[ His shoulders visibly slump as Elio walks up to him and starts fingering the lapels of his jacket. Whenever Elio's this close, everything smells familiar; his hair, his skin, his presence. His gaze hardens a fraction, though, at his words. ]
I have.
[ He looks up pointedly, then shrugs. Aside from his brother making the occasional visit - and those never last very long, they have little to talk about these days - he's never seen an imprint of the Silver City in Hell, so bright and unambiguous as that column of light. He steps away and slips past Elio, running his hand down his upper arm, a firm touch, albeit brief. He stops in the open doorway and holds out his hand, curving his fingers against the frame. It feels... different. Unloaded, unburdened.
Turning towards Elio again, he looks at him in unconcealed wonder. ]
Do you know, I think this is truly what we're meant to do.
[ His wording should bother him a lot more than it does, granted, but then again, he's been doing his duty for so long without pauses or breaks at this point that it probably doesn't matter. He never goes to Earth anymore. He's here, where he was placed.
He looks over his shoulder at the hallway beyond, overgrown with fluorescent flowers and wines, the ground only stony and grey in patches here and there. Elio's walked this particular path so often that his presence has begun to linger even without his direct influence and this area of Hell has become known as The Place That Crawls because, well, you really shouldn't leave a demon in charge of naming stuff.
He smiles very, very slightly and leans against the doorway, holding out his arm towards Elio in invitation. ]
You and me, darling. We're making this place better.
[ Heaven, he means. Lucifer says he has and is referring to Heaven from where this particular light stemmed, of course, because like all other light, it came from within him first and he, too, came (fell) from there, a long, long time ago. Elio wonders about that for a moment, whether this is what it feels like to land on your feet, finally.
Lucifer seems to think so, brushing his upper arm as he passes him by on his way to the doorway, feeling for the framework as if making it tell him the how's and why's, turning towards Elio after a moment and reflecting the same wonder back at him. The same overwhelmed amazement, just blown wide on his features, because they were always more open even than Elio's and Elio loves that, has loved it from the beginning. He wants to run to him. This is what we're truly meant to do, the Devil tells him.
I know, Elio thinks, but doesn't say, instead waiting for the other man to lean back against the doorframe and hold out his arm. Invitation, share this with me, it's ours.
You and me, darling.
It feels like a compliment, so Elio for a moment reverts to shaking his head, softly, but deflecting, no longer the Queen of Hell, but just not-quite-human Elio who doesn't know what to do with being raised up, they're dimensions below currently, right? Walking over to the other man, rather than slipping into his embrace like he wants to do, he just stands there, not out of reach, but neither quite in it, and looking up at him. Bigger than life, beautiful Lucifer who is making himself and thus everything around them better. Elio's just here for support, all kinds. ]
It's your accomplishment, Lucifer.
[ It's not to downplay his own influence, he was the one in the actual presence of his father in the moment the ascension happened and he saw that his father's own work certainly paid off, centuries later, but he suspects it could only happen now, because other pieces have fallen into place.
Pieces that have nothing to do with Samuel Perlman. Nothing to do with his son. Though, their stories, too, tie into it, they're not the main character. ]
[ Elio's got a curious look on his face - not quite hesitation, no, but something related to it, albeit a little less fraught with edges and hidden insecurity. Acceptance, perhaps, but not in a way that Lucifer really likes - all things being equal, he's holding out his arm for Elio right now and Elio, in turn, only follows to a certain point, like there's something, somewhere off to the side of center that beckons him. The periphery. But it's wrong, isn't it, because without Elio, he'd still be chasing Chloe Decker around in L.A., knowing that she couldn't accept him, that she couldn't - and well, he'd carry that, wouldn't he? He'd be carrying that along with that seemingly chronic sense of loneliness he'd feel whenever he'd take the opportunity to stare up into the sky.
He doesn't look up anymore.
He doesn't have to.
Head tilted to the side, he looks at the other man, struggling with what he already knows - like he doesn't possess the right pieces to put this very specific puzzle together. He's looking at it wrong, he decides, and promptly tilts his head the other way, distantly aware that he must look like a particularly thoughtful ostrich. A nice-looking one, though, if we're honest. He thinks. Thinks. Hmmm. If I were Elio, he thinks, uselessly, because he isn't and maybe...
Maybe that's the point, in a way. ]
It is mine, yes. It belongs to me because Hell belongs to me. And...
[ Faltering, he curls his hand into a fist, then uncurls it, his embrace still open, arm outstretched. His next words feel almost foreign, like he's speaking a language he's never truly known and there's something tremulous in his voice, something quite breakable - it's a new, almost frighteningly clear realisation: ]
[ Tilting his head first one way, then the other, Lucifer looks a little bit bird-like, with his hawk nose and his big, framed-in eyes, Elio looking back at him with an expression that slowly softens. Until Lucifer’s innocence, because that’s what it is, chaotic goodness doesn’t begin to cover it, has all but melted him and Elio’s hands flex at his sides in time with Lucifer’s own, curling, uncurling, but never ceasing to reach, right?
They started out the way it always starts out for Elio. By him reaching out, desperately and blindly, but where he’s only ever met people who grabbed his hands in order to let go, here Lucifer is, extending. Extending.
Bigger than life Lucifer.
If it weren’t for him, he’s still be waiting for Oliver, always Oliver, and even when Oliver returned to him, he wasn’t his, that’s the problem. Elio has lived to have someone, yes, but also to be had and no one ever took him up on his offer. Until Lucifer.
