[ Elio carries his weight for him happily when Lucifer folds his hands around his waist and leans his chin on top of his head, a gentle pressure of bone structure and flesh, their heights perfectly matched to each other. That's the blessing. The other man sniffs his curls in the way he likes to do, like a pleasant afterthought to all the rumination that's making him finally seek Elio out. That made him stay away, first. Turning his own head to the side a bit, Elio pushes his cheek against Lucifer's chest, feeling the solidity of him, how strong and firm he stands, and still he's fleeing. Like he used to flee to Earth, now it's just to the outermost borders of his realm. Elio can't give him the answers, he has no language for this. He can only tell him what he feels.
He heard his father talk about his mother today, she wanted a daughter so much, you know, his father had told him, making Elio smile a little amused as he's replied, well, she got a queen for son.
There had been no reply, there never is. They'd read Heraclitus for hours.
Elio closes his eyes and breathes Lucifer's scent in, breathes it all the way down into the bottom of his lungs, hoping it'll stay. Hoping he'll stay. ]
Don't be afraid of being with me, Lucifer. [ A small nod, the fabric of Lucifer's shirt soft against his skin, then Elio pushes away, stepping back enough to glance over at the pan. A minute. He turns his face back up towards Lucifer, looks him into his strong, firm features. Elio doesn't smile at him, but his expression's soft, nevertheless. Contemplative. ] You're not ruining anything, you're how I learn. I still can't find my way around alone.
[ The other morning, he'd gotten himself lost in the western hallways, so deep into the maze that Terry had said, he wouldn't have found him, hadn't the marking around his wrist showed him the way. In the shadows, the grass takes more time to grow, his steps hadn't been traced. Terry had been immensely grumpy about the whole incident, the King would flay the rest of me, he'd muttered, dragging Elio with him back. Having Lucifer here to lead the way, show him what it is he's working with would have been nice, Elio thinks. His father's glitchy hell loop, for example. Talking to someone so completely absent. Lucifer knows all these things.
[ The other man pulls away, going to check on the pan. When they re-establish eye-contact, Elio's expression is soft. Undemanding but firm, regardless. I still can't find my way around he says. Lucifer's chest tightens uncomfortably and he runs his hand through his hair, brushing off a few bits of ash still stuck to the strands.
Of course, Elio would notice his absence - how he stays away for days and days, only to return like there's nothing to be said about it, like Elio hasn't been left to his own devices in Hell, of all places. Lucifer has already heard from Maze that he got lost the other morning - that his helper demon had been on the very, very edge of a regular panic attack, trying to trace his steps. What if one day, Hell simply decides to swallow him up within the hallways? What if, one day, the wrong doors start calling to him, the loops Lucifer hopes fervently that he'll never even know of?
The loops he, himself, frequents.
If he's never around to help, then surely he's leaving those questions - those and others - up to chance. Elio's health, his happiness. ]
But what use will I be? Won't I just, I don't know...
[ He reaches for a pitcher of salt on the kitchen table and it promptly crumbles into ash. Drizzle, drizzle, drizzle, all over Elio's pretty floors. He raises his hand towards the other man in a silent completion of the question. He's seen Elio's footsteps here and there, within the immense labyrinth of hallways covering the surface of Hell. After a decade worth of activity, yes, you don't necessarily have to look quite so hard to find them any longer. He likes it, when he stumbles across them. Elio's marks on the land.
Maze, of course, can touch the grass. She chooses not to, claiming it gives her hives but she can.
He brushes the remaining specks of dust off his hand, expression darkening a little in irritation. The demons still haven't fully - or even partially - accepted Elio's presence, his influence on the place. At some point, certainly, they will revolt.
Another reason not to leave the other man unattended. ]
[ What use will I be, Lucifer asks and Elio is quiet for a little while, glancing aside, dripping oil on the pan so it sizzles loudly, before measuring up the first spoonful of batter, spreading it out. It's completely automatic, he's just made a batch of twenty exactly like this one, it's in his body, the movements. Muscle memory. While the batter fries, he looks over at Lucifer, the ashes he's made littering the floor now, the counter. He frowns, reaches out with his free hand and grabs the pitcher of salt that manifests next to him. He puts it on the counter between them. Like a statement.
You're not turning anything to ashes that I need, it means. No, what is happening is Lucifer, of course, being hard on himself, denying himself and in extension, denying Elio. Elio knows the other man wants to be there, he wants to support him, otherwise Hell wouldn't help him as it best can, Hell wouldn't be gentle with him or caring or kind, as it is because Hell extends from the Devil's hands. The Devil wants it to be like that. The pitcher of salt is unimportant, in the grand picture. The grass withering, unimportant, except when Elio can't find his way back.
