[ It doesn't go unnoticed, how Lucifer sits up and slings his towel around his hips to make himself a little less tempting and thus provide the game, rather than what they could rightly be doing with their two naked bodies the focus it requires. Elio loves him instantaneously for that, such a show of respect and care that no one before him ever could be bothered with, Elio remembers. It makes his smile widen, soft around the edges, even as the expression Lucifer affords him in return is just a little bit wary, putting his very honesty which is such a trademark, isn't it, in Elio's hands. Suddenly Elio thinks maybe they should skip the game altogether, fuck right here in the sun-warmed pool. He wants to. He wants him.
But of course, he'll also have him by asking. He'll have a different part of him, sure, but it'll definitely be him. Right? Just as much as his cock, now tugged out of sight beneath a baggy layer of fabric. Elio pushes off the edge of the pool, then, leaves Paul Celan to sway page by page in the breeze, back-crawling through the water lazily, eyes on the sky while he considers what to ask the other man. It has to be interesting, without being invasive. And holding back's the real issue here, what with Lucifer having literally been around since the dawn of time, you could ask him anything. Anything whatsoever.
Elio loves that about him as well, the treasure trove he is. Experiences, stories. All the humanity you could possibly expect from someone not actually human.
The idea makes him halt in the water, keeping himself afloat with even, steady kicks of his legs, circling around to face the other man still sitting in the same position, a natural part of Elio's mother's orchard. Why does he belong here so naturally? Where doesn't he belong? ]
What's your favorite thing about humans?
[ His voice is only raised because he's put distance between them and it needs to be crossed. ]
[ Elio, of course, doesn't mishandle his trust. Floating in the water, he looks up at Lucifer after thinking his choices over for a short moment and asks. Lucifer's eyebrows raise slightly in response as he sits back on his hands a little, gaze boring into Elio's for a few seconds before it glides upwards, tracking over the sky. Hmm. His favourite thing. That's a tough question, isn't it - certainly, on the face of it, he's quite in love with human sexuality, with the human body and how it feels against his own. But Lucifer is a physical creature and spending eons in Hell with no one around worth touching aside from Maze (which is always a brilliant but inevitable mix of pain and pleasure, typically hard to distinguish), well.
That part's probably more about him than about humans, if he's honest.
Pursing his lips, he thinks back. And back. And back. Eve had been... a little like Elio, actually, though perhaps more of a... bouncy little squirrel. She'd been insatiable about life, about pleasure and indulgence. He thinks about Rome. About the Renaissance. About lavish parties, about drinking and fucking, about poetry and philosophy and stories told.
Then, he re-focuses on Elio, naked, the water rippling gently around him. ]
Your desires.
[ He nods to himself. ]
Fragile existences aside, you have an unparalleled drive towards pleasure and enjoyment, towards fulfillment. Whether you burn slowly or fast - the point is, you do. Shine.
[ And a proud little smile, like he'd be fluffing up his feathers if they weren't hidden away: ]
[ While Lucifer thinks, Elio watches him, the way he's leaning back on his hands and looking to the sky, not for answers, Lucifer doesn't turn to Heaven for those, but for perspective. When he replies, too, Elio watches him. How he seems so satisfied with himself for every word that comes out of his mouth, especially the last couple, you do shine, just like me. If his wings had been out, they'd been fluffing, blood feathers and all. Elio smiles, just a soft tug at the corner of his mouth as he remembers the Northern Lights and the stars above the cabin in the forest in Yukon. Humans may shine, Elio isn't inclined to disagree, but still. ]
Not quite like you.
[ Swimming back to the side of the pool closest to where Lucifer's sitting, Elio raises himself up on his elbows, leaning in over the edge, weight on his forearms, getting Paul Celan all wet from the droplets raining off his hair, suddenly very flat and long around his face. He must look like something drowned, really. Absent-mindedly, he runs a hand through his bangs and looks up to meet the other man's eyes. It's not a discussion, it's not a counter-argument, it's just an observation. As someone who's seen the shine of a lot of people, appreciated said shine, too, he's still found no one who wasn't just a faint shadow from the fire Lucifer carries in him. Including himself.
