[ Lucifer moves over to him, crouching down by his feet and supporting himself against the side of the bed with his wing, the whole arrangement making him look even more bat-like than before. Elio watches him, fascinated, while the other man gets out the box and opens it, picking up one single feather, its whiteness looking foreign in comparison to how dark, red and black and shadows and soot, he’s turned in his Devil form. When Lucifer asks for his wrist, Elio winces but complies, reaching up with his free hand to support the weight of his injured one as he lowers his arm. The same way he feels when he’s blushing, he can now feel all blood leaving his face, a pale sheen to his forehead, to his cheeks.
If there was ever a time for a nosebleed, this is it, he thinks.
But he doesn’t get a nosebleed. Instead he gets an eyeful of Lucifer, holding the feather and looking up at him with a gaze that says, the world, any one of them, can burn for all he cares, for Elio, yes? Elio remembers Michel, he remembers Michel promising him that Lucifer would never be able to say the words and Elio thinks he might be right, although forever is a very long time, but what Michel could say in words, if not in action? Lucifer says in action alone. Elio thinks that’s more impressive than three syllables of the English language. Or the Italian one. Two in French. Maybe just as impressive as the seven syllables it takes for a man to tell another man, I love you, in Hebrew, God’s own language for a reason.
He shifts, lifting his knee up to present his wrist to Lucifer in front of him. ]
Of all the ways someone has told me they care about me, Lucifer, I like this the best.
[ Yours. Angel feathers and batwings and brimstone. Wearing it all on your skin, your heart included. It’s beautiful. ]
[ He looks Elio's wrist over - it seems swollen, definitely, and the shackles have left marks on him, red and raw and angry-looking. Lips thinning, Lucifer hesitates for half a second before he reaches out, folding his hand beneath Elio's gently, palm against palm. In comparison to his demonic limbs, the other man's hand and fingers look tiny, minuscule. Beautiful, too. Elegant. He stares for a couple of heartbeats. He takes care not to jostle Elio's wrist, simply keeping both their hands still.
Meeting the other man's eyes and hating what he sees reflected in them - red, orange, fire - he manages a small smile. He can do as much for him, even if he can't quite pretend that he understands. ]
It baffles the mind, darling.
[ No discussion, no questioning of the underlying meaning beneath the words; he'd never question Elio's affection for him, never. Imagine how ungrateful that would be. How hurtful.
He presses the feather down onto Elio's damaged wrist. It lights up, more and more, until the whole room is glowing around them, Elio's skin warming a little as the tendons and bone heal underneath. It doesn't take more than thirty seconds at the most but throughout, Lucifer sees both Elio and himself surrounded by it, by white and gold and everything the other man deserves from him and it's good enough for that tiny, insignificant span of time.
Then, it dies and the feather crumbles into dust, mirroring the shackles. He looks up at Elio, waiting to catch his gaze, hoping to see the lines of tension on his features easing in response. He doesn't touch the hurt wrist, though. If it isn't fully healed, he'd rather avoid accidentally making anything worse. ]
[ It baffles the mind, Lucifer tells him in response and darling, a word that sounds new and untried in that gruff voice of his and Elio looks up at his face while he aligns their palms and places the feather across Elio's wrist, the light of it as it seeps into his system burning his eyes, making him blink rapidly, tears escaping the corners of them and slipping down his cheeks, just one or two. Big ones. It's incredibly beautiful, the contrast between Lucifer's angelic side and his demonic one, like one only manages to emphasize the other. Elio knows that the other man hates himself this way, that he hates having to touch Elio at all, but he does so anyway, because Elio needs him to and wants him to and because Elio loves him exactly like this which apparently baffles the mind, when you're Lucifer and this is everything you detest in yourself.
