest, too. Like that, Elio moves towards the next bald spot further up Lucifer's wing, one he has to bend over a little bit for in order to reach. As such, his voice sounds a little breathy when he speaks again, adding, because he doesn't want Lucifer to think his feelings aren't understandable, valid. ]
Only, grudges are unreasonable. [ A pause. A shrug. He scratches on the new bald patch in a way that can only be described as lovingly. Give him more of that noise! Elio craves it, the one from deep down the other man's throat, not unlike his purring thing he did, back then, when Elio had fixed his wings for him. After everything with Chloe. After his initial love declaration. ] And you're not being unreasonable, you've been hurt.
[ This time, the pause is because Elio realizes that Lucifer is being hurt through him, in this case. That he could be. His hand stills momentarily. ]
[ His mind's sort of drifting into a pleasant state of non-concern, the touch of Elio's fingers making his entire spine prickle, his feathers fluffing up at intervals whenever he catches a particularly juicy spot. He doesn't miss Elio saying except the two of you which makes him frown a little, like a part of him is trying to get argumentative about it whilst most of him can't be bothered because oh, the scratching, the - oh. Yes. He licks his lips. He's five seconds and a massive humiliation away from drooling on his own sleeve.
Then, Elio apologises and that's wrong, that doesn't sound right at all. Quirking one eyebrow, he cracks his left eye open to stare at him. His iris has gone blood red with all that attention to his wings, the pure, unfiltered physical pleasure of it. The hellfire, currently not visible, came later, once Hell had properly seeped into his very core and left it a festering, withered mess; the red gleam came tied to the white of the wings. Call him albino and get slapped, though. Really.
That would, after all, be offensive to actual albinos. ]
You have nothing to be sorry for, Elio.
[ He stares at the other man, unblinkingly. Re-positions his wing a little, pushing Elio's hands towards a spot close to the alula. ]
He shouldn't have involved you in this. In any of it. [ He shuts his eye again and breathes in. A deep, long inhalation. ] But I promise you, I'll find out why.
[ The words aren't taunting, they're conclusive. I believe you, they mean.
Elio lets the slight tilt of Lucifer's wing push his hand in the direction of another bald patch near the upper arch of the wing, evidently the place most accessible to the other man as he'd plucked himself, because he's been harsh on it, the spot relatively sizable. Noticeable. Elio scratches gently in between the new feathers there, fingertips wriggling and tickling across the thin layer of skin underneath. While his fingers move of their own accord, Elio holds Lucifer's gaze, blood-red and intense, with eyes that are endlessly more human, blinking and softening and a little bit sad. It's a moment of connect, two species regarding each other from a safe distance away, and Elio most of all wants to push Lucifer's wing out of his lap, get up and hurl himself at him, clinging to his front, arms around his neck, mouth eating him in whatever way he'd be allowed.
Instead, Lucifer closes his eye again and inhales, long, deep.
Looking down at the feathers spread out across his thighs, Elio tells him: ]
Just bring me along for the ride.
[ Don't make it a you show. Elio knows how Lucifer is, how he gets all wrapped up in his own feelings and opinions of things, how he goes a little blind to others sometimes. Also to Elio, though Elio's not insecure enough to overlook how he's probably let closer than most. As it is, he doesn't want Lucifer to think abandoning him in order to chase this new mystery's even an option. If they're connected, they're connected, stay in touch! In every sense of the word. Stay close. Don't go silent.
[ A half-smile at Elio's initial comment, the underlying meaning - I know you never lie, I'm holding you to it - very clear to him despite the indirectness of the statement. It's not that he has a problem with irony or implications, in particular, but Lucifer's brain is hard-wired to think about betrayals, about backstabbings and power grabs, about maintaining control - of Hell, of himself, of his own life and choices. Sometimes, he forgets. That all people - beings - aren't necessarily like that.
With Elio, however, he doesn't forget.
It's just a given, the way he knows that he won't be betrayed, that the other man doesn't work like that, not towards him and probably not towards anyone else, either. He's too sweet. He's too sincere.
Bring me along he adds and Lucifer, eyes closed, simply hums in response. Pulls his wing out of Elio's grip, finally, and curls it around his shoulders instead, covering him in a blanket of feathers, feeling the contours of his body against his own. I will, he wants to say, but he never lies and his Father's intentions are rarely so preoccupied with tiny humans and their tiny, short-lived desires. He knows this particular war too well, though he wishes he didn't.
