[ Elio looks up at him, his features cast in shadow by Lucifer's body and for some reason, it makes his face seem even more real, like the darkness affords it a special, undeniable depth. He swallows harshly as the other man reaches for him, running his warm, soft palm up his chest. He hasn't been touched in a thousand years. It feels like another kind of homecoming.
Then Elio, tells him... tells him...
For a moment, Lucifer can only stare at him some more whilst he slips closer, touches him with his other hand as well, putting his prints on his skin where they'll stay for a long time yet. Persephone he says. Like the Greek myth, the story of seasons, death and re-birth. He'd protest somehow, tell Elio that it can't possibly be like that, his father would never - but then, it occurs to him that yes, his father would certainly. He'd even neglect letting Lucifer and Elio know beforehand, just to cause maximum emotional suffering, wouldn't he. He'd thought...
He'd been so certain.
Elio's pushing up against him and everything inside him says go, the pull of Hell so strong that it feels like he can't breathe for it. He shudders. Slips his arm around Elio's waist almost without thinking, drawing him up against his naked front. Suddenly, they're pressed together, front to front, and Elio's so real, such a physical thing. A fact. Oh. Oh. He doesn't cry because he hasn't, not in what seems like forever, but he does grit his teeth rather harshly, his grip around Elio's waist tightening a fraction.
Slowly, he looks up. Glares.
How dare you!
Then, trembling, he finally puts his chin on Elio's head and takes a long, deep breath, his scent drowning out all other impressions. His wings stay arched behind him, out of practice with this whole hugging business but oh, it's good to have him and is it true, is it really true? The question, when he asks, is quiet, like a mutter: ]
[ The lack of familiarity in Lucifer’s body, the strangeness, translates like a common language, the way his system is tensing and fighting, muscles tightening and the other man’s Adam’s apple working as he tries not to cry. Not because Lucifer believes crying is wrong, of course, he is quite the crier himself, but because everything between them right now is so foreign and too long-forgotten. Which is just unfair! Elio feels it, too, how his body struggles to recognize the contours and slopes of Lucifer’s body, the weight of his chin as he finally gives in and rests it on top of his head. He’s so warm. Furnace-hot. He’s tall and huge and they’re pressed together like this, front to front, Lucifer naked and Elio in just his shorts and t-shirt, dirty, sweaty, Lucifer smells dark and heated and like lava boiling underneath the surface of it all.
After a moment, Elio slides his arms around the other man’s waist, pulls him as close as possible, feels the whole front of his body, the structure of his skin. As an undertone, the scent of burned peaches waft through the air.
Elio made him come on peach juice once, he suddenly remembers vividly and smiles, soft and careful. His voice, too, takes care. He knows, after all, how Lucifer is going to take this. As such, he doesn’t lie, he would never, but he tells the mildest version of the truth that he can find, because like the Persephone myth, there are many variants. Personally, he likes this one the best. ]
I don’t know if it’ll continue being as draining as it was this time around, but I’ll probably lose some of my strength every spring.
[ Reluctantly, he pulls back from Lucifer a little to look up at him, at his face, his features so stark in red, the curve of his bald head. He won’t deny him his reaction, like he would never deny Lucifer anything, but he wants the other man to remember him as he reacts, he wants him to feel Elio in his arms, against his front, anchor-like, before he sets the world on fire again in spite.
He’s not alone with his feelings anymore.
Neither of them is. Elio has been through this stage already, right, he’s a couple steps ahead. He mourned (and raged in his own quiet way) a little for each day that passed of nothing, quiet, until only acceptance was left.
[ He leans into Elio's touch because now that he's started, he can't seem to stop. It's been so long. Fuck, it's been so, so long. His eyes fall shut as he feels the other man's chest moving against his, up and down, up and down, better and infinitely stronger than the last time they were together, Lucifer on the forest floor with Elio clutched in his arms, feeling him struggle for every single intake of air.
And apparently, that's how it'll have to be.
For eternity, even.
Gosh, his father is a sadist, isn't he? How's that for irony? With a sigh, Lucifer looks at Elio who's pulled away slightly, looking up at him with his warm, brown eyes, the look on his face open, completely earnest. He carries something within him now, something that used to be there, yes, but subdued. It isn't, anymore. Even if Lucifer had never met him before, today he'd take one look at the other man and know that he'd been touched by divinity. It's not a glow or something particularly radiant but it's obvious, like one, clear voice calling out to another. ]
So that's how it is.