The thing is, he could be taught. Elio is smart, he remembers very well, he could be taught. ]
You know Hell. [ He flips the pancake quickly with a skillet that, like the pitcher before it, manifests near his hand. No, Lucifer isn't ruining the things he needs. Elio bites his lower lip, considering how to explain it, gently but indisputably. ] I only know the way to my father's door. Once I step inside, I'm on my own.
[ Pause. He moves the pancake off the pan, pours a new spoonful of batter, rinse, repeat. The problem is, Elio can stop the loop, he can pause it, cozy it up, he's tried everything, lighting candles and making coffee, he's read every book he remembers from his father's collection. Yet, it's all still so one-sided. Once he leaves, the hell loop starts again, same as before, no change.
Elio's patient, but he's also waited enough in his life, he thinks. ]
[ The pancakes smell delicious. His mouth is actually watering a bit in response - in Hell, even pleasant scents are typically masked or distorted, like sound, but in Elio's palace, it's all right here on parade. He knows Maze is considering trying to bribe Elio into magicking up some decent booze that actually tastes like booze - but then, of course, she'd have to admit that she likes what he brings to the place, that the changes don't horrify her or make her feel homeless. They do. He's well aware.
But still, she gravitates towards rather than away from Elio's influences and that, to him, is extremely telling. She's not altogether good with change, his Maze, not the kind that calls upon her to alter her own habits, her own wants and needs and desires. They're his demons for a reason, after all. I need guidance, says Elio, not salt, flipping the pancake off the pan and pouring on another round of batter. It looks ritualistic, almost. Lucifer wonders whether he might have brought the recipe with him from upstairs.
He'll ask, he decides. If at some point, he'll be able to taste them.
If. ]
To be fair, I don't really know my way around, either. But I sense it.
[ He leans his hip against the counter and tilts his head sideways a fraction, watching the batter sizzle on the pan for a couple of seconds. ]
Next time you visit your father's loop, we'll go there together. He is in Hell - at this point, things could hardly be worse.
[ Deciding that this, at least, he can grant himself without even a hint of reluctance, he steps around the counter, drawing up behind Elio and slipping his arms around his waist. He links his hands against his flat belly, bending his neck to kiss the side of his throat. Then, he just stands there, thinking that he doesn't have a clue about what he's doing and hoping, hoping, oh, that Elio won't end up paying the price for his ignorance. ]
[ At this point, Elio has noticed how Lucifer navigates Hell with the same intuitive awareness that Elio does his palace. They're equally at home in each their realm, but like Lucifer couldn't have a taste of Elio's mother's pancakes here, because they'd be like ash in his mouth, Elio can't rely on his own traces outside in Hell, they won't stand forever and they might soon enough fade. It's how they're certainly together, in that they can do this, Lucifer coming up behind him, leaning against his back with his arms around his waist, kissing the side of his throat in a way that makes it really difficult to flip over any pancakes simultaneously, oh, but still apart. Even here, even like this. Because things are still standing between them. Things that have everything and nothing to do with Hell.
Elio manages to flip the pancake over, having to right it a bit on the pan, because it was a shaky toss, before putting the skillet down and running one hand along the hard, strong slope of Lucifer's arm, to his hands, where they link, holding him. Holding him so tight, his proximity everything Elio has been missing for three days straight. He breathes out long and slow, basking in the other man's scent, the feeling of his broad chest. We'll go there together, Lucifer tells him and Elio thanks him by slipping his free hand up along his shoulder, over the back of his neck, gripping his nape tightly, turning his head and bumping his nose softly against Lucifer's nose, because it's right there and it beckons.
Some things about Hell, Elio does sense, after all.
Thinking about his father, about how it's as bad as it can be, according to Lucifer, Elio thinks he's wrong. He thinks it could be both worse and better and he's here for the improvements. Eventually. Neither of them have truly figured out their approach yet. Take Elio, he manifests and manifests and manifests, but doesn't know what he's manifesting towards. He doesn't understand the context he's manifesting within. While Lucifer... Lucifer watches fissures in his foundation at a safe distance. ]
We're not aiming for worse.
[ He angles his face enough to slip his lips over Lucifer's lightly, then pulls back to flip the pancake off the pan. Oil, batter, repeat. As soon as they're empty again, his hands return to where Lucifer's linking his over Elio's stomach, spreads his fingers out over his knuckles, the backs of his hands.
