[ For someone so exceedingly tall and broad, Lucifer moves with quite a lot of grace, a lightness that seems to contrast his build, but why wouldn't he move like that, he's got literal, actual wings, he defies gravity on a regular basis. Elio's breathing open-mouthed now, mostly because the air in here's thick with the smell of sweat and arousal, crotch and cock and a thousand colognes. Some would call it a stench, but it's more a call to arms, really. Be ready to plunder! Because there's that male lack of inhibition, right?
The guys down there are certainly buzzing around Lucifer like moths to a flame and maybe there's no better image to use, after all. The way they gather around him, the way he lets himself pass from one pair of hands to another, setting up boundaries as others breathe, no groping, no rubbing, no grinding unless he wants it, specifically. Someone gets their hands under his shirt, obviously invited or they wouldn't have been allowed at all, would they and do they realize how lucky they are, Elio getting increasingly hard just looking down at them, him. Watching him as he looks back, his eyes heated and his gaze heavy. Elio breathes in, reaching down with one hand to noticeably right his cock in his pants.
He's never been the jealous type. It's not a bisexual thing, it's an Elio thing - he likes seeing people free and unrestrained, he has yet to meet anyone he'd want to bind with his own emotions that he should rightly be accountable for himself. Elio doesn't want to bind Lucifer either, unless it were to tether him to the ground, of course, ensure he'd never leave and even then, even then...
Partings can be inevitable, he knows. Painful, but inevitable. Not that Elio wants to think about that now. Not now, not ever.
When the other man looks so at home and so unworried and so free, surrounded by people who can't resist him anymore than Elio has ever been able to. Maybe even less. Elio, at least, said no for a long time, didn't he?
[ The song changes from something vaguely industrial and cold to a warmer remix, something poppy, something Italian. The beat, accordingly shifts and the mood goes up, the slim man thrusting up against him from behind, his hands going for the front of his trousers. Lucifer smiles, sharper now, and twists again, turning in his grip until they're face to face. His mojo goes straight to the other man's head and he leans in, mouthing a trail of the side of Lucifer's neck, whispering something in a Neapolitan accent that sounds like blow me. No doubt an accurate guess, considering the circumstances.
Lucifer grabs his shoulders and turns him towards a younger man, currently writhing about suggestively a couple of feet away. One light push in his direction, just so; that'll get him what he wants. Everyone's currently projecting on the dance floor and Lucifer's hearing them over the noise because that's how it goes. When the Devil wants to listen, he'll listen.
He shuts his eyes and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt riding up at the motion. Someone steps up to him and starts undoing the buttons which is fine, he's feeling a bit hot in any case and then, suddenly, there are warm hands all over his midriff and chest. As it were, unlike more or less the rest of this horny crowd, he isn't hard because none of these people truly hit his spots; he glances upwards at regular intervals, rather, making certain that someone else is looking, appreciating.
Thinking about Elio watching him, maybe getting a little hard himself, makes his own groin tighten. That could take him most of the way, certainly, if he'd been less surrounded by naked, sweaty men. As it is, Lucifer just enjoys. You don't need an erection for that, after all, to indulge in pleasure and touch and being wanted. ]
[ Lucifer commands the dance floor as if it were Hell and possibly, by Italian sensitivities, they aren't too far off either, except the other man's bound to know the difference, he rules both. Hell and here, this dance floor, these men on it. The beat changes a floor below, into something fresher and more pop and accordingly, everyone gets a bit excited, hands undoing Lucifer's shirt, someone's hands, Elio can't see to whom they belong and it doesn't truly matter either, Lucifer's getting his stomach and midriff flashed and it's so hot, Elio actually has to reach down and palm himself through the front of his pants. Meanwhile, the other man is spinning around, letting himself get mouthed up the side of his neck and addressed, it looks like. What Elio wouldn't do to be able to hear, the uneven breathing, the undoubtedly dirty talking and Lucifer proceeds to lead, because he's a king before all else, the lucky man towards greener pastures. Someone got gifted a very happy match, there. On all sides of him, people take their cues, writhing against each other. Against him.