And he'll do what's necessary.
His wing tightens around Elio's shoulders as he keeps his eyes closed, turning his face into the sunlight streaming through the windows. For a moment, at least, they can pretend to be warm. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
A journey is made out of steps, after all.
Elio shakes his head and lays out the last of the fish, about to turn around.
When something, something large and strong, something with feathers, presses up against his back and starts rubbing up against him like a bunny in heat, pretty much. It more or less pushes Elio in over the kitchen counter, his shirt getting a dip in both the garlic-cheese spread and the tuna crudo, though he manages to salvage the raw fish from playing mattress to his chest there for a second. Elio straightens up slowly, pushing back against the huge wing that has unfurled form Lucifer's back. He turns his head to look at it, finding a huge bald spot right above his ass, tube-like feathers beginning to grow out. Oh.
He's plucked himself. Elio's expression softens. It's audible in his voice, too, when he asks: ]
Lucifer. Do you want me to scratch you?
no subject
Oh.
He freezes at Elio's voice, glancing sideways slowly, the way humans always do in horror movies when something uncanny's happening right beyond their field of vision. In this case, his awful, unpresentable wings, rubbing up against... Elio's...
He pulls his wing away like it's been burned, pulling both against his back because he can't quite think to put them away properly. Besides, he's sitting down and the back of the chair's in the way, ridiculous as that may sound (what with his wings passing through his clothes whenever they materialize). Instead, he meets Elio's eyes - soft, patient, even with his shirt having clearly been dipped in one of those delicious-looking spreads.
Lucifer tries for nonchalant. ]
It's really no trouble, my dear. Don't worry.
[ Scratchscratchscratch goes his left wing, this time against the windowsill, knocking down a thankfully empty ceramic vase. Pause. He very purposefully doesn't look at it. The nonchalant look on his face does slip a fraction. ]
no subject
Leaning in over it, he looks down at the patch of new feathers, just taking in the raw edges of uncovered skin, the fine bone structure, the intricate anatomy of it. Beautiful. ]
You've been really frustrated. [ He doesn't make it a question, because. Obviously. Instead he looks over at Lucifer, along the curved arch of his wing, both hands resting lightly along the upper edge of it, just holding on. Don't hide it from me, it means. The wing. The frustration. ] Can I scratch directly on the spot or should I stick with the edges?
[ His expression is just - interested, a pleasant kind of curiosity. ]
no subject
He doesn't pull his wing away from beneath Elio's fingers through he could, easily. Instead he shifts a bit on the chair and finally glances sideways, looking over the bald spots. His lips curl in distaste. Ugh. Blood feathers are so incredibly unattractive.
Bald spots, equally so. ]
Just so you know - you really, really don't have to. [ He turns the wing a little in Elio's grip, just enough to give him better access. ] But yes, you can. Scratch it.
[ Pause. ]
Try not to touch the new feathers too roughly. If they start bleeding, we'll be here all day.
no subject
He looks up at him, then. From his seated position, hands moving automatically now, steadily, softly. ]
You really, really don't have to tell me what's on your mind, but it would still make me happy if you did. [ Scratch, scratch, scratch. Elio cocks his head to the side a little, licking his lips. They still taste like garlic. Cheese. Home. They're still at home here, Lucifer could've left, but he hasn't.
Slowly, Elio looks down at his wing again. ] Same with this.
no subject
Though naturally, he knows - like a deer, the man will also stumble like all others do. Like Lucifer does, occassionally, as evidenced by the itchy bald spots beneath the other man's fingers. Elio mirrors his statement back at him and it's really quite magical, how he manages not to be annoying or patronizing about it at all. It's more like an observation in several layers. Verbal, nonverbal. I saw you and I don't mind.
He groans as Elio's fingers find a particularly sensitive spot. Crossing his arms, he bends over and rests his chin on them, turning his head just enough to follow the movements of the other man's hands, his wing twitching restlessly beneath his touch. ]
I just.
[ Pause. Swallow. He rolls his eyes, like the motion of his eyeballs might somehow shuffle his thoughts around enough to give him a clue. ]
I feel trapped, still. Escaping Hell, finding you - even now, I still...
[ His wings rustle a bit. Oh, that's a good spot. That's - a deep, rumbling sound escapes from his throat before he can stop it. ]
Sorry. I wish He'd stop trying to control my life. Yours, now, too. It's like He's simply compelled to keep at it, even thousands of years later. Who holds a grudge for that long?!
