[ 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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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. ]
no subject
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. ]