[ I had a drink with him once, Lucifer comments before beginning to read, in Latin, because trust an angel and the Devil simultaneously to master the classical languages, dead to most people who were born after the sixth day of Creation, right? Elio doesn’t watch him as he reads aloud, instead leaning his head back against the headboard and closing his eyes, having to listen carefully to follow along. Not only does the meter make the words a little difficult to recognize when you’re used to school Latin and not the Latin of someone who had drinks with Catullus himself, back in the day, but Lucifer’s voice is so hoarse and so deep that the endings are swallowed up a bit, like chasms in the mountains eating a lonesome mountaineer and leaving no trace behind. Elio’s smile widens, though, because it’s comfortable and kind of romantic, having an old love poem recited to you by someone you love. Lucifer’s voice is so unlike anything of the world Elio once belonged to, anything human, but he thinks it belongs here and so does Elio, really. He wants to, at least.
They’ll see.
A frown. As Lucifer ends the poem, Elio turns his face towards him again, meets his red eyes. It was nice, being served the words rather than having to put effort into it. Lucifer has always protected him against any demands he deemed unfair. The notion of justice is a thing, in his world, isn’t it? That’s how he knows whom to punish. Besides himself. Lucifer punishing himself was never deserved, never fair. ]
I’m not going to assume that he taught you that beautiful lilt to your pronunciation?
[ It’s halfway a compliment, halfway a tease. Elio knows Lucifer, he can vividly imagine what a drink and several others led to. In Roman times. Mostly, however, he’s saying that it sounded beautiful and authentic and not once has his father read Catullus to him, sounding so wonderfully true to the material. It was beautiful, it means, because you are. ]
[ He finishes the poem and turns his head to re-establish eye-contact, seeing the remnants of a smile on Elio's face, very evident in the tone of his voice, too. It's contagious and Lucifer's Devil face contorts into a smile as well, veins and burned skin stretching to accommodate the expression. He huffs out a laugh, rough around the edges. For just a moment, here and now, the heaviness in his chest seems to lessen a fraction. ]
Oh, the good Gaius didn't teach me much.
[ He raises what would've been an eyebrow on his regular face, though in this case, it mostly amounts to certain contours of his face changing, bone rising up, the nearly-black skin around his eyes drawing in. Seeing as he's already gone there, he might as well waggle his non-existent eyebrow, too. Waggle, waggle: ]
But he came away a wiser man.
[ He visited ancient Rome more than once, true, mostly owing to the longevity of the empire rather than any specific preferences on his part. He's always liked people, though, and Romans were certainly people. Partying, drinking, dancing, horny people. Leaning back against the bed more fully, his wings curved on either side of his body and the sharp bones sticking out of his spine propped against the bedframe, Lucifer leafs through the book aimlessly, staring upwards at the ceiling.
Beyond the window, Elio's night sky is brimming with stars.
He wonders how long they can stay locked away here, then immediately decides that he doesn't actually want to know. ]
[ The atmosphere lightens and Elio laughs, too, his chest feeling heavy and his breathing not obstructed as such, but simply slower, working harder. It takes its time, like Hell does, as if he's soaked up too much of it at this point, more than his, in comparison to Lucifer's, always, small human body can hold. ]
We all come away wiser from you, Lucifer.
[ When you're dating the Devil, you learn these things. That there's someone who wants to help you express yourself truthfully, dream big, desire bigger and all you need to do, is learn to be a little bit selfish in return. It's been a long journey this far, hasn't it? Both in the literal and in the figurative and Elio's still traveling, but they're getting somewhere. Well, they were, at least, now he doesn't know where they're going. Where they might be stopping.
His laugh dies out, his eyes trekking over the curves and contours of Lucifer's face, the eyebrow waggling, the smile, his features almost unrecognizable like this. It's not the same Devil that melted the demon away who'd helped abducting Elio not too long ago, although time has passed and come and gone and sometimes, you can hear Grigori scream, still. Although it is, of course, exactly the same. Lucifer's all of these things and Elio wants to embrace all of him, although the other man stays out of his bed for now, stays on the floor, touching by necessity more than anything else.
