[ 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.
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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.
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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. ]