He feels the bone fracture heal, feels it crack into place and gloss over, tendons healing as well and once the feather crumbles into ash, in a repeat of the shackles, there's only the swollenness left, a little bit of scratching, surface injuries, everything more deep-seated seemingly taken care of. Elio's features relax a fraction, his frown smoothening out. Letting his fingertips slip over Lucifer's red, charred wrist briefly, he moves his hand around a few times, just twists the wrist to get a sense of whether there's anything that isn't as it should be. Of course there's nothing, there's just relief. This, too, Lucifer has given him. Along with his throaty darling and his contrasting gentleness, the interlude in the midst of a dramatic display of anger and vengeance.
Suddenly, Elio feels bone-tired, like everything that kept his composure for him has crumbled with the feather and unceremoniously, he closes his fingers around the other man's lower arm before just tumbling onto his side on the bed, his legs sticking out at an awkward angle. He thinks for a moment, wills his shoes away, and they disappear in accordance, because this realm is his and it's all just illusions anyway. Beneath it, he's as naked as Lucifer is right now. The pants go up in smoke as well. His shirt. Suddenly he's lying on perfect eye-level with a crouching Devil, naked as the day he was born. And he doesn't feel the least nervous about it, just exhausted.
Looking down at Lucifer, he tightens his grip. Sighs. His head still hurts, his hair feeling sticky and clumping on the right side of his head. ]
You'll stay, right? I want you to stay. Until I sleep.
[ It takes willpower not to draw away from Elio's brief, fleeting touch of fingertips against his wrist - he really isn't very used to being touched when he's like this and it feels odd, like the nerve endings aren't as they should be. Less sensitive. The form was created for Hell, after all, and tougher, less penetrable skin is definitely an advantage down here, a necessity.
His demons were made for him and look what happens, all the same.
Indeed, in this place, anyone can be an enemy.
His gaze slip up to Elio's head and face, bruised and bloodied from Grigori's fists. As the other man lies down, he grabs Lucifer's arm fully and clings on like a limpet, basically, and he would've had to exert at least a little force to get free. If he'd wanted to, which...
Well. Just because he doesn't want any part of Elio to touch him when he's like this, doesn't mean he'll deny him the feeling of safety if this is how he gets it. He'll deny him nothing. So he keeps still for a second or two, then reaches for another feather, brushing it through Elio's hair lightly before laying it over his head injury. His own features soften into something that he can't be sure about, this particular face is a stranger to anything but various shades of anger. But soften, it does. He folds his legs beneath him and sits on the floor because in this palace, Elio is Queen and Lucifer simply belongs, letting Elio hold his arm as he watches the light seep into his skin once again.
[ His words come out a whisper while he lies still beneath the weight of the feather against his head injury, the light hurting his eyes again, so he closes them, blindly feeling the scarred, rough tissue of Lucifer’s arm beneath his fingertips. Elio digs them in, his fingers, feels for him, the heaviness and strength of his muscles, thick skin, like armor. He imagines down here, you’d do well as a crustacean, really. With your shells and your claws. He remembers catching crabs by the beach as a kid.
His fingers tighten their hold. Got you, Lucifer had said when he came for him before, to his rescue, Elio a right damsel, but the question is who’s got who here. Now.
They’ve got each other, Elio likes to think, yes.
The second feather, like the first, crumbles to ash, the little flakes sitting in Elio’s curls for a second before magicking away, the same way his castle takes care of him always. And the Lord of Hell, too, sitting here, having shifted into a more comfortable position in order to stay. Guard. With his softening features that Elio only faintly glimpses through the glow, features that swing both ways, anger, care, anger, care. Anger because he cares, of course. Elio understands.
He’s lit the world aflame, after all. There’ll be consequences for everyone involved.
Licking his lips, still dry, Elio cracks an eye open, the other man’s face more easily discernible in the fake afternoon sunlight from the equally fake outside. He’s bold in that shade of red, completely unmistakeable. This is the Devil. Glancing up at Lucifer one-eyed, he smiles faintly, tiredly. ]
You’re warm. [ And Lucifer is, burning hot against his skin. Like his core is radiating all that heat into his whole system. ] It’s nice. I feel cold.