Humans, Elio thinks, want to burn like Lucifer does, they definitely do. Since they can't, however, they'll always be drawn to him. Wherever he is, they'll come as if they'd been called. And sometimes, just sometimes, they have. Been called, right? He holds Lucifer's gaze. ]
With death nipping at our heels, I think we like to try, though. To light up our own universes.
[ Part of him wants to insist that Lucifer's probably taught them that, even just on some symbolic level, but the other man wouldn't agree, he wouldn't think he had any say in any act humans ever carried out, Elio is responsible for all his own choices and decisions. Lucifer? Lucifer is just there.
[ Not quite like you says Elio and there's something very gentle and lovely about the smile on his face, about the way his words seem to slip right into Lucifer's softest parts and stay there, warm and sweet and honest. He hasn't often felt touched by anyone - to be fair, it's hard to properly touch something that'll likely burn you to ashes - but of course, Elio has managed since the day he met him, since he first realised he couldn't mojo him.
Beautiful Elio, who gets up on his elbows now, rising out of the pool partially, water cascading down his front, the lines of his shoulders, back. His hair is dripping wet and the book will bear the traces from it until the Italian sun's dried them away.
Another perishable thing. ]
Dear old Dad made you to last. In Heaven, Hell, if not down here on Earth. [ A headshake. ] But of course, He'd also let you doubt and twist and contort yourselves into thinking otherwise. Classic Dad.
[ He exhales harshly through his nose. Pushes the thought aside. ]
Anyway. My turn. [ He thinks for a couple of seconds. ] What does this place mean to you, truly? Why did you want to come here again?
[ There's a blessed moment where they're still in conversation, where they're talking about how people forget they're bound to move on, after death, that there's no final resting place for humankind. Where Lucifer talks about God in that slightly absurd way that's a wholly celestial thing - classic Dad, yes, exactly so familiar, where Elio's grown up with the Lord, capitalized Him's and He's. Three letters that the devout Jews couldn't even erase from the blackboard in Hebrew class.
He likes Lucifer's way better, if he's honest.
And he has to be, now. When Lucifer asks him what his mother's summer house truly means to him, why he wanted to come here again, a place he could have visited any given time, a place he's been to so often, he knows even the way the dust dances in the air on a hot day, mid-July. A place he hasn't sat foot the past four years. Why?
It's a good question. It means Lucifer's seen through him. Elio takes a moment to decide whether he likes being seen through. The answer is yes. He blinks some water out of his eyes, affording himself a moment to word it best. Not to contort the truth, but to unfold it. ]
You know about Oliver. [ He doesn't afford the other man any other introductions into the tale, it's enough, how much space he's already claimed. Lucifer knows about him, has punished him for what he did, in some way Elio doesn't care too much about, really, when all is said and done. ] This was the place where everything happened, that summer. This was where, in a sense, I found out who I was. Every summer afterwards, I felt myself most strongly here. [ Licking his lips, he frowns, trying to remember when the shift happened, the slide, the descend into some kind of lower existence. He can't place it, but he knows it did happen, he was there, after all. ] Then, at some point I stopped wanting to feel myself and thus, I stopped coming. That was how I lived until I met you. After that, it was like a new life and - [ Pause. Swallow. ] - I guess I wanted to find out who I was in that life, too. I couldn't imagine a place that'd tell me as clearly as here.
[ A shrug, slightly awkward and Elio looks down at his wrists, strong, flexible, and in extension, a pianist's hands, fingers. He lets the silence ask the question he can't quite get over his own lips, and it did, didn't it?
Here they are. Once more, he knows who he is. No, not once more. Maybe for the first time. ]
[ He remembers Elio as he was, back before they were well-acquainted and a good long while afterwards, too. He'd been existing, in a way, but not quite properly - working, dating for short periods of time, walking out on the people he chose, presumably before they could walk out on him. He'd been free-falling, yes. Trying desperately not to hit the ground and waiting for it, all the same, for that massive, empty crater he'd leave behind upon impact. Lucifer knows. He remembers.
Tilting his head slightly, he looks at Elio for a long moment in silence. Like a new life, he says, about this existence he's chosen with Lucifer. Right now, the existence Lucifer's chosen for them - after all, he basically abducted the man and flew away. Does that mean he's yet to truly hit the ground? Maybe, in a way, he'll never get to do so - so long as Lucifer has the means, he's fairly certain he'll be compelled to keep him in the air, afloat.