Every now and again, he looks up, their eyes not quite meeting, but still registering each other's presence, that point of contact and then, they carry on, each to their own and Elio thinks he wants him like this, he wants him while they're this intimately connected, touching across a meter-deep free fall, while they share something this vulnerable and real.
He just wants it, one on one, that's his only demand. The whole clientele of Censored has to go.
Fishing out his phone from his front pocket, rubbing generously over his own cock at the motion, Elio sends off a text to Lucifer, very brief: I'm going back to the hotel. Follow me in twenty minutes, until then - leave nothing to the imagination, okay?
It's a plea, not a command. Like he said, Lucifer's king. You don't boss around the king.
Then, he disappears back into the crowd, slinks down the staircase, all the while glancing out at Lucifer, until he's reached the exit, slipping out into the late-night Roman streets. He expects Lucifer will notice he's gone, check his phone and allow him a head start. He's usually good about these things. Very good. ]
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no subject
The guys down there are certainly buzzing around Lucifer like moths to a flame and maybe there's no better image to use, after all. The way they gather around him, the way he lets himself pass from one pair of hands to another, setting up boundaries as others breathe, no groping, no rubbing, no grinding unless he wants it, specifically. Someone gets their hands under his shirt, obviously invited or they wouldn't have been allowed at all, would they and do they realize how lucky they are, Elio getting increasingly hard just looking down at them, him. Watching him as he looks back, his eyes heated and his gaze heavy. Elio breathes in, reaching down with one hand to noticeably right his cock in his pants.
He's never been the jealous type. It's not a bisexual thing, it's an Elio thing - he likes seeing people free and unrestrained, he has yet to meet anyone he'd want to bind with his own emotions that he should rightly be accountable for himself. Elio doesn't want to bind Lucifer either, unless it were to tether him to the ground, of course, ensure he'd never leave and even then, even then...
Partings can be inevitable, he knows. Painful, but inevitable. Not that Elio wants to think about that now. Not now, not ever.
When the other man looks so at home and so unworried and so free, surrounded by people who can't resist him anymore than Elio has ever been able to. Maybe even less. Elio, at least, said no for a long time, didn't he?
Can you believe that? ]
no subject
Lucifer grabs his shoulders and turns him towards a younger man, currently writhing about suggestively a couple of feet away. One light push in his direction, just so; that'll get him what he wants. Everyone's currently projecting on the dance floor and Lucifer's hearing them over the noise because that's how it goes. When the Devil wants to listen, he'll listen.
He shuts his eyes and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt riding up at the motion. Someone steps up to him and starts undoing the buttons which is fine, he's feeling a bit hot in any case and then, suddenly, there are warm hands all over his midriff and chest. As it were, unlike more or less the rest of this horny crowd, he isn't hard because none of these people truly hit his spots; he glances upwards at regular intervals, rather, making certain that someone else is looking, appreciating.
Thinking about Elio watching him, maybe getting a little hard himself, makes his own groin tighten. That could take him most of the way, certainly, if he'd been less surrounded by naked, sweaty men. As it is, Lucifer just enjoys. You don't need an erection for that, after all, to indulge in pleasure and touch and being wanted. ]
no subject
Every now and again, he looks up, their eyes not quite meeting, but still registering each other's presence, that point of contact and then, they carry on, each to their own and Elio thinks he wants him like this, he wants him while they're this intimately connected, touching across a meter-deep free fall, while they share something this vulnerable and real.
He just wants it, one on one, that's his only demand. The whole clientele of Censored has to go.
Fishing out his phone from his front pocket, rubbing generously over his own cock at the motion, Elio sends off a text to Lucifer, very brief: I'm going back to the hotel. Follow me in twenty minutes, until then - leave nothing to the imagination, okay?
It's a plea, not a command. Like he said, Lucifer's king. You don't boss around the king.
Then, he disappears back into the crowd, slinks down the staircase, all the while glancing out at Lucifer, until he's reached the exit, slipping out into the late-night Roman streets. He expects Lucifer will notice he's gone, check his phone and allow him a head start. He's usually good about these things. Very good. ]