How is it the proverb goes. Idle hands do the Devil's work? He smiles a bit. ]
[ He can practically feel Elio's patient nature assimilating itself into his own system as the other man manages to keep his pancake game strong whilst slipping his hand up Lucifer's shoulder to grip his neck and turning his face towards him. He's so lovely. The fine structures of his face feel tiny compared to Lucifer's hawk-like nose and his heavier chin, his body small and light against his front. His hand, however, is steady. His fingers long and strong. ]
Mm.
[ He leans his head lightly against the side of Elio's head and watches the batter baking on the pan, gaze growing a little more distant, a little lost in thought. He feels Elio's hands, warm and safe against his. The brief touch of his lips linger and for some reason, it makes him feel almost absurdly grateful.
It's a difficult balance to walk, having Elio near, knowing he's here and remembering that Hell is supposed to be Lucifer's punishment, his eternal damnation. Apparently, Miss Lopez had discovered a poem about the Devil, capturing one of his angelic sisters (incest, though??) and leading her astray by making her feel for him, by fooling her into closing her eyes to her own misfortune. The fact that it's complete and utter nonsense is one thing; but seeing, still, the underlying similarities...
Though he's been rallying against popular portrayals of him since the dawn of humanity, Lucifer has always known, to some extent, why the mere idea of them could cut him enough to cause a reaction. He knows.
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no subject
He heard his father talk about his mother today, she wanted a daughter so much, you know, his father had told him, making Elio smile a little amused as he's replied, well, she got a queen for son.
There had been no reply, there never is. They'd read Heraclitus for hours.
Elio closes his eyes and breathes Lucifer's scent in, breathes it all the way down into the bottom of his lungs, hoping it'll stay. Hoping he'll stay. ]
Don't be afraid of being with me, Lucifer. [ A small nod, the fabric of Lucifer's shirt soft against his skin, then Elio pushes away, stepping back enough to glance over at the pan. A minute. He turns his face back up towards Lucifer, looks him into his strong, firm features. Elio doesn't smile at him, but his expression's soft, nevertheless. Contemplative. ] You're not ruining anything, you're how I learn. I still can't find my way around alone.
[ The other morning, he'd gotten himself lost in the western hallways, so deep into the maze that Terry had said, he wouldn't have found him, hadn't the marking around his wrist showed him the way. In the shadows, the grass takes more time to grow, his steps hadn't been traced. Terry had been immensely grumpy about the whole incident, the King would flay the rest of me, he'd muttered, dragging Elio with him back. Having Lucifer here to lead the way, show him what it is he's working with would have been nice, Elio thinks. His father's glitchy hell loop, for example. Talking to someone so completely absent. Lucifer knows all these things.
Elio doesn't. He doesn't know, he feels. ]
no subject
Of course, Elio would notice his absence - how he stays away for days and days, only to return like there's nothing to be said about it, like Elio hasn't been left to his own devices in Hell, of all places. Lucifer has already heard from Maze that he got lost the other morning - that his helper demon had been on the very, very edge of a regular panic attack, trying to trace his steps. What if one day, Hell simply decides to swallow him up within the hallways? What if, one day, the wrong doors start calling to him, the loops Lucifer hopes fervently that he'll never even know of?
The loops he, himself, frequents.
If he's never around to help, then surely he's leaving those questions - those and others - up to chance. Elio's health, his happiness. ]
But what use will I be? Won't I just, I don't know...
[ He reaches for a pitcher of salt on the kitchen table and it promptly crumbles into ash. Drizzle, drizzle, drizzle, all over Elio's pretty floors. He raises his hand towards the other man in a silent completion of the question. He's seen Elio's footsteps here and there, within the immense labyrinth of hallways covering the surface of Hell. After a decade worth of activity, yes, you don't necessarily have to look quite so hard to find them any longer. He likes it, when he stumbles across them. Elio's marks on the land.
Maze, of course, can touch the grass. She chooses not to, claiming it gives her hives but she can.
He brushes the remaining specks of dust off his hand, expression darkening a little in irritation. The demons still haven't fully - or even partially - accepted Elio's presence, his influence on the place. At some point, certainly, they will revolt.
Another reason not to leave the other man unattended. ]
no subject
You're not turning anything to ashes that I need, it means. No, what is happening is Lucifer, of course, being hard on himself, denying himself and in extension, denying Elio. Elio knows the other man wants to be there, he wants to support him, otherwise Hell wouldn't help him as it best can, Hell wouldn't be gentle with him or caring or kind, as it is because Hell extends from the Devil's hands. The Devil wants it to be like that. The pitcher of salt is unimportant, in the grand picture. The grass withering, unimportant, except when Elio can't find his way back.