[ Lucifer frowns. There's something almost translucent about Elio like this, something a little too fragile, vulnerable. Logically, it has to do with being abducted and abused, bones broken, the fear he must have felt - regardless, this place is supposed to cater to his every whim, isn't it? Why isn't he warm? Shifting on his knees, Lucifer glares at the bed, wishing he could will forward something to warm Elio's naked body with but then again, you're warm he said and that's true. His Devil form is hotter than his regular form, even, like there's embers smoldering beneath the skin.
Maybe there is.
Lips thinning, he gets to his feet slowly, pulling his arm from Elio's grip as gently as he can. Then, he steps around the bed, the claws on his feet clacking against the floor, before he slides onto the bed awkwardly, his limbs feeling cumbersome and wrong. He lies down behind Elio and folds one arm around his waist, pulling him up against his own nakedness before folding one, huge wing over him, covering his body from ankles to shoulder. The other, he keeps curled up along his back. Compared to his regular wings, these are somewhat simpler to manage on a bed - except for the way the spikes keep trying to catch on pretty much everything.
It'll do for now.
He doesn't shut his eyes or try to fall asleep. Instead, he stays awake and aware, eyes unblinking, curled around Elio's precious body and forcing himself not to ask any further questions.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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If there was ever a time for a nosebleed, this is it, he thinks.
But he doesn’t get a nosebleed. Instead he gets an eyeful of Lucifer, holding the feather and looking up at him with a gaze that says, the world, any one of them, can burn for all he cares, for Elio, yes? Elio remembers Michel, he remembers Michel promising him that Lucifer would never be able to say the words and Elio thinks he might be right, although forever is a very long time, but what Michel could say in words, if not in action? Lucifer says in action alone. Elio thinks that’s more impressive than three syllables of the English language. Or the Italian one. Two in French. Maybe just as impressive as the seven syllables it takes for a man to tell another man, I love you, in Hebrew, God’s own language for a reason.
He shifts, lifting his knee up to present his wrist to Lucifer in front of him. ]
Of all the ways someone has told me they care about me, Lucifer, I like this the best.
[ Yours. Angel feathers and batwings and brimstone. Wearing it all on your skin, your heart included. It’s beautiful. ]
no subject
Meeting the other man's eyes and hating what he sees reflected in them - red, orange, fire - he manages a small smile. He can do as much for him, even if he can't quite pretend that he understands. ]
It baffles the mind, darling.
[ No discussion, no questioning of the underlying meaning beneath the words; he'd never question Elio's affection for him, never. Imagine how ungrateful that would be. How hurtful.
He presses the feather down onto Elio's damaged wrist. It lights up, more and more, until the whole room is glowing around them, Elio's skin warming a little as the tendons and bone heal underneath. It doesn't take more than thirty seconds at the most but throughout, Lucifer sees both Elio and himself surrounded by it, by white and gold and everything the other man deserves from him and it's good enough for that tiny, insignificant span of time.
Then, it dies and the feather crumbles into dust, mirroring the shackles. He looks up at Elio, waiting to catch his gaze, hoping to see the lines of tension on his features easing in response. He doesn't touch the hurt wrist, though. If it isn't fully healed, he'd rather avoid accidentally making anything worse. ]
no subject
He feels the bone fracture heal, feels it crack into place and gloss over, tendons healing as well and once the feather crumbles into ash, in a repeat of the shackles, there's only the swollenness left, a little bit of scratching, surface injuries, everything more deep-seated seemingly taken care of. Elio's features relax a fraction, his frown smoothening out. Letting his fingertips slip over Lucifer's red, charred wrist briefly, he moves his hand around a few times, just twists the wrist to get a sense of whether there's anything that isn't as it should be. Of course there's nothing, there's just relief. This, too, Lucifer has given him. Along with his throaty darling and his contrasting gentleness, the interlude in the midst of a dramatic display of anger and vengeance.