Unharmed. ]
It suits you.
[ There's something a little awkward about his phrasing, about his voice. It's unusual for him, trying to verbalize these concepts of becoming and changing, though he knows them quite intimately, as facts rather than possibilities or choices. His life has always been change. Always. ]
This place, now. Timelessly.
[ He can't pretend to know what Elio would've looked like before, visiting this place every summer, falling in love with someone who didn't treat him with any sort of care. But it seems like it would've swallowed him, in a way, like he would've been very small amidst the trees, with the open sky bearing down upon him. It's nothing like that, now. Now, it looks - feels - acts - like it belongs to him. ]
I think it always knew, about me. I think it's been waiting for me to figure me out, too. [ A headshake. Elio exhales sharply and hoists himself up, his muscles moving, flexing in response to the weight distribution as he lifts himself up, twisting until he's sitting with his back to the other man, on the edge of the pool, legs dangling into the water still, his posture a half-slouch. ] Maybe I won't need to return at all, after we move on.
[ Looking at Lucifer over his shoulder, leaning to the side to grab his towel and beginning to dry off his hair, harsh, firm strokes, his skin shining wetly in the sun, Elio thinks about how the other man just complimented his growth. And why wouldn't he, he's been there the whole journey, from start to now, whatever this is, hopefully not finish, right? He's had eyes on him all this time, if anyone would be able to give a compliment on how far Elio's come, it would be him. He'd know. He's been waiting. He's been waiting so patiently.
Is that something eternity teaches you? That kind of patience.
Which leads him to... It's his turn, so the game goes. His towel sinks to his lap. Elio doesn't think for very long, he remembers their texts about Berlin, the stories, the lived experience Lucifer brings with him into their relation and he wants more of that, he wants to feel the other man's age, the weight behind what has to be an almost uncountable number. He wants to carry just a small corner of it for a moment, a sliver. With him.
Elio doubts he'd be strong enough on his own. ]
What's the greatest pleasure you've had while on Earth?
[ Elio hoists himself up, out of the water, seating himself with his back to Lucifer and there's a lot of naked, glistening skin there, my, my. Lucifer looks him over, just taking his time, eating up the visual of the other man's slender limbs, his strong back, wide shoulders. Everything about him speaks of elegance and grace which, while not misleading, is only an aspect of the story. Lucifer knows. He's felt that hidden strength of his, all the way inside his very core. Meeting his eyes, he shifts a little, rustling his own towel without actively dislodging it from his lap. Above them, a fine layer of clouds are trailing slowly towards the horizon, casting shadows around them at intervals, breaking up the light.
This beautiful place.
Chewing on his lip for a moment, he absent-mindedly reaches behind himself and scratches at his left shoulder. ]
That's an unfair question, darling. [ He smiles, leaning his head back and looking up. ] I've been here since the dawn of time. How would I pick any favourites?
[ He unfolds one leg and stretches it out in front of him, poking Elio's naked thigh with his toes. Poke, poke. ]
In Hell, all pleasures are absent. Food tastes like ash. Touch is... vacant. [ His smile stiffens, eyes growing distant. ] Coming here, everything is brighter. Warmer, harder, textured. Music actually sounds like music.
[ He sighs. ]
My greatest pleasure, I suppose, is the contrast of it.
[ He feels it. How Lucifer looks and it makes goosebumps break out along his arms, down his spine, where the water droplets are quickly drying in the heat of the afternoon. It makes Elio smile, like a small secret they share. Then, Lucifer's foot extends until he's poking him with his toes and Elio twists slightly at the waist, towel slipping into the water and he doesn't bother to save it, instead grabbing the other man's foot between both his hands, just holding it, firmly, palm running in parallel along the slope of his sole, to the ball of his foot, his toes. He wriggles his big toe between thumb and index finger. Wriggle, wriggle. Wriggle, wriggle.
An unfair question, Lucifer calls it and with the explanation he gives, Elio gets why. It's like asking the night what its favorite thing about the day is, what would the night say except: it's the day! All throughout, Elio's thumb presses along the very middle of the other man's foot, massaging gently, but with enough pressure not to be mistaken for a tickle. ]
It's not the question that's unfair, Lucifer.