[ He could fight it, sure, and leave Elio here to wither and die like humans do, make him take that bracelet off and embrace humanity, the years it would leave him with. But he knows. He knows. Elio's been left before, he's waited for nothing and received exactly that as a consequence. He remembers how he looked on his balcony, ages and ages past, looking out over L.A. at night, free-falling still, resigned to his fate.
So, rather than arguing, Lucifer folds his other arm around Elio and pulls him off the ground, carrying him bridal style because if the man's supposed to be bloody Persephone, they can go big or go home.
Home.
Feeling the fire surging inside, he cradles Elio to his chest. ]
Off we go, then.
[ And down they plunge, hard and fast, hurtling towards the barrier in a rush of roaring wind, the ground closing up behind them. ]
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no subject
Then Elio, tells him... tells him...
For a moment, Lucifer can only stare at him some more whilst he slips closer, touches him with his other hand as well, putting his prints on his skin where they'll stay for a long time yet. Persephone he says. Like the Greek myth, the story of seasons, death and re-birth. He'd protest somehow, tell Elio that it can't possibly be like that, his father would never - but then, it occurs to him that yes, his father would certainly. He'd even neglect letting Lucifer and Elio know beforehand, just to cause maximum emotional suffering, wouldn't he. He'd thought...
He'd been so certain.
Elio's pushing up against him and everything inside him says go, the pull of Hell so strong that it feels like he can't breathe for it. He shudders. Slips his arm around Elio's waist almost without thinking, drawing him up against his naked front. Suddenly, they're pressed together, front to front, and Elio's so real, such a physical thing. A fact. Oh. Oh. He doesn't cry because he hasn't, not in what seems like forever, but he does grit his teeth rather harshly, his grip around Elio's waist tightening a fraction.
Slowly, he looks up. Glares.
How dare you!
Then, trembling, he finally puts his chin on Elio's head and takes a long, deep breath, his scent drowning out all other impressions. His wings stay arched behind him, out of practice with this whole hugging business but oh, it's good to have him and is it true, is it really true? The question, when he asks, is quiet, like a mutter: ]
Will it harm you again?
no subject
After a moment, Elio slides his arms around the other man’s waist, pulls him as close as possible, feels the whole front of his body, the structure of his skin. As an undertone, the scent of burned peaches waft through the air.
Elio made him come on peach juice once, he suddenly remembers vividly and smiles, soft and careful. His voice, too, takes care. He knows, after all, how Lucifer is going to take this. As such, he doesn’t lie, he would never, but he tells the mildest version of the truth that he can find, because like the Persephone myth, there are many variants. Personally, he likes this one the best. ]
I don’t know if it’ll continue being as draining as it was this time around, but I’ll probably lose some of my strength every spring.
[ Reluctantly, he pulls back from Lucifer a little to look up at him, at his face, his features so stark in red, the curve of his bald head. He won’t deny him his reaction, like he would never deny Lucifer anything, but he wants the other man to remember him as he reacts, he wants him to feel Elio in his arms, against his front, anchor-like, before he sets the world on fire again in spite.
He’s not alone with his feelings anymore.
Neither of them is. Elio has been through this stage already, right, he’s a couple steps ahead. He mourned (and raged in his own quiet way) a little for each day that passed of nothing, quiet, until only acceptance was left.
August has been dry, but golden and beautiful. ]
no subject
And apparently, that's how it'll have to be.
For eternity, even.
Gosh, his father is a sadist, isn't he? How's that for irony? With a sigh, Lucifer looks at Elio who's pulled away slightly, looking up at him with his warm, brown eyes, the look on his face open, completely earnest. He carries something within him now, something that used to be there, yes, but subdued. It isn't, anymore. Even if Lucifer had never met him before, today he'd take one look at the other man and know that he'd been touched by divinity. It's not a glow or something particularly radiant but it's obvious, like one, clear voice calling out to another. ]
So that's how it is.
[ He could fight it, sure, and leave Elio here to wither and die like humans do, make him take that bracelet off and embrace humanity, the years it would leave him with. But he knows. He knows. Elio's been left before, he's waited for nothing and received exactly that as a consequence. He remembers how he looked on his balcony, ages and ages past, looking out over L.A. at night, free-falling still, resigned to his fate.
So, rather than arguing, Lucifer folds his other arm around Elio and pulls him off the ground, carrying him bridal style because if the man's supposed to be bloody Persephone, they can go big or go home.
Home.
Feeling the fire surging inside, he cradles Elio to his chest. ]
Off we go, then.
[ And down they plunge, hard and fast, hurtling towards the barrier in a rush of roaring wind, the ground closing up behind them. ]