Suddenly, Elio feels bone-tired, like everything that kept his composure for him has crumbled with the feather and unceremoniously, he closes his fingers around the other man's lower arm before just tumbling onto his side on the bed, his legs sticking out at an awkward angle. He thinks for a moment, wills his shoes away, and they disappear in accordance, because this realm is his and it's all just illusions anyway. Beneath it, he's as naked as Lucifer is right now. The pants go up in smoke as well. His shirt. Suddenly he's lying on perfect eye-level with a crouching Devil, naked as the day he was born. And he doesn't feel the least nervous about it, just exhausted.
Looking down at Lucifer, he tightens his grip. Sighs. His head still hurts, his hair feeling sticky and clumping on the right side of his head. ]
You'll stay, right? I want you to stay. Until I sleep.
no subject
His demons were made for him and look what happens, all the same.
Indeed, in this place, anyone can be an enemy.
His gaze slip up to Elio's head and face, bruised and bloodied from Grigori's fists. As the other man lies down, he grabs Lucifer's arm fully and clings on like a limpet, basically, and he would've had to exert at least a little force to get free. If he'd wanted to, which...
Well. Just because he doesn't want any part of Elio to touch him when he's like this, doesn't mean he'll deny him the feeling of safety if this is how he gets it. He'll deny him nothing. So he keeps still for a second or two, then reaches for another feather, brushing it through Elio's hair lightly before laying it over his head injury. His own features soften into something that he can't be sure about, this particular face is a stranger to anything but various shades of anger. But soften, it does. He folds his legs beneath him and sits on the floor because in this palace, Elio is Queen and Lucifer simply belongs, letting Elio hold his arm as he watches the light seep into his skin once again.
As the glow fades, he replies, throat dry: ]
Of course, I'll stay.
no subject
[ His words come out a whisper while he lies still beneath the weight of the feather against his head injury, the light hurting his eyes again, so he closes them, blindly feeling the scarred, rough tissue of Lucifer’s arm beneath his fingertips. Elio digs them in, his fingers, feels for him, the heaviness and strength of his muscles, thick skin, like armor. He imagines down here, you’d do well as a crustacean, really. With your shells and your claws. He remembers catching crabs by the beach as a kid.
His fingers tighten their hold. Got you, Lucifer had said when he came for him before, to his rescue, Elio a right damsel, but the question is who’s got who here. Now.
They’ve got each other, Elio likes to think, yes.
The second feather, like the first, crumbles to ash, the little flakes sitting in Elio’s curls for a second before magicking away, the same way his castle takes care of him always. And the Lord of Hell, too, sitting here, having shifted into a more comfortable position in order to stay. Guard. With his softening features that Elio only faintly glimpses through the glow, features that swing both ways, anger, care, anger, care. Anger because he cares, of course. Elio understands.
He’s lit the world aflame, after all. There’ll be consequences for everyone involved.
Licking his lips, still dry, Elio cracks an eye open, the other man’s face more easily discernible in the fake afternoon sunlight from the equally fake outside. He’s bold in that shade of red, completely unmistakeable. This is the Devil. Glancing up at Lucifer one-eyed, he smiles faintly, tiredly. ]
You’re warm. [ And Lucifer is, burning hot against his skin. Like his core is radiating all that heat into his whole system. ] It’s nice. I feel cold.
[ He is cold, even trembling a little. ]
no subject
Maybe there is.
Lips thinning, he gets to his feet slowly, pulling his arm from Elio's grip as gently as he can. Then, he steps around the bed, the claws on his feet clacking against the floor, before he slides onto the bed awkwardly, his limbs feeling cumbersome and wrong. He lies down behind Elio and folds one arm around his waist, pulling him up against his own nakedness before folding one, huge wing over him, covering his body from ankles to shoulder. The other, he keeps curled up along his back. Compared to his regular wings, these are somewhat simpler to manage on a bed - except for the way the spikes keep trying to catch on pretty much everything.
It'll do for now.
He doesn't shut his eyes or try to fall asleep. Instead, he stays awake and aware, eyes unblinking, curled around Elio's precious body and forcing himself not to ask any further questions.
Later, if ever.
If ever. ]