[ It's said in a slow, soft voice, no patronization or pitying, just the genuine notion of it. He doesn't hate Hell, he decides, but Lucifer deserves better than what he has been served, he deserved things that feel like something to your touch and foods that taste and flowers that smell - does he like flowers, even? He likes fruits, fruits smell, too. Elio's suddenly overcome with the memory of the combined scents of cock and peach juice.
His cock jerks with some interest. He works a little harder on Lucifer's foot. ]
But if unfair questions give that kind of answer, ask me something unfair, too.
[ Elio's towel goes into the water while he starts in on Lucifer's foot, wriggling his big toe before moving on to a full-out massage. Oh. Oh, that's nice. Lucifer's shoulders immediately drop a notch, tension dissipating gradually, with every rub of Elio's thumb. Mm. He makes a low sound from deep within his chest, something that he'd feel more embarrassed about if Elio hadn't already shown him exactly how unbothered he is by Lucifer's inherent... otherness. For a second, he thinks about Chloe. About that vial of hers, about the way she'd looked at him, telling him that she didn't know whether she could ever accept him.
He's felt monstrous for eons but at that moment, he'd also felt devoid of anything else.
Blinking, he looks down. Shifts closer until they're side by side, him and Elio, unfortunately pulling his foot from the other man's grip in the process. The water ripples against his legs, pleasantly cool. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. ]
Why aren't you scared of me?
[ He looks down at their reflections, both of them distorted by the water. They look so alike, humans and him, but it's all very superficial, like a cruel joke that can't and won't be untold. He could twist his face right now or unfurl his wings and they'd be instantly different, instantly apart.
Elio may have grown up with a different view on the Devil than most but all the same, he didn't grow up with the factual certainty of eternity, of celestial justice and divine retribution. Even though he's seen the absolute worst sides of him, he's still here.
He even brought him to his very own version of Eden. Might've just as well spat in his father's eye, really. ]
[ After a long moment, Lucifer slips his foot out of Elio's grasp and moves over next to him, sitting with his legs in the water, too, his long, lean legs, stronger and more muscular than Elio's, all his biking aside. Elio looks at them, the difference between their lines, the way the shadows color Lucifer slightly darker, how Elio's a slim ghost next to him. He wonders, briefly, what Lucifer sees, but then Lucifer asks that and he doesn't wonder anymore. He knows. Blinking once, he turns his head and looks up at him, looks at the profile of his face, strong nose. So strong. ]
That is an unfair question, you know.
[ Still, it's said with a smile, because Elio gets it. He gets that Lucifer doesn't. That Lucifer has wondered and wrung his brain and he continues not to understand, what it is that's different about Elio's view of him. Why Elio didn't do like Chloe and try to banish him to Hell, where he rightly belongs, by some definition not his own.
A frown. Elio licks his lips and drops his gaze, watching their reflections again. ]
I'm not afraid of the things that make you different from me, because I love the things that make you different from me. [ He can't put it into words more bluntly than that, he can't come closer to the core of it. Even so, he pauses only for a second to breathe in long, hard and elaborates: ] It's not just that your wings turn me on or the way I want to kiss your Devil face, it's - [ Exhale. Lucifer probably doesn't remember, he probably doesn't remember the way Elio had looked at him, then. ] - that the very first time we met, you showed me your mojo and I wanted to be with you. Not just sexually, I wanted to be with you.
[ Inhale. It's a lot of words, but now that he's begun, he can't really stop himself, he has to take them all the way to the end of this thought, this notion. ]
I wanted to be part of your world. It felt like I belonged there.
[ And there it is, the end. Elio stares down at their reflections unseeingly for a few long moments, recalling Lucifer telling him they'd been played, like pawns. He shakes his head slightly, small, hesitant smile finding its way onto his lips, then he leans to the side, lets Lucifer take some of his weight, lets him carry his head as he rests it on his shoulder, perfect height. ]
[ Elio looks up at him, then down. Watches them in the water before telling him that he loves (loves, oh, that word) the things that make you different and though Lucifer isn't exactly surprised, the words still make his spine tingle and his skin prickle, his invisible feathers puffing up. He sighs. Listens, as Elio keeps talking, like he's somehow mojoed the answer out of him and left him with nothing but the urge to spill, to talk and to keep talking. He hasn't, though, has he? That's the magic, right there.