[ ... the irony, naturally, escapes him. ]
no subject
It doesn't. ]
Except the two of you.
[ Slowly, hand careful and precise in its movements, he starts fanning out his scratching to the surrounding areas around the bald spot, curving his fingers a little to dig in between unbroken and healthy feathers, combing through them hard enough that Lucifer will feel his fingertips against the underlying skin. It's the same he does when he scratches any back, isn't it, towards the end of one particularly good, deep round of massaging, extending his ministrations to the rest, too. Like that, Elio moves towards the next bald spot further up Lucifer's wing, one he has to bend over a little bit for in order to reach. As such, his voice sounds a little breathy when he speaks again, adding, because he doesn't want Lucifer to think his feelings aren't understandable, valid. ]
Only, grudges are unreasonable. [ A pause. A shrug. He scratches on the new bald patch in a way that can only be described as lovingly. Give him more of that noise! Elio craves it, the one from deep down the other man's throat, not unlike his purring thing he did, back then, when Elio had fixed his wings for him. After everything with Chloe. After his initial love declaration. ] And you're not being unreasonable, you've been hurt.
[ This time, the pause is because Elio realizes that Lucifer is being hurt through him, in this case. That he could be. His hand stills momentarily. ]
I'm sorry.
no subject
Then, Elio apologises and that's wrong, that doesn't sound right at all. Quirking one eyebrow, he cracks his left eye open to stare at him. His iris has gone blood red with all that attention to his wings, the pure, unfiltered physical pleasure of it. The hellfire, currently not visible, came later, once Hell had properly seeped into his very core and left it a festering, withered mess; the red gleam came tied to the white of the wings. Call him albino and get slapped, though. Really.
That would, after all, be offensive to actual albinos. ]
You have nothing to be sorry for, Elio.
[ He stares at the other man, unblinkingly. Re-positions his wing a little, pushing Elio's hands towards a spot close to the alula. ]
He shouldn't have involved you in this. In any of it. [ He shuts his eye again and breathes in. A deep, long inhalation. ] But I promise you, I'll find out why.
no subject
[ The words aren't taunting, they're conclusive. I believe you, they mean.
Elio lets the slight tilt of Lucifer's wing push his hand in the direction of another bald patch near the upper arch of the wing, evidently the place most accessible to the other man as he'd plucked himself, because he's been harsh on it, the spot relatively sizable. Noticeable. Elio scratches gently in between the new feathers there, fingertips wriggling and tickling across the thin layer of skin underneath. While his fingers move of their own accord, Elio holds Lucifer's gaze, blood-red and intense, with eyes that are endlessly more human, blinking and softening and a little bit sad. It's a moment of connect, two species regarding each other from a safe distance away, and Elio most of all wants to push Lucifer's wing out of his lap, get up and hurl himself at him, clinging to his front, arms around his neck, mouth eating him in whatever way he'd be allowed.
Instead, Lucifer closes his eye again and inhales, long, deep.
Looking down at the feathers spread out across his thighs, Elio tells him: ]
Just bring me along for the ride.
[ Don't make it a you show. Elio knows how Lucifer is, how he gets all wrapped up in his own feelings and opinions of things, how he goes a little blind to others sometimes. Also to Elio, though Elio's not insecure enough to overlook how he's probably let closer than most. As it is, he doesn't want Lucifer to think abandoning him in order to chase this new mystery's even an option. If they're connected, they're connected, stay in touch! In every sense of the word. Stay close. Don't go silent.
Don't go. ]
no subject
With Elio, however, he doesn't forget.
It's just a given, the way he knows that he won't be betrayed, that the other man doesn't work like that, not towards him and probably not towards anyone else, either. He's too sweet. He's too sincere.
Bring me along he adds and Lucifer, eyes closed, simply hums in response. Pulls his wing out of Elio's grip, finally, and curls it around his shoulders instead, covering him in a blanket of feathers, feeling the contours of his body against his own. I will, he wants to say, but he never lies and his Father's intentions are rarely so preoccupied with tiny humans and their tiny, short-lived desires. He knows this particular war too well, though he wishes he didn't.
And he'll do what's necessary.
His wing tightens around Elio's shoulders as he keeps his eyes closed, turning his face into the sunlight streaming through the windows. For a moment, at least, they can pretend to be warm. ]