The thing is, he could be taught. Elio is smart, he remembers very well, he could be taught. ]
You know Hell. [ He flips the pancake quickly with a skillet that, like the pitcher before it, manifests near his hand. No, Lucifer isn't ruining the things he needs. Elio bites his lower lip, considering how to explain it, gently but indisputably. ] I only know the way to my father's door. Once I step inside, I'm on my own.
[ Pause. He moves the pancake off the pan, pours a new spoonful of batter, rinse, repeat. The problem is, Elio can stop the loop, he can pause it, cozy it up, he's tried everything, lighting candles and making coffee, he's read every book he remembers from his father's collection. Yet, it's all still so one-sided. Once he leaves, the hell loop starts again, same as before, no change.
Elio's patient, but he's also waited enough in his life, he thinks. ]
I need guidance, not salt.
no subject
But still, she gravitates towards rather than away from Elio's influences and that, to him, is extremely telling. She's not altogether good with change, his Maze, not the kind that calls upon her to alter her own habits, her own wants and needs and desires. They're his demons for a reason, after all. I need guidance, says Elio, not salt, flipping the pancake off the pan and pouring on another round of batter. It looks ritualistic, almost. Lucifer wonders whether he might have brought the recipe with him from upstairs.
He'll ask, he decides. If at some point, he'll be able to taste them.
If. ]
To be fair, I don't really know my way around, either. But I sense it.
[ He leans his hip against the counter and tilts his head sideways a fraction, watching the batter sizzle on the pan for a couple of seconds. ]
Next time you visit your father's loop, we'll go there together. He is in Hell - at this point, things could hardly be worse.
[ Deciding that this, at least, he can grant himself without even a hint of reluctance, he steps around the counter, drawing up behind Elio and slipping his arms around his waist. He links his hands against his flat belly, bending his neck to kiss the side of his throat. Then, he just stands there, thinking that he doesn't have a clue about what he's doing and hoping, hoping, oh, that Elio won't end up paying the price for his ignorance. ]
no subject
Elio manages to flip the pancake over, having to right it a bit on the pan, because it was a shaky toss, before putting the skillet down and running one hand along the hard, strong slope of Lucifer's arm, to his hands, where they link, holding him. Holding him so tight, his proximity everything Elio has been missing for three days straight. He breathes out long and slow, basking in the other man's scent, the feeling of his broad chest. We'll go there together, Lucifer tells him and Elio thanks him by slipping his free hand up along his shoulder, over the back of his neck, gripping his nape tightly, turning his head and bumping his nose softly against Lucifer's nose, because it's right there and it beckons.
Some things about Hell, Elio does sense, after all.
Thinking about his father, about how it's as bad as it can be, according to Lucifer, Elio thinks he's wrong. He thinks it could be both worse and better and he's here for the improvements. Eventually. Neither of them have truly figured out their approach yet. Take Elio, he manifests and manifests and manifests, but doesn't know what he's manifesting towards. He doesn't understand the context he's manifesting within. While Lucifer... Lucifer watches fissures in his foundation at a safe distance. ]
We're not aiming for worse.
[ He angles his face enough to slip his lips over Lucifer's lightly, then pulls back to flip the pancake off the pan. Oil, batter, repeat. As soon as they're empty again, his hands return to where Lucifer's linking his over Elio's stomach, spreads his fingers out over his knuckles, the backs of his hands.
How is it the proverb goes. Idle hands do the Devil's work? He smiles a bit. ]
no subject
Mm.
[ He leans his head lightly against the side of Elio's head and watches the batter baking on the pan, gaze growing a little more distant, a little lost in thought. He feels Elio's hands, warm and safe against his. The brief touch of his lips linger and for some reason, it makes him feel almost absurdly grateful.
It's a difficult balance to walk, having Elio near, knowing he's here and remembering that Hell is supposed to be Lucifer's punishment, his eternal damnation. Apparently, Miss Lopez had discovered a poem about the Devil, capturing one of his angelic sisters (incest, though??) and leading her astray by making her feel for him, by fooling her into closing her eyes to her own misfortune. The fact that it's complete and utter nonsense is one thing; but seeing, still, the underlying similarities...
Though he's been rallying against popular portrayals of him since the dawn of humanity, Lucifer has always known, to some extent, why the mere idea of them could cut him enough to cause a reaction. He knows.
Holding Elio a bit closer, he tries not to. ]