His Father may have blessed Elio but the other man's still choosing to be here. To belong to this world above the world, like Plato's caveman stepping outside, into the light. Humans have, after all, chosen enlightenment since the dawn of time and really, Dad, you made them like that, didn't you? Imagine making something in a certain way, to certain specifications, only to abandon it - them - for doing what they were meant to do. To punish them.
Like Lucifer, who was meant to bring light. And Elio, who's letting himself be enlightened, in turn.
Look at them now, then.
With a rustling sound, his wings expand from his back, blood feathers fully grown out in the bald patches. He folds one wing around Elio's back, the other hanging loosely down his side. Like that, he lets the other man rest his weight against his shoulder, slight as it is, oh, it's nothing, it's nothing at all. He slips his arm around his waist as well, just for emphasis, and holds him close.
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no subject
But of course, he'll also have him by asking. He'll have a different part of him, sure, but it'll definitely be him. Right? Just as much as his cock, now tugged out of sight beneath a baggy layer of fabric. Elio pushes off the edge of the pool, then, leaves Paul Celan to sway page by page in the breeze, back-crawling through the water lazily, eyes on the sky while he considers what to ask the other man. It has to be interesting, without being invasive. And holding back's the real issue here, what with Lucifer having literally been around since the dawn of time, you could ask him anything. Anything whatsoever.
Elio loves that about him as well, the treasure trove he is. Experiences, stories. All the humanity you could possibly expect from someone not actually human.
The idea makes him halt in the water, keeping himself afloat with even, steady kicks of his legs, circling around to face the other man still sitting in the same position, a natural part of Elio's mother's orchard. Why does he belong here so naturally? Where doesn't he belong? ]
What's your favorite thing about humans?
[ His voice is only raised because he's put distance between them and it needs to be crossed. ]
no subject
That part's probably more about him than about humans, if he's honest.
Pursing his lips, he thinks back. And back. And back. Eve had been... a little like Elio, actually, though perhaps more of a... bouncy little squirrel. She'd been insatiable about life, about pleasure and indulgence. He thinks about Rome. About the Renaissance. About lavish parties, about drinking and fucking, about poetry and philosophy and stories told.
Then, he re-focuses on Elio, naked, the water rippling gently around him. ]
Your desires.
[ He nods to himself. ]
Fragile existences aside, you have an unparalleled drive towards pleasure and enjoyment, towards fulfillment. Whether you burn slowly or fast - the point is, you do. Shine.
[ And a proud little smile, like he'd be fluffing up his feathers if they weren't hidden away: ]
Just like me.
no subject
Not quite like you.
[ Swimming back to the side of the pool closest to where Lucifer's sitting, Elio raises himself up on his elbows, leaning in over the edge, weight on his forearms, getting Paul Celan all wet from the droplets raining off his hair, suddenly very flat and long around his face. He must look like something drowned, really. Absent-mindedly, he runs a hand through his bangs and looks up to meet the other man's eyes. It's not a discussion, it's not a counter-argument, it's just an observation. As someone who's seen the shine of a lot of people, appreciated said shine, too, he's still found no one who wasn't just a faint shadow from the fire Lucifer carries in him. Including himself.
Humans, Elio thinks, want to burn like Lucifer does, they definitely do. Since they can't, however, they'll always be drawn to him. Wherever he is, they'll come as if they'd been called. And sometimes, just sometimes, they have. Been called, right? He holds Lucifer's gaze. ]
With death nipping at our heels, I think we like to try, though. To light up our own universes.
[ Part of him wants to insist that Lucifer's probably taught them that, even just on some symbolic level, but the other man wouldn't agree, he wouldn't think he had any say in any act humans ever carried out, Elio is responsible for all his own choices and decisions. Lucifer? Lucifer is just there.
Which is good enough, Elio is going to take it. ]
no subject
Beautiful Elio, who gets up on his elbows now, rising out of the pool partially, water cascading down his front, the lines of his shoulders, back. His hair is dripping wet and the book will bear the traces from it until the Italian sun's dried them away.
Another perishable thing. ]
Dear old Dad made you to last. In Heaven, Hell, if not down here on Earth. [ A headshake. ] But of course, He'd also let you doubt and twist and contort yourselves into thinking otherwise. Classic Dad.