Elio swallows, hard. Eases back down into a reclining position. ]
I'm glad I'm here.
[ With you, implicit, but they've had the discussion already, about where Lucifer thinks he ought to be instead. Like Elio could ever get better by being apart from him. Like it wouldn't just be his body breathing, whatever remains longing. Elio's longed for the majority of his life already, it was supposed to be different with Lucifer.
Glancing at the other man sideways, Elio buries his fingers into the covers, stretching his arms out all the way, rolling his shoulders. Uncomfortably. ]
[ Elio's laughter dies out in a way that makes Lucifer's chest tighten. Slowly, he puts the book back on the small table next to the bed, leaving it within the other man's reach. Even though he'd had to stretch only minimally to get it, though, it still seems as if he isn't caring well enough for him. Just reaching out his hand - just stretching the muscle there, making it cooperate - requires energy that he doesn't... that they can't take for granted. Lucifer looks at him over his shoulder, at the tense lines of his body, the way he's burying his fingers in the covers.
This tension is uncharacteristic of him but then again, so is the way he's seemingly losing all natural colour now, day by day. Dying, someone whispered last time Lucifer was out between the loops and maybe they thought he wouldn't hear, maybe they underestimate how well attuned to this realm that he is. He's not just the ruler. Any angel, really, could rule down here.
Hell, as it is, is tied to him. Every particle of ash, every smoldering flame rising from the lava lakes. Since Elio came down here with him, he's felt it gradually, how he's merged with this place more and more, more than ever. How he hasn't truly minded because, well, because... Exhaling harshly, he gets to his feet and stands, naked, turning sideways towards Elio on the bed, Elio who looks tiny and see-through.
Dying, someone had said.
Then, they'd burned. ]
How can you be? I --
[ He breaks off. Tempers the underlying frustration in his voice, in his heart, because that is his to carry, especially now. He continues, voice softer, reaching down and flattening one, big palm over Elio's midriff on top of the covers. He doesn't press down, merely keeps it there, a small weight to keep him anchored. ]
I'm glad for you, too. Everywhere, including here.
[ Rarely, Elio doesn't know what to say. But as Lucifer turns towards him, having placed the book on the bedside table, within reach, yet ultimately light years away, because every motion takes strength these days, and tells him that he's glad for him, too, everywhere, including here, he finds himself at a loss for words. Lucifer's palm is big and heavy against his midriff, the covers suddenly feeling in the way, but Elio doesn't press for it, doesn't ask for more. Apparently, he's already asked for too much, that he couldn't even have this for longer than he got. Gets. He isn't dead yet. He won't die. He blinks. Again and again.
He loves this about the other man, how they can always be open with each other in regards to their feelings. They don't let anything remain unsaid, except the obvious, of course, but even that, Lucifer says in action, in flames and fire and brimstone. Touches. Thrusts. No, they don't imply, they show, they say what they need to. Elio loves that, loves the weight of Lucifer's hand, his claws, talon-like, dark against the cream-colored linen. Usually, it'll be darker colors, maroons, navy blues, but since he's fallen ill, the palace has started taking on the air of a hospital, more and more. He's tried asking it for the reds again, but it doesn't listen.
Licking his lips once more, still dry, always dry, Elio reaches for Lucifer's big hand with both his own, folding them on top of his, pressing down, feeling the weight of them both now. Their combined strengths, Lucifer's greater, naturally. As it must be. Suddenly he recalls what Grigori said to him. Little, disgusting human. Elio's never thought of himself as little with Lucifer. Smaller, yes, built, height, but not little, Lucifer simply doesn't make him feel that way, even when he towers above him.
Voice careful, though he doesn't try to hide the tremor, he says: ]
I won't promise you things that are outside my control, but love. [ Repeating that pet name a couple of times, softly, love, love, he finally continues: ] I'm not gone.