All of this, he ponders as Lucifer doesn’t relax his stance, but stays in position, waiting for him. Hell is his, he says, and I belong to you. Because I do. Elio exhales a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, feeling his chest sink along with his shoulders and then, he moves forward into the other man’s, Devil’s, embrace, letting himself be held. No one has wanted to hold Elio Perlman before.
Not forever, and nothing less will do. Lucifer’s spoiled him. ]
Belonging is a mutual decision. We belong to each other.
[ Elio slips his arms around Lucifer’s waist, pushing his whole front up against him. They’ve chosen, the way Lucifer has fought for, and the way Elio has learned from him, and that choice includes Hell as well. Hell feels that. It’s blossoming.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I have.
[ He looks up pointedly, then shrugs. Aside from his brother making the occasional visit - and those never last very long, they have little to talk about these days - he's never seen an imprint of the Silver City in Hell, so bright and unambiguous as that column of light. He steps away and slips past Elio, running his hand down his upper arm, a firm touch, albeit brief. He stops in the open doorway and holds out his hand, curving his fingers against the frame. It feels... different. Unloaded, unburdened.
Turning towards Elio again, he looks at him in unconcealed wonder. ]
Do you know, I think this is truly what we're meant to do.
[ His wording should bother him a lot more than it does, granted, but then again, he's been doing his duty for so long without pauses or breaks at this point that it probably doesn't matter. He never goes to Earth anymore. He's here, where he was placed.
He looks over his shoulder at the hallway beyond, overgrown with fluorescent flowers and wines, the ground only stony and grey in patches here and there. Elio's walked this particular path so often that his presence has begun to linger even without his direct influence and this area of Hell has become known as The Place That Crawls because, well, you really shouldn't leave a demon in charge of naming stuff.
He smiles very, very slightly and leans against the doorway, holding out his arm towards Elio in invitation. ]
You and me, darling. We're making this place better.
no subject
Lucifer seems to think so, brushing his upper arm as he passes him by on his way to the doorway, feeling for the framework as if making it tell him the how's and why's, turning towards Elio after a moment and reflecting the same wonder back at him. The same overwhelmed amazement, just blown wide on his features, because they were always more open even than Elio's and Elio loves that, has loved it from the beginning. He wants to run to him. This is what we're truly meant to do, the Devil tells him.
I know, Elio thinks, but doesn't say, instead waiting for the other man to lean back against the doorframe and hold out his arm. Invitation, share this with me, it's ours.
You and me, darling.
It feels like a compliment, so Elio for a moment reverts to shaking his head, softly, but deflecting, no longer the Queen of Hell, but just not-quite-human Elio who doesn't know what to do with being raised up, they're dimensions below currently, right? Walking over to the other man, rather than slipping into his embrace like he wants to do, he just stands there, not out of reach, but neither quite in it, and looking up at him. Bigger than life, beautiful Lucifer who is making himself and thus everything around them better. Elio's just here for support, all kinds. ]
It's your accomplishment, Lucifer.
[ It's not to downplay his own influence, he was the one in the actual presence of his father in the moment the ascension happened and he saw that his father's own work certainly paid off, centuries later, but he suspects it could only happen now, because other pieces have fallen into place.
Pieces that have nothing to do with Samuel Perlman. Nothing to do with his son. Though, their stories, too, tie into it, they're not the main character. ]
no subject
He doesn't look up anymore.
He doesn't have to.
Head tilted to the side, he looks at the other man, struggling with what he already knows - like he doesn't possess the right pieces to put this very specific puzzle together. He's looking at it wrong, he decides, and promptly tilts his head the other way, distantly aware that he must look like a particularly thoughtful ostrich. A nice-looking one, though, if we're honest. He thinks. Thinks. Hmmm. If I were Elio, he thinks, uselessly, because he isn't and maybe...
Maybe that's the point, in a way. ]
It is mine, yes. It belongs to me because Hell belongs to me. And...
[ Faltering, he curls his hand into a fist, then uncurls it, his embrace still open, arm outstretched. His next words feel almost foreign, like he's speaking a language he's never truly known and there's something tremulous in his voice, something quite breakable - it's a new, almost frighteningly clear realisation: ]
It belongs to you because I do.
no subject
They started out the way it always starts out for Elio. By him reaching out, desperately and blindly, but where he’s only ever met people who grabbed his hands in order to let go, here Lucifer is, extending. Extending.
Bigger than life Lucifer.
If it weren’t for him, he’s still be waiting for Oliver, always Oliver, and even when Oliver returned to him, he wasn’t his, that’s the problem. Elio has lived to have someone, yes, but also to be had and no one ever took him up on his offer. Until Lucifer.
All of this, he ponders as Lucifer doesn’t relax his stance, but stays in position, waiting for him. Hell is his, he says, and I belong to you. Because I do. Elio exhales a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, feeling his chest sink along with his shoulders and then, he moves forward into the other man’s, Devil’s, embrace, letting himself be held. No one has wanted to hold Elio Perlman before.
Not forever, and nothing less will do. Lucifer’s spoiled him. ]
Belonging is a mutual decision. We belong to each other.
[ Elio slips his arms around Lucifer’s waist, pushing his whole front up against him. They’ve chosen, the way Lucifer has fought for, and the way Elio has learned from him, and that choice includes Hell as well. Hell feels that. It’s blossoming.
They are, too, Lucifer and him. ]