[ He exhales harshly through his nose. Pushes the thought aside. ]
Anyway. My turn. [ He thinks for a couple of seconds. ] What does this place mean to you, truly? Why did you want to come here again?
no subject
He likes Lucifer's way better, if he's honest.
And he has to be, now. When Lucifer asks him what his mother's summer house truly means to him, why he wanted to come here again, a place he could have visited any given time, a place he's been to so often, he knows even the way the dust dances in the air on a hot day, mid-July. A place he hasn't sat foot the past four years. Why?
It's a good question. It means Lucifer's seen through him. Elio takes a moment to decide whether he likes being seen through. The answer is yes. He blinks some water out of his eyes, affording himself a moment to word it best. Not to contort the truth, but to unfold it. ]
You know about Oliver. [ He doesn't afford the other man any other introductions into the tale, it's enough, how much space he's already claimed. Lucifer knows about him, has punished him for what he did, in some way Elio doesn't care too much about, really, when all is said and done. ] This was the place where everything happened, that summer. This was where, in a sense, I found out who I was. Every summer afterwards, I felt myself most strongly here. [ Licking his lips, he frowns, trying to remember when the shift happened, the slide, the descend into some kind of lower existence. He can't place it, but he knows it did happen, he was there, after all. ] Then, at some point I stopped wanting to feel myself and thus, I stopped coming. That was how I lived until I met you. After that, it was like a new life and - [ Pause. Swallow. ] - I guess I wanted to find out who I was in that life, too. I couldn't imagine a place that'd tell me as clearly as here.
[ A shrug, slightly awkward and Elio looks down at his wrists, strong, flexible, and in extension, a pianist's hands, fingers. He lets the silence ask the question he can't quite get over his own lips, and it did, didn't it?
Here they are. Once more, he knows who he is. No, not once more. Maybe for the first time. ]
no subject
Tilting his head slightly, he looks at Elio for a long moment in silence. Like a new life, he says, about this existence he's chosen with Lucifer. Right now, the existence Lucifer's chosen for them - after all, he basically abducted the man and flew away. Does that mean he's yet to truly hit the ground? Maybe, in a way, he'll never get to do so - so long as Lucifer has the means, he's fairly certain he'll be compelled to keep him in the air, afloat.
Unharmed. ]
It suits you.
[ There's something a little awkward about his phrasing, about his voice. It's unusual for him, trying to verbalize these concepts of becoming and changing, though he knows them quite intimately, as facts rather than possibilities or choices. His life has always been change. Always. ]
This place, now. Timelessly.
[ He can't pretend to know what Elio would've looked like before, visiting this place every summer, falling in love with someone who didn't treat him with any sort of care. But it seems like it would've swallowed him, in a way, like he would've been very small amidst the trees, with the open sky bearing down upon him. It's nothing like that, now. Now, it looks - feels - acts - like it belongs to him. ]
no subject
[ Looking at Lucifer over his shoulder, leaning to the side to grab his towel and beginning to dry off his hair, harsh, firm strokes, his skin shining wetly in the sun, Elio thinks about how the other man just complimented his growth. And why wouldn't he, he's been there the whole journey, from start to now, whatever this is, hopefully not finish, right? He's had eyes on him all this time, if anyone would be able to give a compliment on how far Elio's come, it would be him. He'd know. He's been waiting. He's been waiting so patiently.
Is that something eternity teaches you? That kind of patience.
Which leads him to... It's his turn, so the game goes. His towel sinks to his lap. Elio doesn't think for very long, he remembers their texts about Berlin, the stories, the lived experience Lucifer brings with him into their relation and he wants more of that, he wants to feel the other man's age, the weight behind what has to be an almost uncountable number. He wants to carry just a small corner of it for a moment, a sliver. With him.
Elio doubts he'd be strong enough on his own. ]
What's the greatest pleasure you've had while on Earth?
no subject
This beautiful place.
Chewing on his lip for a moment, he absent-mindedly reaches behind himself and scratches at his left shoulder. ]
That's an unfair question, darling. [ He smiles, leaning his head back and looking up. ] I've been here since the dawn of time. How would I pick any favourites?