[ There both is and isn't a yet to that sentence. ]
[ Love says Elio, both hands folded on top of Lucifer's and isn't it unfair in a way, that Elio's the one who can't walk from his own bed and all the same, here he is, grounding Lucifer, giving him strength that he can't even spare. Unfair, yes. Unfair doesn't even begin to cover this. It's a loss, yes, and those are rarely kind - in the cosmic sense, kindness isn't even truly a concept. Face twisting for a second, two, he controls himself with effort and keeps his hand where it is, on top of Elio's midriff, feeling the small, slightly uneven tremors of his body breathing, trying to keep itself going.
Fighting.
Love, he says. Lucifer blinks, wetly but the tears don't spill. ]
I'm...
[ Glad, he wants to say. Happy. A liar, one might also proclaim but Lucifer isn't and thus, Lucifer doesn't. Instead, he looks at Elio, his scarred thumb brushing over the covers, feeling the shape of him underneath, his naked body. On impulse, because he can't stop himself (because he can't bear to, it already takes too much), Lucifer pulls his hand out from underneath Elio's two and slips it beneath the covers instead, until he can touch him, his stomach and midriff, the too-prominent outlines of his ribs. He feels him like that, spreading out his fingers over his belly before running his hand upwards, all the way to the middle of his chest.
Pause.
He keeps his hand there, above his heart. Still beating. Not gone.
Love, he says.
Lips trembling, he just stands there and bends his head, his wings drooping sadly behind him, the tips dragging over the floor. On a heavy, shaky inhalation, he finally meets Elio's gaze and hates that he can't show him properly, not like this, not with these ugly, empty, soulless eyes. Around them, the stillness remains, unchanged. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
They’ll see.
A frown. As Lucifer ends the poem, Elio turns his face towards him again, meets his red eyes. It was nice, being served the words rather than having to put effort into it. Lucifer has always protected him against any demands he deemed unfair. The notion of justice is a thing, in his world, isn’t it? That’s how he knows whom to punish. Besides himself. Lucifer punishing himself was never deserved, never fair. ]
I’m not going to assume that he taught you that beautiful lilt to your pronunciation?
[ It’s halfway a compliment, halfway a tease. Elio knows Lucifer, he can vividly imagine what a drink and several others led to. In Roman times. Mostly, however, he’s saying that it sounded beautiful and authentic and not once has his father read Catullus to him, sounding so wonderfully true to the material. It was beautiful, it means, because you are. ]
no subject
Oh, the good Gaius didn't teach me much.
[ He raises what would've been an eyebrow on his regular face, though in this case, it mostly amounts to certain contours of his face changing, bone rising up, the nearly-black skin around his eyes drawing in. Seeing as he's already gone there, he might as well waggle his non-existent eyebrow, too. Waggle, waggle: ]
But he came away a wiser man.
[ He visited ancient Rome more than once, true, mostly owing to the longevity of the empire rather than any specific preferences on his part. He's always liked people, though, and Romans were certainly people. Partying, drinking, dancing, horny people. Leaning back against the bed more fully, his wings curved on either side of his body and the sharp bones sticking out of his spine propped against the bedframe, Lucifer leafs through the book aimlessly, staring upwards at the ceiling.
Beyond the window, Elio's night sky is brimming with stars.
He wonders how long they can stay locked away here, then immediately decides that he doesn't actually want to know. ]
no subject
We all come away wiser from you, Lucifer.
[ When you're dating the Devil, you learn these things. That there's someone who wants to help you express yourself truthfully, dream big, desire bigger and all you need to do, is learn to be a little bit selfish in return. It's been a long journey this far, hasn't it? Both in the literal and in the figurative and Elio's still traveling, but they're getting somewhere. Well, they were, at least, now he doesn't know where they're going. Where they might be stopping.
His laugh dies out, his eyes trekking over the curves and contours of Lucifer's face, the eyebrow waggling, the smile, his features almost unrecognizable like this. It's not the same Devil that melted the demon away who'd helped abducting Elio not too long ago, although time has passed and come and gone and sometimes, you can hear Grigori scream, still. Although it is, of course, exactly the same. Lucifer's all of these things and Elio wants to embrace all of him, although the other man stays out of his bed for now, stays on the floor, touching by necessity more than anything else.
