[ The kiss is too brief, like everything else about this moment, Elio's lips, the feel of his hands and the way he tries to keep himself strong in the face of this, whatever it is. God's work. Humans have never understood even a magnitude of it, of the consequences, and they've imagined suffering on grand scales all the same. Floods and plagues and genocides. It happened, maybe, in a way - but they've never understood.
Lucifer hasn't, either. Maybe that's why he's still here, in the exact same bloody spot, thinking about ways to create change, to push His plans out of alignment.
He holds onto Elio, feeling desperate and incapable for all of five seconds before he pushes the feeling away. Buries it, deep. I believe you he says, the wetness of his lips, the salt from his eyes, lingering on the tip of Lucifer's tongue. I believe you, he repeats and smiles because even this, he'll give Lucifer, even this. The memory of his happiness along with all the rest.
With a stiff nod, Lucifer finally releases him and steps away. He's wearing too little for this, really, not enough layers. So he sets about getting dressed, quickly but efficiently, grabbing clean clothes from the closet - trousers, white shirt, a suit jacket, no vest - and fixing the cuff links last, like a ritual. In Hell, there's nothing.
He pauses. Forces himself not to cry as he glances back at Elio, holds his gaze for another long, moment. Then, he turns and walks back to the living room where Amenadiel is waiting for him. He unfurls his wings as he walks, pausing to pull one out, about the length of a hand. It's glittering and shining, clearly well-kept, and he sees the look his Brother gives him, the sadness there.
Useless.
Lucifer leaves the feather on the seat of the armchair.
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Lucifer hasn't, either. Maybe that's why he's still here, in the exact same bloody spot, thinking about ways to create change, to push His plans out of alignment.
He holds onto Elio, feeling desperate and incapable for all of five seconds before he pushes the feeling away. Buries it, deep. I believe you he says, the wetness of his lips, the salt from his eyes, lingering on the tip of Lucifer's tongue. I believe you, he repeats and smiles because even this, he'll give Lucifer, even this. The memory of his happiness along with all the rest.
With a stiff nod, Lucifer finally releases him and steps away. He's wearing too little for this, really, not enough layers. So he sets about getting dressed, quickly but efficiently, grabbing clean clothes from the closet - trousers, white shirt, a suit jacket, no vest - and fixing the cuff links last, like a ritual. In Hell, there's nothing.
He pauses. Forces himself not to cry as he glances back at Elio, holds his gaze for another long, moment. Then, he turns and walks back to the living room where Amenadiel is waiting for him. He unfurls his wings as he walks, pausing to pull one out, about the length of a hand. It's glittering and shining, clearly well-kept, and he sees the look his Brother gives him, the sadness there.
Useless.
Lucifer leaves the feather on the seat of the armchair.
Then, they go. ]