[ 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.
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[ 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. ]