Elio swallows, hard. Eases back down into a reclining position. ]
I'm glad I'm here.
[ With you, implicit, but they've had the discussion already, about where Lucifer thinks he ought to be instead. Like Elio could ever get better by being apart from him. Like it wouldn't just be his body breathing, whatever remains longing. Elio's longed for the majority of his life already, it was supposed to be different with Lucifer.
Glancing at the other man sideways, Elio buries his fingers into the covers, stretching his arms out all the way, rolling his shoulders. Uncomfortably. ]
no subject
This tension is uncharacteristic of him but then again, so is the way he's seemingly losing all natural colour now, day by day. Dying, someone whispered last time Lucifer was out between the loops and maybe they thought he wouldn't hear, maybe they underestimate how well attuned to this realm that he is. He's not just the ruler. Any angel, really, could rule down here.
Hell, as it is, is tied to him. Every particle of ash, every smoldering flame rising from the lava lakes. Since Elio came down here with him, he's felt it gradually, how he's merged with this place more and more, more than ever. How he hasn't truly minded because, well, because... Exhaling harshly, he gets to his feet and stands, naked, turning sideways towards Elio on the bed, Elio who looks tiny and see-through.
Dying, someone had said.
Then, they'd burned. ]
How can you be? I --
[ He breaks off. Tempers the underlying frustration in his voice, in his heart, because that is his to carry, especially now. He continues, voice softer, reaching down and flattening one, big palm over Elio's midriff on top of the covers. He doesn't press down, merely keeps it there, a small weight to keep him anchored. ]
I'm glad for you, too. Everywhere, including here.
no subject
He loves this about the other man, how they can always be open with each other in regards to their feelings. They don't let anything remain unsaid, except the obvious, of course, but even that, Lucifer says in action, in flames and fire and brimstone. Touches. Thrusts. No, they don't imply, they show, they say what they need to. Elio loves that, loves the weight of Lucifer's hand, his claws, talon-like, dark against the cream-colored linen. Usually, it'll be darker colors, maroons, navy blues, but since he's fallen ill, the palace has started taking on the air of a hospital, more and more. He's tried asking it for the reds again, but it doesn't listen.
Licking his lips once more, still dry, always dry, Elio reaches for Lucifer's big hand with both his own, folding them on top of his, pressing down, feeling the weight of them both now. Their combined strengths, Lucifer's greater, naturally. As it must be. Suddenly he recalls what Grigori said to him. Little, disgusting human. Elio's never thought of himself as little with Lucifer. Smaller, yes, built, height, but not little, Lucifer simply doesn't make him feel that way, even when he towers above him.
Voice careful, though he doesn't try to hide the tremor, he says: ]
I won't promise you things that are outside my control, but love. [ Repeating that pet name a couple of times, softly, love, love, he finally continues: ] I'm not gone.
[ There both is and isn't a yet to that sentence. ]
no subject
Fighting.
Love, he says. Lucifer blinks, wetly but the tears don't spill. ]
I'm...
[ Glad, he wants to say. Happy. A liar, one might also proclaim but Lucifer isn't and thus, Lucifer doesn't. Instead, he looks at Elio, his scarred thumb brushing over the covers, feeling the shape of him underneath, his naked body. On impulse, because he can't stop himself (because he can't bear to, it already takes too much), Lucifer pulls his hand out from underneath Elio's two and slips it beneath the covers instead, until he can touch him, his stomach and midriff, the too-prominent outlines of his ribs. He feels him like that, spreading out his fingers over his belly before running his hand upwards, all the way to the middle of his chest.
Pause.
He keeps his hand there, above his heart. Still beating. Not gone.
Love, he says.
Lips trembling, he just stands there and bends his head, his wings drooping sadly behind him, the tips dragging over the floor. On a heavy, shaky inhalation, he finally meets Elio's gaze and hates that he can't show him properly, not like this, not with these ugly, empty, soulless eyes. Around them, the stillness remains, unchanged. ]