[ He unfolds one leg and stretches it out in front of him, poking Elio's naked thigh with his toes. Poke, poke. ]
In Hell, all pleasures are absent. Food tastes like ash. Touch is... vacant. [ His smile stiffens, eyes growing distant. ] Coming here, everything is brighter. Warmer, harder, textured. Music actually sounds like music.
[ He sighs. ]
My greatest pleasure, I suppose, is the contrast of it.
no subject
An unfair question, Lucifer calls it and with the explanation he gives, Elio gets why. It's like asking the night what its favorite thing about the day is, what would the night say except: it's the day! All throughout, Elio's thumb presses along the very middle of the other man's foot, massaging gently, but with enough pressure not to be mistaken for a tickle. ]
It's not the question that's unfair, Lucifer.
[ It's said in a slow, soft voice, no patronization or pitying, just the genuine notion of it. He doesn't hate Hell, he decides, but Lucifer deserves better than what he has been served, he deserved things that feel like something to your touch and foods that taste and flowers that smell - does he like flowers, even? He likes fruits, fruits smell, too. Elio's suddenly overcome with the memory of the combined scents of cock and peach juice.
His cock jerks with some interest. He works a little harder on Lucifer's foot. ]
But if unfair questions give that kind of answer, ask me something unfair, too.
no subject
He's felt monstrous for eons but at that moment, he'd also felt devoid of anything else.
Blinking, he looks down. Shifts closer until they're side by side, him and Elio, unfortunately pulling his foot from the other man's grip in the process. The water ripples against his legs, pleasantly cool. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. ]
Why aren't you scared of me?
[ He looks down at their reflections, both of them distorted by the water. They look so alike, humans and him, but it's all very superficial, like a cruel joke that can't and won't be untold. He could twist his face right now or unfurl his wings and they'd be instantly different, instantly apart.
Elio may have grown up with a different view on the Devil than most but all the same, he didn't grow up with the factual certainty of eternity, of celestial justice and divine retribution. Even though he's seen the absolute worst sides of him, he's still here.
He even brought him to his very own version of Eden. Might've just as well spat in his father's eye, really. ]
no subject
That is an unfair question, you know.
[ Still, it's said with a smile, because Elio gets it. He gets that Lucifer doesn't. That Lucifer has wondered and wrung his brain and he continues not to understand, what it is that's different about Elio's view of him. Why Elio didn't do like Chloe and try to banish him to Hell, where he rightly belongs, by some definition not his own.
A frown. Elio licks his lips and drops his gaze, watching their reflections again. ]
I'm not afraid of the things that make you different from me, because I love the things that make you different from me. [ He can't put it into words more bluntly than that, he can't come closer to the core of it. Even so, he pauses only for a second to breathe in long, hard and elaborates: ] It's not just that your wings turn me on or the way I want to kiss your Devil face, it's - [ Exhale. Lucifer probably doesn't remember, he probably doesn't remember the way Elio had looked at him, then. ] - that the very first time we met, you showed me your mojo and I wanted to be with you. Not just sexually, I wanted to be with you.
[ Inhale. It's a lot of words, but now that he's begun, he can't really stop himself, he has to take them all the way to the end of this thought, this notion. ]
I wanted to be part of your world. It felt like I belonged there.
[ And there it is, the end. Elio stares down at their reflections unseeingly for a few long moments, recalling Lucifer telling him they'd been played, like pawns. He shakes his head slightly, small, hesitant smile finding its way onto his lips, then he leans to the side, lets Lucifer take some of his weight, lets him carry his head as he rests it on his shoulder, perfect height. ]
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His Father may have blessed Elio but the other man's still choosing to be here. To belong to this world above the world, like Plato's caveman stepping outside, into the light. Humans have, after all, chosen enlightenment since the dawn of time and really, Dad, you made them like that, didn't you? Imagine making something in a certain way, to certain specifications, only to abandon it - them - for doing what they were meant to do. To punish them.
Like Lucifer, who was meant to bring light. And Elio, who's letting himself be enlightened, in turn.
Look at them now, then.
With a rustling sound, his wings expand from his back, blood feathers fully grown out in the bald patches. He folds one wing around Elio's back, the other hanging loosely down his side. Like that, he lets the other man rest his weight against his shoulder, slight as it is, oh, it's nothing, it's nothing at all. He slips his arm around his waist as well, just for emphasis, and holds him close.
Home, he thinks. ]